Chapter Two #3
‘As it was from me,’ she hissed. ‘Do you think this is my dream?’ She flushed to the roots of her hair and wished she could recall the words.
Even though her baby was still little more than a collection of cells, she couldn’t bear the thought of them hearing her say any such thing.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I’ve lost my career, Aristotle.
I can’t go out in the field; I can’t bring a baby around with me.
At least, not easily, not to the locations I go,’ she amended, thinking of the list she’d started to compile of ‘safe’ sites that might prove possible.
But she’d need help, and who would offer it?
Her mother was busy with her own life, her father in his.
She had no siblings, and she could hardly ask a friend to take time off work to come with her for months at a time, accompanying her to locations that were often remote and dangerous, so she could continue working.
Worse, could she bring her child to those places, many of them either war-torn or facing other threats?
She chewed on her lower lip as she felt the closing down of every single option like a physical pain.
‘I’m aware of that.’
She concentrated hard on bringing herself back into the present conversation, even when her wheels were spinning and nothing was making much sense whatsoever.
‘So let me help you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’
His expression shifted slightly, showing for a moment the ruthless control for which he was famed.
A shiver ran the length of her spine as she shook her head, moving as far away from him as she could get in the meagre apartment.
It was a small studio, but it was private.
Besides, she was on the road so much, she hardly needed more.
‘I should have used a condom, you’re right. I have never forgotten. Not once.’
She gripped the back of a chair tightly. The bond she felt with their baby refused to let her agree with him.
‘I didn’t think of it either,’ she pointed out.
Surprised that, even in this moment, she was willing to give him that cover.
But it was true. She had no antiquated feeling that contraception remained the man’s job to sort out.
She’d known damn well what they were doing, what she’d asked him to do, and the thought of a condom had been nowhere in her mind.
‘It’s done. Now we have to face the consequences of that.’
She swallowed past an unwelcome lump in her throat. ‘I told you; I don’t want anything from you. Not money, not time, not support. I’ll work this out.’
‘How?’
She closed her eyes, floundering. ‘I don’t know just yet.’ Then, rallying, because she knew she had to at least appear strong, even when she didn’t feel it, ‘But it doesn’t matter. It’s my problem to solve.’
‘You are pregnant with my baby,’ he said slowly. ‘I cannot ignore that fact.’
‘But you can,’ she pointed out. ‘No one knows about us. Believe me, no one will suspect the great Aristotle Machairas is the father.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘You can go on living your life as though this never happened. Please, Aristotle. You don’t have to worry about this.’
‘I’m not making myself clear,’ he said, moving towards her in a few short paces.
‘I have never wanted children. I have always taken great pains—until that afternoon—to ensure something like this couldn’t happen.
But you are pregnant; the baby is mine. And so there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to get married.’
Her jaw dropped and her ears started to ring as though they were filled with hummingbirds. ‘What?’
‘I’ll organise everything. Obviously, the quicker the better.’
She stared at him, still unable to speak.
‘Once we’re married, you’ll move in with me.’
She made some kind of incomprehensible noise.
‘There will be a prenuptial agreement, much like your father signed.’
Her gaze narrowed. ‘I’m not interested in your money, and I’m sure as hell not interested in marrying you.’
He nodded slowly, as though he was considering that, his face a study in reasonableness. ‘And yet I presume, like me, you’d like to avoid a protracted court battle.’
Her heart twisted. ‘Court battle?’
‘For custody.’
‘Custody,’ she repeated, feeling like a parrot and not caring, pressing both hands to her stomach, pain lancing her.
Scarring, horrible memories that she kept under firm lock and key—of her parents’ awful, acrimonious divorce, the way she’d been turned into a pawn by her mother—made her feel raw all over.
She trembled from the force of that trauma, from the ache he so easily, unknowingly invoked.
She would never subject her child to that.
Naively, perhaps, she’d presumed it would be a non-issue, given the fact Aristotle was her baby’s father and he was about as paternal as a lump of wood.
‘You cannot seriously think I would let you raise my child alone? And here, of all places?’
She stared at him, completely aghast. No, worse. She felt as though she’d been put into a spin-dryer and was rotating at high speed. Gravity had taken on a whole new meaning; she couldn’t find anything solid to grab hold of.
‘Wait, what?’ She looked around. ‘My apartment’s fine, and obviously I’ll get something bigger, at some point. When we need it.’ The ‘we’ was protective. A reminder to both of them that she and the baby were already their own little team.
His nostrils flared. ‘I don’t mean your apartment. I mean London.’
He stared at her long and hard, his features taking on an expression she’d never before seen on him.
‘Whatever else happens, this child will be raised as my son or daughter, in Greece. If you wish to be a part of their life, then accept my proposal. Otherwise? Get ready for court.’