Isabella
The bathroom light had softened to something warmer once the steam cleared, the water still faintly pink from the last of the oil clinging to my skin.
He’d washed me himself, unhurried, working a soft flannel over my shoulders and down my spine like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d done it a hundred times before rather than for the very first time.
Now we lay tangled in bed, the lamp on the nightstand turned low, casting everything in soft amber. My head rested against his chest, his fingers tracing slow, absent circles against my hip.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, but there was something in his voice that made me look up.
The man had the audacity to look hurt.
I could do this. I’d managed teenage meltdowns. Hair-clogged bath pipes. GCSE exam freak-outs.
Fourteen versus forty-four didn’t look all that different.
His arm tightened around me, drawing me closer against his chest. I rested my hand against his neck, feeling his pulse beat steady beneath my palm—too steady, given how he was trying to play this off as calm.
I broke it to him gently.
“Luke. Did you tell me when you were actively trying to impregnate me?”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out. No words formed. His brain was recalibrating, and I pursed my lips tight so I couldn’t laugh. His mouth closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat. The universe was against me, and a giggle escaped.
He sagged on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
A defeated sigh as he exhaled deeply.
I waited.
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
I shook my head and trailed a finger from his neck to his chest. I’d grown to love these sporadic little grey hairs scattered across it.
“So you activated your sperm against me?” I murmured.
Another sigh.
“They degrade rapidly between the ages of forty and forty-five,” he said defensively.
Another tone of voice I’d grown accustomed to as a mum.
“It was such a mess with Sadie. I’m not sure she ever really wanted me, never mind my children.”
My heart sank a little.
“Mark never really wanted Amber. He told me, before we divorced,” I said, pausing for a beat, dredging up the inflammatory words.
I want to live my life. Travel, go to strip clubs, hook up with different women. Not this. I never wanted to be a father at twenty.
Luke turned and wrapped both arms around me.
“He walked away from his own blood like it meant nothing. She was barely two,” I whispered.
He hissed through clenched teeth and kissed my hairline.
“I would never, ever do that. Never,” he said, so venomously I glanced up to see the fury on his face.
“We were so young. My parents judged me, and offered little help.”
Then, years later, Clive came along in a similar situation. And then there was Zach. I desperately wanted to reach out to him. Perhaps invite him for the Easter holidays, since he hadn’t got back to us about the wedding. He was no longer a young boy, but a mother’s feelings don’t just die.
Luke chuckled, dragging me back to the present.
“Ha. You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried,” he said smugly.
I let him have his moment.
He could be so precious at times.
? ? ?
Rhea was rubbing her chin, as though she had an imaginary beard.
“Everything is so… bland,” she said, staring at the rows, her eyes pausing at the one with the giant bow on it.
Her face twisted in disgust.
“That’s it. I’m wearing a sari,” she said, shaking her head.
Amber sat on the bench, watching us, popping another cheesy Wotsit into her mouth. The woman hovering nearby probably didn’t know which she should be more concerned about—orange cheese fingers, or Rhea’s aversion to wedding dresses.
“You can wear whatever you want, babe,” I said, chuckling.
“The least bling I can do for you is gold and cream,” she said, with a mischievous smile.
That was a sacrifice. I’d been to an Indian wedding before, and it seemed to be tradition to outdress everyone in the room, even the bride.
“You pick mine, Mum. As long as I can wear my boots under it.”
I stared down at her worn, flat leather boots and winced.
“No, you can do what I do and wear a decent pair of Converse under the skirt,” Rhea said, frowning, and Amber shrugged.
“Great, let’s find a wedding dress for me and a bridesmaid dress for Amber.”
Rhea glanced at the sparse dresses hanging along the back wall.
“Yeah, not from here.”
Amber began licking her fingers clean.
I shook my head at the pair of them, but resigned myself to Rhea’s judgemental prowess.
I wondered if I’d start gaining weight straight away with the pregnancy.
I calculated the weeks remaining and decided Luke’s multi-millionaire status could take a hit.
After all, he was the cause, and I was left dealing with the effect.
“It’s all going on Luke’s credit card.”
Rhea’s smile turned downright evil.
Amber was texting on her phone.
The attendant’s face fell as she realised the purchase wouldn’t be happening at her boutique.
I should’ve done this online.