Chapter 22
Theo
I stand in my kitchen watching Olivia with nothing but disdain.
I haven’t stepped foot in this house since I last left Elizabeth’s cottage.
Now I’m looking at Olivia whilst she questions where I have been.
The truth is, I hate her so much that I couldn’t bring myself to walk back through the door.
The night I left the cottage, Nigel drove me home, but I had him pull away before the engine had even stopped.
We drove into the centre of London, where I stayed at The Savoy, drowning my sorrows in bourbon, wishing for a message from Elizabeth.
I ignored all calls from anyone else. I told no one where I had gone.
Now, standing here again, I want nothing more than to tell Olivia to go.
To pack her bags and leave. I will happily buy her another house if only she would walk out.
But I can’t do it. I can’t find the strength to tell her, and I still haven’t had the go ahead from my lawyer in L.A.
, so instead I turn out of the kitchen and head to my bedroom.
I’m only here today for my son. Lying in bed, I am shocked to hear my phone buzz.
As I pull the phone out of my pocket, my stomach drops when I see it is from Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Please, can you come to mine tomorrow? I need you to see something.
My head spins, and I am fairly sure the room does too.
I try calling her, but she doesn’t answer.
It goes straight to her voicemail. I can’t help sitting and just listening to her voice telling me to leave a message over and over again.
I try to fall asleep, but the only thing on my mind is Elizabeth.
I am longing to see her, to touch her, caress her skin.
I miss her more than words can describe. The ache in my chest refuses to leave.
I don’t wait for the sun to set the next day. At this point, I don’t care who sees me, I just need to get to Elizabeth’s cottage.
She lets me in, and we stand awkwardly in the kitchen, unsure what to say to each other. She places the kettle on her stove and asks if I want tea. I shake my head.
She seems distant. Polite. Almost cold. She isn’t sparkling the way she used to, and the closer I look, the more I see how much colour she has lost. She looks unwell. Pale.
My heart leaps into my mouth. Has she called me here to tell me she is ill?
“What’s going on with you, Elle?” I finally ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
She blinks at me from across the kitchen, hand loosely cupped around a mug of tea she clearly has no intention of drinking.
She isn’t ready for this conversation, and her uncertainty sends my thoughts racing. I stand in front of her, looking at how magnificent she is. I know I don’t look like myself either, rough around the edges maybe. I’m unshaven, jaw tense, and eyes red and burning.
“Nothing,” she replies softly. “I’m just tired.” I don’t believe her. She’s hiding something from me, and it’s etched all over her face.
“Have you been eating? You don’t look well.
Please tell me you’re looking after yourself.
” I still care. Even though we’re not together, I still care for her, just as much as I did the night she left me.
“Elle, you are looking after yourself, aren’t you?
” She doesn’t answer me the first time, so I try again, this time stepping closer.
Her eyes don’t meet mine, and that isn’t like Elizabeth.
I step to close the gap between us, but she holds her hand up to stop me. She gives me a small smile.
“Positive,” she says.
She rolls her eyes and lets out a small laugh.
I’m unsure what she is finding so funny.
I tilt my head in confusion. It isn’t her usual carefree sound.
It’s harsh, sarcastic, and it sends a chill through my body.
She places a hand on her stomach, and I am unsure if she is protecting or grounding herself.
She walks to the drawer beside the fireplace and pulls something out. I follow her across the room, matching every step, terrified of the space she is creating between us.
I spin her around and kiss her as if it is the end of the world. She drops whatever she was holding back into the open drawer and, angry and aching, lets herself be kissed. I pull her close to me as she melts into my touch. I pull her over to the sofa and lay her down.
We fall into each other. The sex is quick, rushed like we’re going to be dragged apart, love filling the room as we come together.
It’s intense and desperate, like two people trying to outrun something inside of themselves.
She clings to me, nails digging into my shoulders, every movement tender and emotional.
I kiss her throat as if I still have a claim to it. Whispering things like, “I’ve missed you” and “I hate it when we’re apart.”
We move together in gasps and silence, her hands trembling when she touches my skin, my name breaking from her lips like a sob. It isn’t just sex tonight. It feels deeper. Like she is saying something to me that I’m not quite hearing.
Was it a goodbye?
A confession maybe?
A tear rolls silently from her eye.
I hold myself above her, breath ragged. I am touching her, holding her, but it feels so different between us.
My hands slide down her side, slowly and ever so slightly absent, watching the tear fall and roll down her neck.
I kiss her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, the silence beginning to stretch just a little too long.
Elizabeth lies underneath me, chest still rising and falling, eyes fixed on the curve of my profile.
She swallows, her voice barely a whisper. “Theo?”
I sit up, turning my head towards her and notice her eyes filling with more tears.
“Sunshine, tell me what’s wrong,” I say with worry threading through my voice. “You can talk to me. I am here.”
“We shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have allowed it,” she says, hesitating. The room feels like it’s closing in on me. It seems as though the world is holding its breath.
“Theo, I’m pregnant.”
My whole body goes still, and I know she feels it.
There is a beat of silence.
Then two.
Then three.
My mouth opens, then closes. My face, once flushed with lust, pales beneath the golden lamplight.
“You… what?” I stammer.
She nods, voice breaking.
“It’s yours.” It kills me that she feels the need to say that to me. I know that I’m the only person she has been with. I trust her wholeheartedly and wouldn’t have even questioned it. But how? We had been so careful.
It feels like the sofa is burning beneath me.
I stand up, the floor creaking with the shift in my weight. My hands rake through my hair. I don’t look at her, just stare ahead at the wall like it might offer some kind of guidance.
“Elizabeth, do I get a say in any of this?” I know from the look on her face that she understands what I am asking, and rage flashes across her eyes. The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I have said the wrong thing.
“I’m keeping it, Theo.” She has made her decision, and I will respect it. This baby is going to grow and become a part of her life whether I want it or not.
A thousand thoughts seem to be running through my head. She can see it in the tension of my jaw, the way my fingers are clenched together. I look like a man trying to swim against a current I hadn’t seen coming.
“You should have told me before,” I finally whisper.
“I didn’t know before,” she says. “I only found out a couple of days ago. I needed to be sure. I needed to… process it.”
I nod once, letting her know I accept her words.
But the silence after says everything else.
She is waiting for me to say something, anything.
But instead, I stand there bewildered, pulling my trousers and shirt back on, still barefoot on the wooden floor.
The man who had just made love to her like she was his only truth is now the man walking quietly toward the door, and I know how it looks, but I can’t stop myself from leaving.
I pause, my hand on the door handle.
“I just need to think,” I whisper, not turning around. The door clicks shut with a finality that echoes too loudly in the stillness.
Sleep comes in fragments that night. Each time I doze off, it is shallow. Disjointed dreams dance in and out, flashes of Elizabeth’s face, happy and content.
Of tiny hands neither of us has met yet.