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“You’re thirty,” he continued.
“Again, not a question.”
His nostrils flared. “Are you always this impatient?”
“Some people say it’s one of my best traits.”
He liked that she knew her worth. Her confidence was not a veneer—she’d earned it. Built it, brick by brick, if he’d had to guess.
“What made you want a baby now?”
She expelled a breath slowly. “I’ve spent the last twelve years pouring everything I have into my career. I’ve worked twenty-hour days, nights, travelled, done showings at two in the morning because it was the only time a client could see me; I’ve built an agency that is known and trusted around the world, our client base loyal because we deliver exceptional service and quality.”
His eyes narrowed as he listened to her explanation, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I woke up one day and realised I wanted more.” She sipped her champagne, glancing away from him. Hiding from him.
“And?” he pushed, waiting until she dared a glance back at his face.
“And what?”
“No, that’s not it,” he said. “Part of it, perhaps. But there’s more.”
Her lips parted in surprise.
“I told you, I know you.”
“I’m not used to people being able to read me as well as I can read them.”
He turned that over in his mind for a moment, thinking of what he understood about trauma and grief, and the importance of a sense of safety, and how a lack of the latter, and presence of the former, could lead to hypervigilance. A skill to read people, rather than risk getting hurt.
“My best friends had a baby, and it made me realise I was wrong. I’d always thought,” she said, running a finger around the rim of her champagne flute, “that I wouldn’t have children. I thought my career was enough; that I was enough. And then I held baby Grace, and this huge chasm opened up inside my chest—an emptiness I hadn’t realised I was capable of feeling. I know plenty of women who’ve chosen not to have children and don’t regret it. I always thought I would be one of them, and then, I held baby Grace and had to admit…I was wrong,” she repeated.
He made a grunt of acknowledgement. “I’ve always known I would father children,” he said, in response. “But it wasn’t until my then-girlfriend fell pregnant, when I was twenty-five, that I realised how much I wanted it. The second she told me, I felt something slip into place in my chest. Having children isn’t about atonement, or making amends, but I did feel as though it might be a way I could start to change the way things have always been done in my family. That our child could be different—just like you and I have agreed.”
“Wait. What happened to her pregnancy?” Tia asked, obviously connecting the dots quickly and realising that if he already had a child this wouldn’t be an issue.
“She felt pretty much the exact opposite to me,” he said, after a beat, voice devoid of emotion. “She didn’t want children, was shocked to realise I did. She was ambitious, and a baby wasn’t in her plans for at least five years.”
Tia nodded slowly. “She terminated the pregnancy?”
He ground his teeth together, a wash of emotions running through him like acid. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t want her to.”
“In the end, it wasn’t my decision. I wouldn’t have wished to saddle her with a child against her will, that’s for sure. Or for a child to be born in the shadow of a parent’s regrets and possibly resentment. It took me a while to get over, though. Every time I saw a baby afterwards…”
He glanced at her, surprised he’d revealed so much, watching the way her throat shifted delicately, pity in her beautiful features.
“And that woman wasn’t Cressida?”
“No, that was Marguerite.”
Tia’s eyes flicked heavenwards. “Seriously?”
He grinned, despite the heaviness of their conversation. “A problem?”
“Marguerite. Cressida. Did you ever date a Jessica? A Sally?”
