She looks into my eyes. Then she lowers her gaze, turns, and walks away.
I watch her cross the lobby and go into the ballroom, and then she disappears around the corner.
I twitch, wanting to follow her, but telling myself at the same time that I have to let her go. “Fuck.” I can’t believe that’s it. We had such an amazing time. How can she just walk away?
But she has, and it’s over, and all I can do is move on.
Scowling, I turn and walk in the opposite direction toward the bar.
I really, really need a drink.
*
Three hours later
I stand on the terrace, looking out at the view of Waitemata Harbour. Boats bob on the water, and the stars twinkle in the night sky like fairy lights. The red and green lights from the nearby hotels and restaurants remind me it’s nearly Christmas. I like the festive season, but I feel a hollow sense of loss tonight that isn’t going to pass anytime soon.
I sip the drink in my hand, thinking about Wren Carter. She’s an old friend from my university days, and we’ve kept in touch over the years. Tonight, she asked me to father her child. I understand why she asked. She’s single, and she wants a baby, and there’s a years-long waiting list for single women. I get why she doesn’t want a relationship. Love is elusive, and there’s no guarantee it’s ever going to appear. She and I have been friends for a long time, and so it’s understandable why she asked me, but even so, I’m still stunned at the request.
I’d have said it was something to do with my money, but she made it very clear she doesn’t want any, to the point of being willing to sign a contract stating she’ll make no claim to my fortune. She said I don’t even need to be on the birth certificate if I don’t want. She just wants my sperm.
I feel odd about it, and I don’t know why. I suppose it’s partly because I haven’t thought much about having children, but I assumed I would at some point. I also assumed I’d have them with my wife, whoever she ended up being. It feels weird to think I could father a child and not play a part in its life. Kids need a mother and a father, right? But that’s an old-fashioned point of view. As long as the child is wanted and loved, it doesn’t matter who its parents are.
Wren deserves to have a child as much as any other woman, and I should just be flattered that she asked me. And I am. I’m incredibly touched. She said I had all the qualities she’d like her child to have, and I found that humbling.
So why am I hesitating? Why did I tell her I’d have to think about it?
I know why. I’ve spent the past three hours looking for the reason. But Cupcake has vanished into the night. After we parted, I’m convinced she left the ball, because not only have I searched for her, I’ve asked everyone I’ve met whether they’ve seen the woman in the fuchsia dress. Some of them had, but they all said it was hours ago. No, she’s gone, and I’m never going to see her again.
My frustration rises inside me like stomach acid, burning all the way. It wasn’t just that we had sex. I’ve had enough partners through the years to know what sex is like when it’s purely physical. And that’s not what this was. I liked her. She was warm, chaotic, and funny, and I liked the way she looked at me. I liked how she made me feel. I want to see her again. And I can’t.
I’m so fucking frustrated, I want to break something. But instead, I’ve had to spend three hours mingling and making small talk, and wondering if I imagined the way she jumped into my arms in the penthouse suite, and kissed me until I saw stars.
I can’t let what happened influence the answer I give Wren. While, if I was dating, I would feel as if I’d have to ask my girlfriend first before I donated for a friend, that’s not the case here. Cupcake isn’t going to crawl out of the woodwork and demand to know why I agreed to father someone else’s child on the night we met.
Merry Christmas, Caesar. Be grateful that you met her, and move on.
Moodily, I turn away from the romantic view and head back through the bar into the ballroom. I know it’s going to be weeks, if not months, before I get over her.
Chapter Five
Wednesday February 3rd
Maddie
“Can you pass the cupcakes, Maddie? For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been in a daze for weeks.”
I blink and focus on my mother, who’s glaring at me. Beside her on the deck, my brothers snigger like fourteen-year-olds, and Brielle’s lips curve up.
My face flushes, mostly from the reference to the nickname I chose the night of the ball. Jeez. As if I need to be reminded of that fateful night and the inimitable Caesar Ashford.
We’re at my grandfather’s house in Herne Bay, Auckland. If I’m honest, it’s more of a mansion, although that always sounds pretentious. It sits high on a bluff overlooking the ocean, surrounded by manicured lawns and shielded from neighboring properties by numerous trees.
A large proportion of his many children and grandchildren are gathered here today. Ostensibly, they’ve come to celebrate his eightieth birthday. Those who might otherwise have made their excuses have come because of an email he sent yesterday that revealed he wants to talk to us about something important.
I hand the plate of cupcakes to my mother, then look up as one of the staff appears at my side with a bottle of champagne.
“No, thank you,” I say, and he moves on to Brielle, who happily accepts a glass.
