We lie there for a while, listening to the rain pelting against the roof and windows. He strokes my back, and I try to contain my tears.
I should tell him I’m pregnant now, because at least then he’ll know it happened last time. But will that be enough to convince him I didn’t trick him into it? I’m not sure. He probably won’t believe the condom broke. He’ll think it’s Peter’s and assume I’m only saying it’s his to trap him.
If I tell him now, it’ll be the end of our time together here. There’ll be no more kissing and cuddling. There’s no way he’s going to say, “You’re having my baby? Oh, how amazing!” There’ll be shouting and recriminations. He’ll probably want me to drive him straight to the airport. No, there’s no happily ever after for me and Caesar.
Fresh tears sting my eyes. I can’t bear to tell him. I don’t want this perfect evening to come to an end. Not like that, anyway. I’ll keep the news to myself and enjoy this time we have together. Then when we’re done, I’ll go back to reality and decide what I’m going to do alone.
He’s drawing patterns on my back, and I murmur my approval and snuggle closer. Briefly, I try to imagine what life would be like if he knew about the pregnancy, believed it was his, and trusted that it was an accident. If he was pleased and thrilled about it. If we were really a couple. I can’t picture ever being that happy.
It occurs to me then that if I have this baby alone, it might be a long, long time before I meet a man who’s willing to raise this child with me. It’s not the nineteen forties, and it’s morecommon than it was for families to have children with different parents, but even so, it would have to be an amazing guy who chose to take on a young baby that wasn’t his.
I wonder if it’s worse to be divorced from the father? At least that way he’d be involved in decisions about the baby and you wouldn’t be entirely alone, but equally if the atmosphere between you is acrimonious, it would be extremely unpleasant. At least, if I bring it up alone, I only have to answer to myself.
More tears spill down my cheeks. Only I would get pregnant by a man who hates my family with the heat of a thousand suns.
I’ve really, really fucked up.
Chapter Fourteen
Caesar
I wait as long as I can, but eventually I have to withdraw. Maddie goes to move away, but I pull her back into my arms. She sniffs and rests her head on my shoulder.
Frowning, I lift a hand in the darkness to cup her face and brush beneath her eyes with my thumb. It’s wet there—she’s crying again.
“What’s the matter?” I murmur.
“Nothing, I’m okay.”
“Honey, you’re crying, clearly that’s not true.”
“Just feeling a bit emotional, nothing to worry about.”
If that isn’t the case, she doesn’t want to admit the real reason, and I can’t force her to talk.
It was fun making love in the dark, but I want to see her now, so I get up, bang my shin on the tiny bedside table and curse, then rise to my feet. “I’ll switch on the generator,” I tell her, and fumble my way in the darkness out to the living room. “Where’s the switch?”
“By the door.”
It’s pitch black out here. I feel as if I’ve gone blind. Keeping my cool, I work my way to the front door, then begin to feel around the frame. “To the left or right?” I call out.
“To the left.”
Lightning flashes, lighting up the room for a split second, and I see it then, about halfway up the wall next to the door. As we’re plunged back into darkness, I run my fingers up the wall until I find the switch and flip it up.
The generator clunks, groans, and then bursts into life. The lamps flicker and come on, and the fridge begins to hum.
I blink in the sudden light, then go to the fridge and retrieve a bottle of water. After picking up the bar of chocolate from the table, I take them back into the bedroom and slide back under the duvet next to her.
Maddie sits up, reaches for a tissue on the table, blows her nose, and wipes her eyes. I open the bottle of water and pass it to her.
She has a few mouthfuls, and I do the same, and then I give her a piece of chocolate. She sucks it, pulling the duvet up around her breasts as she settles back on the pillows. I lean back next to her, and we study each other while we eat the chocolate.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask eventually.
“I don’t think there’s anything to say, really, is there?” Her voice is soft. Her eyes are a little bit sad.
I’m guessing she’s thinking about the fact that we both know this can’t come to anything, and it’s a crying shame, because she’s a lot of fun, and… I like her. A lot. She’s smart and gorgeous and sexy, everything I want in a woman. But she’ll never be able to change her ancestry, and it would always be there between us, like a chasm we’d never be able to cross.
