“What’s the point?” My eyes blur. “If you don’t trust me, why the fuck would you want to be a part of this baby’s life?”
“Because I face up to my mistakes.”
I feel winded, as if he’s punched me in the stomach. I can’t catch my breath.
“If I’m the father, I’ll own up to it,” he says. “I’m not having a child of mine brought up without knowing who its father is.”
“That makes no sense! You were prepared to donate for Wren! You wouldn’t have been involved then, presumably? So why not do the same here?”
“Because…” He stops, and his jaw clenches. “Because this wasn’t about you using a syringe to fertilize yourself,” he says eventually. “This was personal. We had sex. And we made a mistake. I… made a mistake.”
“Stop saying this baby is a mistake.” A tear leaks out of one eye and spills down my cheek, and I dash it away.
If he notices, he doesn’t comment. He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “I’ll do the right thing.”
“Yes, because that’s what Caesar Ashford always does, isn’t it?” My voice is mocking. “What are you saying, Caesar? You want to marry me, make an honest woman of me?”
I’m disgusted at myself, because a tiny, tiny part of me wants him to say yes. But he doesn’t reply, and the last composed part of me crumples.
I walk up to him and look up into his eyes. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth,” I say bitterly. “Now get out.”
He hesitates. Afraid he’s going to say something else cruel, I turn away and stuff the photo back into my purse. “Get out,” I repeat, “before I call security.”
His footsteps sound on the carpet, and then the door opens, hitting the wall with a bang. I jump and turn, but he’s gone, striding off down the corridor.
I follow him out of the door, but turn right, ignoring the people who are gathered, waiting to see what’s going on. I walk past them all into the bathroom, go into a stall, and sink down onto the toilet.
Then I cover my face with my hands and dissolve into deep sobs that wrack my whole body.
Everything I’ve been feeling since I met him at the ball comes out then in one big deluge of emotion. Sadness, hurt, anger, frustration, and fear, all mixed together in one big, knotted mass. It pours from me in my tears, soaking the tissue I cover my face with, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
At one point, I hear the main door open, but I’m too far gone, and I can’t stop. Footsteps come up to the door, and then Brielle says softly, “Maddie, babe, open the door.”
I sob into the tissue.
“Maddie, come on, sweetie. Open the door.”
I reach out and unlock it. She pushes it open and comes into the cubicle, then drops to her knees in front of me. “Oh…” She looks at my face. Pulling me into her arms, she says, “Come here.”
I sob into her shoulder until there are no more tears left inside me. Only when the tears have slowed does she release me and look at me.
“Here.” She rips some more toilet paper from the roll and starts wiping my face, presumably cleaning up my smudged makeup.
I sag, exhausted, and let her, too overwrought to do anything else.
She looks into my eyes a couple of times, but doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied. “Blow your nose,” she says, giving me another few squares of tissue. When I’m done, she pulls me to my feet, flushes all the tissue away, and says, “Come on.”
I follow her out and glance in the mirror. My face and eyes are red. I’ve clearly been crying. “I can’t go out there.”
“Bullshit. It’s nobody else’s business. Come back into the meeting room and I’ll make you a cuppa.”
She takes my hand and leads me out. I keep my gaze fixed on the floor and follow her, ignoring the whispers and glances from everyone as I pass. She takes me into the meeting room andcloses the door, leads me to a chair, then goes over to the table and makes me a cup of fruit tea.
“I wondered why you weren’t drinking alcohol,” she says as she brings it to me.
I take the mug from her and dunk the bag dully in the mug. I haven’t yet had a chance to talk to her about yesterday’s announcement. After I walked out of the office, I went home again and refused to answer my phone. She knows me well enough to understand I needed some time alone and didn’t bother me.
Now, though, she’s obviously concerned. She pulls out a chair and sits next to me. “What’s going on?” she asks gently. “With Caesar, I mean?”
