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A layer of tension released its grip on me, even while questions multiplied in my brain. Questions I batted away because, no, I most definitely did not care who that relationship had been with. Or why it had ended. These days not being ‘in a relationship’ didn’t mean a woman was celibate. Did she belong to anyone now?
The urge to know was overpowering enough to force my fists closed, to grit my teeth just so the question wouldn’t tumble out.
Thee mou, I was losing it.
Her eyes widened as she stared at me. Evidently, my poker face needed work too. She glanced away, her eyes lighting on the shabby little handbag resting on the entryway console table.
When she headed for it I remained where I stood, not trusting myself to approach her. But staying put didn’t mean denying myself one final scrutiny of her body. Now that I’d tasted the passion and beauty beneath her tasteless clothes, my body wasn’t in any mood to obey my commands to relegate Sadie Preston to the wasteland where she belonged. Instead, it tracked the supple shape of her calves and ankles, the tempting curve of her backside, the dip of her waist.
Her hair...
My fist clenched tighter. I’d never given much thought to a woman’s hair before, except perhaps in the way it framed the overall package. I’d dated blondes, brunettes and everything in between without alighting on any specified preference.
Sadie’s hair had trademarked its own siren call. One that had hooked into me, driving me to a new and dizzyingly dangerous edge.
‘I suppose you want me to leave?’
I refocused on her face. She’d reclaimed her bag and slung it crossways over her slim torso, dragging my attention to her full breasts. I forced my gaze away from the perfect globes, crossed the living room to the front door to summon the lift.
A draining type of despair, a kind I’d never known before—not even when I stared into the heart of Anneka’s cruel betrayal—sapped the dregs of my energy. I held it at bay with sheer willpower.
Barely.
‘Neo...’
I pivoted to face her, renewed tension vibrating through to my very bones.
‘I don’t recall inviting you to use my first name. There’s nothing more to discuss. And, just so you’re disabused of any lingering notions of attempting to make this right, let me lay it out for you. There’s no way back from what you’ve done. Short of divine intervention and immaculate conception, you’ve effectively ended me, S
adie Preston. My last hope of ever becoming a father was that sample you destroyed. So I’m confident that you can get it through that stunning red head of yours that if I never see you again it will be too soon. Attempt any form of communication with me for any reason and this stay of execution I’m considering will be off the table and you’ll be handed over to the authorities to answer for your crime. Is that understood?’
All colour drained from her face, but that stubborn chin remained high. Defiant.
‘Perfectly. Goodbye, Mr Xenakis.’
Nine weeks later
‘You shouldn’t be going to work today, Sadie. You look even worse than you did yesterday. And you were out like a light when I looked in on you before I went to bed. I didn’t disturb you because I thought a full night’s sleep would do you good, but I can see it didn’t.’
I busied myself fetching milk I didn’t need from the fridge to make a cup of coffee I didn’t intend to drink. All so I could avoid my mother’s gaze and the questions lurking therein.
Despite despair and bone-tiredness leaching the strength from my bones, I strove to remain upbeat. ‘I can’t afford not to go to work. And I’m fine, Mum.’ The I promise I usually tagged on to the reassurance stuck in my throat. I couldn’t promise anything. Because I wasn’t fine.
I hadn’t thought it possible to be this far from fine when I blinked back tears as Neo Xenakis’s lift hurled me down to the ground floor after that unforgettable night.
I’d been wrong.
That cloying sense of unworthiness, germinated after my father’s desertion and watered by doubts and hopelessness, had trebled overnight, and the enormity of what I’d done both before and after meeting Neo Xenakis had thrown me into a state of raw despair. One that’d grown exponentially with the final notice from our landlord a week ago.
We were on a countdown clock to homelessness.
I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell my mother yet.
But I’d been doing a lot of evading lately.
In between sporadic temping I’d ignored the flulike symptoms leaching my energy, initially attributing my delayed period to the condition. Even after a second period was a no-show, I’d refused to believe that fate would be so brutal. That the unthinkable could truly happen.
Then had come the bracing, inevitable acceptance that I wasn’t the victim of lingering flu, or a stomach bug that only attacked in the morning, but that, yes, I was capable of conceiving immaculately.
