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‘Only to me. Now, come on, forget about your mother and enjoy this evening. You and I both deserve a bit of time off—and, anyway, we’re supporting a good cause.’
‘We are, aren’t we?’ Anouk nodded, dipping her head and taking a tentative sip.
Saskia told herself to stop scanning the room for Malachi, like some meerkat on watch duty. If it was meant to happen tonight, then it would. Otherwise she would go to his offices in the morning and she would finally tell him.
He had a right to know. And he had a right not to want to be involved.
She wouldn’t force him.
He would have to want her. And their child.
* * *
‘A word.’
Every inch of her skin prickled into goosebumps at the rich, deep sound of Malachi’s voice in her ear. As lethally silky as the hand sliding around her elbow even now.
And something about the tone sent a warning whisper coiling its way through her body.
He couldn’t know about the baby, could he?
Unless he’d spoken to Babette.
Saskia cursed inwardly. She was an idiot for letting that woman get to her enough to tell her a single thing, let alone for Babette to be the first person to find out that she was pregnant.
She couldn’t shake the idea that Malachi knew and, worse, that he’d found out from her ex-fiancé’s new fiancée instead of straight from her. It was little wonder that the air between them positively hummed with barely restrained tension.
Saskia wasn’t sure why she allowed him to lead her across the ballroom at the charity gala without even a word of objection.
She’d only managed to slip away from Anouk by taking advantage of Sol’s unexpected appearance to pretend she was going to check the seating plan. Just so that she could see if she could find Malachi.
And now he’d found her.
If he’d come to say what she feared then she had only herself to blame. She should have told him herself. The unspoken accusations already bombarding her were her own fault for being such a coward. And the longer the silence the more forcefully they hurtled into her, leaving her edgy and agitated and full of apprehension—and something else which she didn’t care to examine too closely at all.
As if Malachi knew that the uncer
tainty was unsettling her, he seemed to be prolonging it, by not speaking another word until they were near the now deserted entrance, well away from the beautiful, well-heeled crowd bustling inside the ballroom, each jostling to set themselves ahead of the pack. Too many of them would be competing with each other to write the biggest cheques just to prove who was higher up the food chain.
It was disheartening to see just how few of them were actually there because they cared about the charity. About the kids.
Like Malachi does?
Abruptly Saskia pulled her head back to the present just as Malachi stopped, turning her to face him before he released her. The fierce, furious expression on his face was one she hadn’t ever seen before, but she feared she could read it in an instant.
‘It’s mine.’
So that answered that question, at least.
Malachi knew she was pregnant, and whether Babette had told him, or someone else had, it hardly seemed to matter now.
Saskia fought to breathe. It was as though someone was sitting on her chest, squashing her lungs, stealing her air. Perhaps it was at the sight of the utterly masculine, foreboding figure in front of her. Or maybe it was because he was suddenly watching her with a cold, hostile expression in those eyes, when up until now she’d only ever known them to be kind and friendly—the colour of the richest, warmest cognac in his enviable drinks cabinet.
Every thought fell from her head, and everything tumbled around her. Her heart accelerated so fast she could barely even feel it. Or maybe it simply stopped.
And then suddenly a sense of calm overtook her and she knew she couldn’t deny it. There was only one thing she could say.
‘Yes.’
