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If anything, though, she looked drawn and distant, and desperate for him to leave.
His jaw tightened.
Obviously they had parted on poor terms earlier in the evening, and he would have to be emotionally tone-deaf not to see how annoying it must have been to watch Sóley settle in his arms, but surely she could take a step back and meet him halfway.
He glanced over at her small, still face.
Apparently not.
‘So, I should—we should probably get some sleep,’ she said stiffly.
There could be no mistaking either her tone or the implication of her words. She was dismissing him.
The skin of his face was stretched so tight he thought it might crack, and he was having to physically restrain his temper as though it was a wilful horse.
But he’d reached his day’s quota of conversations with irrational childish women, and without saying a word he turned and left the room.
* * *
Watching the door close closed behind him, Lottie breathed out unsteadily.
She wanted to scream and rage like her daughter. Her whole body was jangling, aching with misery. She knew she was being unreasonable and petty, and that she should be happy that Ragnar wanted to be a hands-on father. But she hurt so badly that there wasn’t room for any other feeling.
It had been such a shock, seeing Sóley reach out for him like that. Her daughter had always wanted her, before anyone else. Watching him settle her, she’d told herself that it didn’t matter. That it was what was meant to happen and what she’d wanted to happen and that she didn’t mind.
Except that she did mind.
It made her feel empty and cold, as though a huge dark cloud was blocking out the sunlight.
You’re being stupid, she told herself. You’re just tired and it’s making you think crazy thoughts. Sóley was exhausted. If he hadn’t been there she would have settled with you.
But that wasn’t the point.
She had been there and her daughter had still chosen Ragnar. If he’d been in her life from birth she would never have questioned it, or cared. Only having grown up without a father herself, she’d assumed that she took precedence and that his role was secondary...inferior. Optional.
She bit her lip. But those were her mother’s values, not hers, so why was she behaving like this? Why invite his involvement and then keep him at arm’s length?
It was all such a mess.
If only she was at home. She would go downstairs, where the range would be warm, and she would lean against it, absorbing its heat while she waited for the kettle to boil. And maybe Lucas would wake up and come and sit at the table and tell her some crazy story about his day...
She pushed back against the swell of homesickness in her throat. Thinking about family and her cottage wasn’t going to help. She needed to sleep, but the thought of lying in the darkness and just waiting for her body and brain to relax was appalling. Maybe if she made herself some tea? It would mean going downstairs, but it was what she would do at home and right now she needed something familiar.
Clutching the baby monitor and using her phone as a torch, she made her way to the kitchen. Thankfully, she remembered where the light switches were.
Signy had shown her how to use the stainless steel state-of-the-art coffee machine. But coffee was the last thing she wanted or needed.
‘What are you doing?’
An electrical current snaked down her spine and her head snapped round. Ragnar was standing at the other end of the kitchen, watching her steadily.
She stared back at him, her heart bumping against her ribs. Upstairs, with Sóley screaming and her nerves in meltdown, she had not really noticed what he was wearing—or rather not wearing. Now, though, in the quiet intimacy of the kitchen, it was difficult to drag her gaze away from his smooth, muscular chest, and the trail of tiny golden hair that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.
But never mind what he was wearing, what about her? She glanced down at herself, her skin suddenly prickling. Had her robe shrunk or did it always show this much leg?
‘I’m trying to find tea bags. Signy did show me, but I can’t remember.’
‘I know where they are.’ He walked across the kitchen. ‘Any particular flavour?’
