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Glancing down at her cup of coffee, Teddie felt her spine tense. The meal would soon be over, but she still hadn’t managed to say even one word of what was whirling inside her head.
Looking up, she felt her heart drop forward like a rollercoaster. Aristo was watching her, his gaze so calm and knowing that she felt as if she’d been caught with her hand in his jacket. Except he wasn’t wearing a jacket.
Just a washed-out black Henley and a pair of cream linen trousers.
‘You’re quiet,’ he said softly.
‘Am I?’ She felt her cheeks flush, hearing the nervousness in her voice.
‘Yes, unnervingly so.’ His eyes looked directly into hers and she suddenly wished that it was whisky, not coffee that she was drinking.
She frowned. ‘I’m just thinking...’
‘Whoa! I wasn’t getting at you. I don’t want to fight.’
He held up his napkin and waved it in a gesture of surrender, but she barely noticed; she was too busy following the lazy curve of his smile.
Her own smile was instant, instinctive, unstoppable. ‘I’m not looking for a fight either...’ She hesitated. ‘I was just thinking about us, and George, and...’
He sat watching her, waiting, and she looked away, fearful of what she would see in his eyes.
‘And... Well, I think we should tell him tomorrow that you’re his father.’
There was a stretch of silence.
Aristo studied her face.
Caught between the flickering nightlights and the darkness she looked tense, wary, apprehensive and he could sense the effort her words had taken.
Of course, logically, now he and George had met, it was inevitable that they should tell him the truth, and it was what he wanted—or at least a part of what he wanted. But, as much as he wanted to acknowledge his son as his own, these last few days had taught him that the decision needed to come from Teddie.
And now it had.
He exhaled slowly, relief vying with satisfaction. It wasn’t quite the hand of friendship, but it was a start.
His eyes wandered idly over the simple yellow dress she was wearing, lingering on the upward curve of her breasts. And anyway, he wanted Teddie to be a whole lot more than just a friend.
‘Are you sure?’ He spoke carefully. ‘We can wait. I can wait.’
He was rapidly becoming an expert in waiting. Shifting against the ache in his groin, he gritted his teeth and glanced away to the white line of slow-moving surf down on the beach.
Teddie felt her heart jump against her ribs. Incredibly, Aristo was giving her a choice, but to her surprise she realised that now was the right time.
‘I’m sure.’
And once they did then there really would be no going back.
She felt a spasm of panic, needle-sharp, like a blade beneath her ribs. Was she doing the right thing? Or had she just doomed her son to the same fate that she’d endured? A childhood marked with uncertainty and self-doubt, with a father who would cloak his absences beneath the virtuous task of supporting his family.
‘He needs to know.’ Hearing the words out loud, she felt tears coming. Quickly she bolstered her panic. ‘But I need to know that you understand what this means.’
He frowned. ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here.’
Pushing back her chair, she stood up unsteadily. ‘So this is all about you, is it?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
He was standing now too.
