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Parenting was full of rewards but it was also full of sacrifices. Living here with Fiero would cost her but it was the right decision – for Jack.
She ran a hand over his thick hair, trying not to think how much like his father he was, and then pressed a kiss to his brow. He didn’t move. He was completely, sound asleep. And yet she lingered a few moments longer, reluctant now to move through the house.
When Jack had been awake, she’d felt a sense of belonging and rightness. But now? At night, while Jack slept? A feeling of being an intruder, unwelcome and unwanted, shifted inside of her, so she spent longer than was necessary tidying his room in the dim light cast from the hallway.
When she couldn’t possibly delay any longer, and her stomach was groaning in complaint at the fact she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, she made her way downstairs.
She knew there were housekeepers and domestics who came to the house during the day, but at night, it was deserted. The nanny Fiero had hired for Jack, and who would apparently remain for the foreseeable future, had her own suite of rooms adjoining Jack’s, including a kitchen and sitting area, so Elodie imagined she didn’t come into the main house much at all.
Meaning Elodie was, to all intents and purposes, alone. With Fiero.
Goosebumps formed on her skin and her fingers trembled a little. She jammed them into the pockets of her jeans, making her way to the kitchen. She’d just put some water onto boil and gathered the ingredients for an easy pasta when a noise alerted her to the fact she wasn’t alone.
Fiero strolled into the kitchen and her pulse immediately skyrocketed, her eyes devouring him where he stood. He was wearing dark denim jeans, a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a suit jacket, navy blue in colour. She swallowed, but her mouth was so dry she could barely form words.
His eyes were coldly mocking, and the heat in her veins turned to ice. She jerked her head away, fixing her attention on the assortment of vegetables she’d been about to chop.
“I’m going out.” He walked past her and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, then two glasses. He half-filled both.
“Oh. Okay.” The disappointment was absurd. Minutes ago she’d been tiptoeing around, terrified to see him again. Now that he’d announced he was leaving she felt a wave of desperation. What had she expected? A welcome dinner? He’d made his feelings clear.
“Did you – want to eat before you go?”
“I’ll eat at the restaurant.” He slid one glass towards her and lifted his, his gaze locked to her face in a way that was disconcerting and caused adrenalin to spike through her at the same time.
“Right. Of course.”
She lifted her wine glass for something to do and took a sip.
“Do you still live in Earls Court?”
The question surprised her. It was conversational. Did he mean for them to truly try to make some kind of friendship out of the ruins of this situation?
“I…yes. I had been planning to move out of London a bit, to find somewhere bigger and cheaper, but the landlord ended up offering to convert the flat next door for me, so we had loads of space. It’s much bigger than when…that night… when you were…” Her eyes swept shut, mortification at the fact she’d invoked that night warring with the certainty she’d been babbling.
“Axel, my landlord – he’s really more of a friend, actually – has kept the rent reasonable. We’ve been very lucky there. Our expenses aren’t huge. And I inherited a bit when my parents died.” Grief perforated her, as it always did when she thought of them, and how much they’d missed. How much Jack had lost in not having them to know and love. Her mother would have spoiled him silly.
“I see.” His eyes were narrowed when she risked a look at his symmetrical face.
He didn’t speak for several moments and the silence was far from comfortable. It pulsed around them, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say or do to break it.
He took another drink of his wine, then placed the glass down between them, his finger tracing the rim of the glass. “There is so much I don’t know.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “What do you mean?”
A dark emotion flashed in the depths of his eyes. “How old was he when he said his first word? Took his first steps? Does he get nightmares? Is he a happy child? Does he like clowns? Dinosaurs?” His eyes were loaded with accusation and she felt it, all the way down to the pit of her stomach.
“There is so much I don’t know, and you are the only person who can give me these answers, but talking to you—,” He shook his head and pain lanced her. “I hate that I have to ask you questions like this about my own son. I hate that you’ve done this to me.”
Crap.
She swallowed, but the tears still formed on her eyelashes. “I know.” She reached for her wine, but the acidity of the drink combined with the aching in her throat, making her cough a little.
“So? Is he afraid of anything?”
Her eyes jerked to his. It was a mistake. So many feelings slammed into her. Regret. Hurt. Anger. Frustration. Desire. The last was particularly problematic because it complicated everything and she needed, desperately, to conquer it.
Her body wanted him but everything between them was too complex, too muddied by betrayal and resentment.
