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‘You and me?’
‘Yes.’ His tone held exaggerated patience. ‘Seeing as you are pregnant with my baby—yes. You and me.’ His gaze didn’t leave hers; his blue-grey eyes were utterly serious. ‘I know I’m not Mr Right, but it is the right thing to do.’
‘But you don’t want to get married. You don’t want any sort of relationship.’
‘I didn’t want either of those things, but now the situation has changed. I didn’t plan on being a father, but now that it’s happening I want to do the best I can, and that means being there for my child.’
Gabby picked up her orange juice, put it down again, tried to work out what to say, what to do. Eventually she shook her head. ‘No. I appreciate that you want to do your duty, do the “right” thing, but I told you—I never want this baby to feel it’s a burden or a duty. You can be a good father without us getting married.’
‘I believe I will be a better one if we are. I am doing this because I want to. For the baby. I know I don’t have to. I accept that it is perfectly OK nowadays to parent separately. But that isn’t what I want. I want to be there under the same roof, be there for the firsts, be there for meals, holidays, be there when he or she needs me. We’d be a family.’
Under the same roof... A family... The words resonated within her, made a sense of rightness course through her veins. Their baby would grow up with one proper home, the security of not having to move from house to house. But...
‘Yes, we’d be a family, but our marriage wouldn’t be—’
‘It wouldn’t be how you want your marriage to be. I know that. It would be different—based on liking and respect and physical compatibility.’ His gaze skittered from hers for a moment. ‘Not love. I understand that’s second-best for you, that you hoped for a happy-ever-after with Mr Right, but you said it yourself—Mr Right may never turn up. I think we could be happy—or certainly not unhappy. You also said you wouldn’t have children until you could offer them two loving parents and security. We can give our baby both those things. Together.’
Gabby’s mind reeled. Thoughts ravelled and unravelled as she tried to think, to consider the ramifications of his suggestion. Because whatever she’d expected his reaction to be it wasn’t this. Marriage was not what he wanted, and a marriage without love was not what she wanted—and yet he was right; the baby changed everything. All she’d wanted was for her mother to be willing to change her lifestyle for her. Zander had just shown that he was willing to do that for his child. Surely she was, too?
If they got married, their baby would have one home, wouldn’t have to move from her home to Zander’s in a constant cycle of change. It would have a family—Zander’s parents, his sisters—he’d have cousins. And... A stray thought crept in... And so would Gabby. Sisters-in-law who might become friends, parents-in-law...
Gabby closed her eyes, contemplated all those solid tangible reasons for marriage. But... ‘How would it work? In real life, I mean. Where would we live? What about my job?’
There was so much to think about. She loved her flat, but it wasn’t big enough for a baby. She loved her job, but did she want to keep working? If she didn’t keep working how would she support the baby? She wouldn’t live off Zander. So that answered that. But then...
‘Whoa, Gabby. Stop.’
Looking down, she realised she’d helped herself to the last remaining pancake and had been spooning sugar on to it in a continual stream.
‘I know this is a lot to think about but we’ll work it out. Do you want to live in Bath? Do you want to keep working?’ he asked.
‘Yes. And yes. I need to stay near Gran and I would like to stay on at least part-time.’
‘Then we’ll live in Bath.’
‘But you’d have to commute.’
Zander’s work ethos: another reason in favour of marriage. Zander’s work was his life; if his child lived under his roof it would maximise their relationship potential.
‘It’s only an hour and a half by train. Or I could get a driver...work in the car. That would be compensated for by all the other advantages. We’d be near my family, your job, your gran.’
‘You’d do that?’’
‘Sure. It truly doesn’t matter to me. A house is a house.’
‘No. A house is a home—I want my child to have a home. I need a home.’
‘Of course. I’ll leave all that to you.’
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The words triggered a sense of sadness, a reminder of the terms of this marriage—in her dreams of Mr Right they’d picked furniture together, debated every purchase, painted walls, chosen wallpaper for the nursery. This would be another fake relationship with Zander, but this time it would have no end date.
As if he’d picked up the motes of her dissolved dreams in the air he frowned, reached out and gently touched her cheek. ‘We don’t have to get married. I won’t try to bulldoze you into it. I get that you may want to hold out for Mr Right, and I don’t want to make you give up a dream if you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. But if we do get married I will need an assurance that you won’t still be on the lookout.’
Outrage jolted into a welcome spark of anger. ‘I wouldn’t do that. If I marry you, Zander, I’ll honour my vows and my commitment—and I’ll expect you to do the same.’
Unlike Miles and Steve. Another advantage to this type of marriage: it wouldn’t turn her into an insecure, needy nutcase. There would be rules, a maintenance manual she would understand because she would help write it.
