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“Probably dead. Hopefully anyway. He’s not my father, nor yours. Let it go Alex.” She chuckled about something beneath her breath and wandered over to the lake. “Besides, he’s got nothing to show you about being a father,has he? He’s just a miserable old man. We’re better off without him, as is your child when it comes along.”
“I don’t want it.”
She swung her eyes back to him, appalled at him for even saying the words. She was right to be. He knew that, just like he knew the sentiment wasn’t right inside him, but who the hell else could he say it to? It was the truth, and selfish as it might be, he felt better for saying it out loud. “I didn’t want this. She did. And I still don't.”
Life was a fucking conundrum. Still.
Chapter 5
Elizabeth
If it wasn’t for this bloody thing Belle’s conned me into, I’d be at home sleeping. I can’t even begin to contain my snippiness. And if Alex was here he’d get a piece of my mind. How dare he up and leave in the middle of this? I’m so bloody tired, and I don’t even know where Teresa is with the next van load of sodding cupcakes for whatever event it is that I making these things for. Which one is it for? I look down at the raft of notes. Oh yes. The Oliver’s sweet sixteenth. Yes. I’m on it. Planning is happening. Although, how the hell I’m managing I don’t know. No clue whatsoever.
Where on earth is Teresa?
My fingers wipe on the cloth, ready to call her and give her a piece of my mind, too. Of all the times for Belle to be in New York, now is not it. I mean, she’s needed there. I get that, but she’s needed here, too, and I can’t do all this on my own anymore. We’re three staff down with not a hope of finding new ones anytime soon, and she thinks parading around New York is a better option than being here to help me? Bitch.
Although, she is doing really very well.
My phone rings just as I go to input Teresa’s number – Lilah. I’m instantly unsure how I feel about answering. She’s been odd with me lately, just like Alex is when he gets in one of his random moods, which I’m no closer to understanding regardless of how long we’ve been together. Actually, that’s not true. It’s just been since this all this baby stuff has arrived. Oh god, it was all so easy before we tried for children. The four of us, working somehow, and finding our way. Now?
Oh god, I don’t know.
“Yep,” I clip into the phone.
“Pleasant,” she says, offering nothing more than that in tone.
“Sorry. Manic. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to come to Rome.”
“Not a chance, Lilah. I’m up to my eyes in it and Alex is in New York, and Belle’s there too running the other shop, and I can hardly breathe let alone get on a plane and come to Rome. I’ve got orders coming out of my ears and no one to do anything to help and I’m on my own and-“ Angelo, the new pastry chef, who is shit, walks into the kitchen holding up a batch of crap looking crème anglaise. “What?”
“Excuse me?” Lilah.
“Sorry, not you. Hold on.” I cover the receiver with my hand. “What the crap is that, Angelo?”
“I don’t know. It’s the milk, I think.” What? I look at it, testing the consistency.
“It’s not the milk, it’s you. What the hell is the matter with you? Make the bloody crème anglaise again.” He rolls his eyes at me and throws the bowl in the sink, splattering the liquid all over my non pristine anyway work surfaces. “I can’t even with you at the moment. What the hell was that?”
“Beth, you need to calm down and take a break,” he says, boredom coming at me. Take a break? TAKE A FUCKING BREAK? Oh my god.
I sling my whisk at him, wishing it was a fucking whip, and then strip the apron from my waist and storm straight past him. Sod it. I’m going home. I can’t anymore. I’m so bloody tired. And this event can go tits about arse as far as I’m concerned. I’m done. Finished. All of this isn’t what I wanted. Never. I just wanted my small bakery and to cook. It’s all Alex’s fault. If Belle had never won that lunch at his, and I’d never met him, and then he hadn’t invested in this business and made us all corporate, then Belle wouldn’t have opened the other shop in New York and we’d still all be on the high street giggling and laughing and-
“Hey,” Teresa says, walking into the front office.
I throw my phone on the table and start taking off my comfy shoes to put the heeled boots on that I came in this morning. I refuse to acknowledge the happy go lucky smile she’s wearing. Nothing is happy, nor bloody lucky at the moment. Everything’s a mess. And even the way Alex speaks to me lately is off putting, like I’ve done something wrong all the time. I haven’t that I know of. He’s the one who gets everything he wants, not me. I barely even get to see him at the moment. He’s either working, seeing Pascal I presume, or out doing something else that I don’t know about. And that mansion of a place I should call home feels enormous. And cold. So bloody cold.
“ELIZABETH!” What was that? I look around, wondering who shouted, quietly. Oh shit, the phone. I snatch it up again.
“Lilah, sorry. What was I saying?”
“You were rambling about things I’ve got no interest in. I need you in Rome. And Alex.”
“Why, is Pascal alright?” Not that I care about him either at the moment because he was snippy the last time we talked, too. Maybe they’re arguing. Which he should enjoy to be honest, but-
“No, he’s not. And neither is Alex, is he?” No, he’s not.
