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Libby blinked. There were so many conflicting emotions churning around inside of her that she couldn’t entirely figure out how she felt about that confession.
“An investigator? Like a private detective? Why? Did you think Clara and I had gone off to live with her baby daddy? Oh my God, did you think Chris was her father?”
Outrage. That was the feeling currently fighting for dominance over confusion, uncertainty, and—weirdly—hope.
He winced and lifted his haunted gaze to hers. “No. Of course not. I never once thought that.”
“There’s no of course not here, Greyson. When I left, you fully believed that Clara was somebody else’s child. So why wouldn’t you think it was Chris? Did you have someone else in mind?”
“By the time you left the hospital, I already knew Clara was mine.”
“What?” The fuck? “That was the very next day.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I want to talk to you about this, but we don’t have the time to get into it right now. I’m happy to go to your friend’s restaurant for lunch on Sunday. We can discuss it further then.”
Frustrated, because he was right—there wasn’t enough time to talk about this now—Libby nodded abruptly and got up.
“Fine. Whatever you want, Greyson.” She didn’t do much to keep the acid from her voice. If his pained expression was anything to go by, her sarcasm was more than evident. He stepped out of the doorway, and she sank down onto the bed, finding it hard to process the information he had given her.
An investigator. Some stranger watching her every move. And she hadn’t once sensed she was being observed. The thought gave her chills, and she wondered if Greyson was even aware of how far out of line that was.
And if he was being truthful about knowing he was Clara’s father practically since day one, why hadn’t he approached her sooner? Why wait four months? Nothing about this made sense.
She had so many questions, and she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to hear the answers.
“That was ridiculously childish,” Libby told Tina two hours later. The staff had given Libby a smash cake for her birthday, and it had given Libby a childish kick to wreck that cake. All she had to do was picture Greyson’s face as she smashed the hell out of it. Very therapeutic. She and Tina were now in the tiny office at MJ’s, changing out of their sticky clothing.
“But fun,” Tina said with a laugh, sounding more lighthearted than she had in weeks. That alone had made the entire messy, crazy cake fight worth it in Libby’s book.
“Yes,” she conceded. “It was fun. Thank you.”
“Admit it, you’re just happy you didn’t have to eat it,” Tina quipped, and Libby chuckled. Tina had baked the cake, and she wasn’t a very good baker.
“I think that was my real birthday present,” Libby teased her.
“Shut up, we can’t all be master pastry chefs,” Tina said with a little pout. She combed her fingers through her thick, damp hair, searching for cake residue. “I get it all?”
Libby cast a quick eye over her friend’s hair. Tina had been forced to wet it to get rid of some of the stickiness. “Looks like it.”
“Soooo . . .” Tina stretched out the word as she continued to toy with one of her long strands of hair. “I’m thinking of heading to Cape Town for a few days next week.”
“You are? Why?”
“I’m going to sell my flat.”
“You love that place,” Libby said. Tina had been so happy and proud when she had bought that flat; it was hard to imagine her willingly giving it up.
“I love this place more. I want to buy a house here. No point clinging to the flat when I’ll never live there again.”
“That makes sense.”
“And I want to meet Edward”—her new nephew, Conrad and Kitty’s baby, born shortly after they had moved to the Garden Route; Libby was happy that her friend was at the point where she would willingly meet a baby—“and Harris is leaving Australia today.” Tina didn’t have to elaborate for Libby to understand that she meant to see him.
“I know,” Libby said with a soft smile. Harris had sent her a birthday text earlier and told her he’d be leaving Perth today.
“He and I have some unfinished business.” Tina paused before continuing in a rush. “I’m going to ask Greyson to oversee management of MJ’s while I’m gone.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Libby protested, not at all pleased with the notion of having Greyson hanging about, bossing everyone around.
“You’re busy with the kitchen, Libby. Ricardo has his hands full running the floor. I need someone here in a supervisory capacity to make sure things run smoothly between the front of the house and the kitchen. You know that. And I thought Greyson would be a good choice because he could watch Clara while he was chilling in my office being a figurehead.”
