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Her tone was incredulous and Ramon clenched his jaw, jamming his hands back into his pockets. Marriage ranked right alongside fatherhood on his list of undesirable scenarios, but he’d be lying if he said the idea hadn’t crossed his mind in the last twenty minutes.
When he remained silent, she opened her eyes and gave him a blunt look. ‘I’m not marrying you.’ She picked up the teapot and started pouring as if she hadn’t just plunged a knife into the heart of his male pride. ‘And besides...’ She set the pot down and straightened again. ‘Don’t you think all these suggestions are a little premature? I’m only six weeks along and—’ She hesitated, biting her lip for a moment, her gaze lowering. ‘Miscarriages aren’t uncommon in the first twelve weeks of pregnancy,’ she finished quietly.
This time her words cut deeper than his pride and he felt their impact like a cold blade under his ribs. The sharp reminder of history only strengthened his resolve. ‘I know,’ he said, deciding then and there on a more ruthless approach. ‘I’ve lost a child before.’
The look of shock on Emily’s face was swift and complete. Her hand flew to her stomach. ‘Oh, Ramon... I’m so sorry. That must’ve been awful.’
He picked up a cup and took a mouthful of black tea, welcoming the hit of warmth in his stomach. ‘It’s ancient history,’ he said, replacing the cup. ‘But, yes, the experience was difficult. My girlfriend miscarried and I was helpless to prevent it.’ It wasn’t the full story but hopefully enough to elicit Emily’s sympathy. With a hand on her slender waist, he guided her to the sofa, handed her her tea as she sat and pressed home his advantage. ‘You’re clearly not well,’ he observed. ‘And you could have some challenging months ahead. Why stay here alone when there’s an alternative?’
She shook her head, her jaw taking on a stubborn tilt. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re pale and weak.’
‘I’m in shock,’ she defended. ‘I haven’t known about this for much longer than you have. And I have a bit of morning sickness, that’s all.’
He sat down beside her. ‘Your mother died in childbirth.’ He delivered the words as gently as he could, but still her face drained of what little colour it possessed. Ramon himself wasn’t unaffected by the statement. The thought of Emily dying evoked a dark, volatile emotion that tore through his chest.
Her hand rose to her throat and he saw her fingers tremble as they closed around the pearl. When her gaze met his, the naked appeal in her eyes reached into his gut like a fist and squeezed. ‘Can we just slow this down?’ she implored him. ‘Take one day at a time? Please?’
He inhaled a deep breath. ‘Slow’ wasn’t how he preferred to do things but he knew that pushing Emily too hard in her current state would be counterproductive. Which meant a change of tack was required. He expelled his breath, making a swift decision. ‘Of course,’ he said, then got to his feet and pulled out his phone.
She frowned. ‘Who are you calling?’
‘Someone who’ll arrange to have my things packed and brought over.’
Her eyes rounded. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘If you stay,’ he said, ‘then so do I.’
She stared at him and then she flopped against the sofa and slapped her hand over her forehead. ‘Oh, my God.’ Her laugh held a touch of hysteria. ‘You’re really not leaving.’
Calmly, he hit the number for the concierge at Citrine and put the phone to his ear.
Emily glowered at him.
He glowered back. ‘Drink your tea, Emily.’
* * *
Emily awoke with a violent shiver. She felt cold. She lifted her head and saw she’d thrown the duvet and sheets off some time during the night. She’d had a hot flush, she suddenly remembered. Was that a symptom of early pregnancy? Or was it more to do with the man who was sleeping in the spare room across the hall?
She squinted at her clock. Four a.m.
Sighing, she dragged the duvet over her and stared at the ceiling. None of this felt real. The pregnancy. Ramon being in her home. A future looming that was nothing like the one she’d envisaged.
Not that she’d ever devoted much time to pondering her future beyond running The Royce. Marriage and children weren’t things she’d allowed herself to dwell upon. Doing so had filled her with an unsettling yearning. A feeling of emptiness she could only banish by burying herself in work.
And there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with being a career woman. Not every girl got to marry the perfect man and have the perfect family, the perfect life. Look at her mother—she’d married a charming, handsome man who’d turned out to be a philandering pleasure-seeker and then died having his child.
A metallic taste surged in her mouth.
Oh, no. Was she going to be sick?
She tossed the covers off, sat up and waited for a moment to see if the nausea would pass. She should grab her robe or a sweatshirt, she thought. She and Ramon were sharing her only bathroom and she was wearing only knickers and a cotton...
She clapped her hand over her mouth, ran from her room and reached the toilet just in time.
Ugh. She hated this. Hated it.
