CHAPTER ELEVEN
BELLA spent that night alone in the spare room, most of it awake, plotting her way out of there. She was mortified at what Owen had said and what she’d said—and spent hours deciding on the truth of it all. This was just sex for him, and his efforts to help her out—the dress, the website, the way he cooked her dinner—was simply him. He’d stop and help an old lady cross the street—that didn’t mean he was on his way to falling in love with her.
She was such a fool. And that was the point, wasn’t it? She was such a klutz he couldn’t help himself trying to help her. Because that was the kind of guy he was. And now she’d humiliated herself completely by insisting that there was more to it. Of course he hadn’t been able to reply—he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, and he’d already spelt it out as plainly as he could: sex, that was all there was to it.
‘How’d it go?’
Damn. She’d hoped he’d have gone downstairs to work already this morning. Instead he was sitting at the table. She felt her cheeks warm at the sight of it. Truthfully, she’d forgotten about the audition the minute she’d walked out of it. Somehow the lines had come to her. She must have come across like an automaton. Ah, well, chalk another one up to experience.
‘Don’t ask.’
He looked moody. ‘I’m sorry I was so grumpy.’
‘I’m sorry I was so ungrateful.’ She inched closer. ‘I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Owen.’ Oh, God, this was awkward.
‘It’s nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘No trouble.’
That was right—not for him. ‘Please let me pay back what I owe you.’
His expression tightened more. ‘It’s just money, Bella. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters to me.’ She hated being in his debt like this. Hated that all she had to offer in return was her heart, and he’d never want that.
‘OK.’ He paused, stared hard at the table. ‘But only if you stay. I’d like you to stay.’ He paused. ‘Just until you get yourself sorted.’
There it was, the caveat. She’d been right—he couldn’t hold back the offer of assistance, but nor could he offer anything else. Now she felt too awkward to say yes, too awkward to say no.
‘OK.’ Her reply came out on a heavy sigh. She couldn’t see that getting herself sorted was going to happen any time soon, but she’d be out of here regardless. She took a deep breath and tackled the most awkward bit of all. ‘I’ll tell you as soon as I know.’ A few days to be certain, then she’d leave. She refused to think about what would happen if she was pregnant—that was altogether too scary.
He looked back at her, looking as sombre as she’d sounded. She knew he knew what she was referring to. And she knew how badly he didn’t want it.
The next two days dragged for Owen. He’d wanted to back off, but only seemed to be digging himself in deeper. He kept reliving that argument. She’d touched a nerve and he’d flared up at her, but he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true—had he? He couldn’t help the sickening feeling that he’d thrown something precious away before he’d even realised he had it.
Worse, he had the feeling she’d been the one hitting truth on the head at the end there. He couldn’t face it—couldn’t face her, until he knew whether she was pregnant or not. He couldn’t think until he knew. It was like waiting for a jury to return its verdict—were they going to get a life sentence? Either way there’d be guilt and bitterness. And it was worse than Liz—this time he was to blame. It hadn’t been Bella’s fault at all. The sooner it was all over, the better.
And yet he missed her. How he missed her. He practically had to lock himself into his bedroom to stop from going into hers. His arms ached with emptiness. Sleep was utterly elusive—and so was she. She worked long hours at the café and hid in her room the rest of the time. He spent more time in the offices downstairs to give them both some space.
But truly finding space was impossible while she was staying with him. And he wasn’t ready to ask her to leave yet. He still wanted her with a passion that was tearing him up inside and, more than that, he wanted to make things right. He decided a trip away was the answer. Just a couple of days. Regain perspective and work out what the hell he was going to do if she was pregnant.
She hadn’t mentioned it again. Whereas by now Liz had chosen names and been practically putting the baby on the list for the most exclusive schools. Bella was making no demands—making a point of it, in fact. She’d backed right off and had shut down her expressive face. He hated that too—he wished he knew what she was thinking and wanted to know if she was OK.
Owen had withdrawn from her. He was working later, not coming into the café any more. Bella munched on her small bowl of muesli and watched him pack his laptop into his case.
‘How long are you gone for?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Couple of days maybe, I don’t know.’
She nodded.
‘You’ve got the security code?’
She nodded again. She’d take the opportunity to find herself a new flat. She could move into a flat-share with some students. There’d be plenty of cheap ones out in the suburbs. That was her plan. This was the end of the end. She knew it. He knew it.
He glanced into the contents of her bowl and his cheeky smile appeared. She hadn’t seen it for a while and it made her heart ache.
‘You’re supposed to eat that stuff in the morning, you know.’
She managed a wry grin back. ‘Better late than never.’
Both their grins faded.
Owen listened to the flight announcements, took another sip of his coffee, gripped his bag that little bit tighter. He should have checked in by now. If he didn’t check in within the next minute or so he’d miss his flight. He looked into his cup—he still had half of it to go. It would be a shame to throw away good airport coffee.
Bella hadn’t said anything. She’d known he was running away—he could see the reflection of his eyes in hers and knew she saw the truth of it there. But still she was making no demands.
And wasn’t that what he thought he always wanted? No demands? For fear he wouldn’t be able to meet them? Because he wasn’t willing to provide the emotional support someone else needed? Damn it, Bella didn’t seem to want any kind of support. And suddenly it was all he wanted to do. He wanted to know if she was OK, if she was scared or secretly excited or desperately unhappy. He wanted to help her deal with however she was feeling. And he wanted her to help him too.
His heart jerked. Maybe she didn’t demand because she simply didn’t care. He knew that for a lie. He saw it in her eyes. Every time she’d taken him into her she’d been loving him. Just sex? What a joke.
This time, he couldn’t walk away. This time, he didn’t want to.
The taxi seemed to take for ever. Driving alongside the water, the lights reflected on it. The aeroplanes looked as if they were going to end up in the sea if they didn’t slam the brakes on damn fast. Was that him? Headed for a drowning if he didn’t skid to a halt soon?
The apartment was in darkness and for an awful moment he thought she’d gone. Then he saw the large lump on the floor. He flicked on the lights. She was huddled in her beanbag. He took in her pale face, her eyes large and bruised and startled.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He put his bag on the table.
She blinked, clearly gathering her wits. ‘What happened?’
‘Last-minute change of plan.’ He paused, inventing a non-excuse. ‘I managed to get out of it.’
‘Oh.’
He could see her biting back other questions and felt bad because of it. He wanted to answer her, wanted to communicate—a little at least.
He stripped off his jacket, wondering why the hell he was so buttoned up in a suit. It had all been for the show of it. He went to the bench in search of wine.
‘I’m not pregnant.’ Her voice was low, matter-of-fact. It took a few moments to register what she’d actually told him.
Not pregnant. No baby.
He was glad he was against the bench because he needed its strength for a second. He’d never expected to feel it as a blow. Never expected to feel disappointment. Only now was he seeing it in his mind, her body rounded with a baby, and then holding a child, his child. The ache that opened up in him was terrifying.
‘When did you find out?’ He managed to sound almost normal as he poured a large glass of red.
‘Just tonight.’
He nodded, took a big sip. ‘You’re feeling OK?’
‘Oh, sure. Fine.’ She mirrored his nod.
He searched her pale features again and knew she was faking it. She looked miserable. He saw the half-eaten cake of chocolate beside her. For a mad moment he wanted to sweep her into his arms and tell her not to be sad, that they’d make babies together any time she wanted to. She just had to say the word.
But he didn’t. He took a breath, another sip of wine and a long minute to regain sanity. He still felt lousy. Why—when this was what he wanted, right? No encumbrances.
‘Want to watch a movie?’ He walked over to her, touched her shoulder gently. Instantly felt a bit better. ‘You can choose.’
‘I already have.’
Then he noticed the blinking of the screen—black and white. Casablanca. Again.
‘Need anything else—ice cream? Wine?’
‘Yes, please.’
What she really wanted was a hug. What she really wanted was to know his reaction. At least he wasn’t doing back-flips and saying, ‘Thank God, what a relief.’ She didn’t know if she could handle that. Because even though she’d been fighting for independence for so long, the thought of a baby had intrigued her—because it would be his. She’d even lain awake and wondered whether their child would have his brilliant blue eyes or her pale ones. But he wasn’t giving anything away.
She decided to find out. She took the wine he offered, and was surprised to see her hand wasn’t shaking. ‘With your attitude to marriage there’s no need to ask. I know you’re relieved.’
‘I …’
‘It’s OK, Owen. You don’t have to hide it.’
He looked away from her, as if what she’d said had hurt. ‘I haven’t got what they need.’ His voice was low. ‘Children deserve more than an emotionally absent father.’
She frowned. Emotionally absent? Owen wasn’t absent—he was more real, more vital than anyone she’d ever met. She could see the trouble inside him on his face—something was stirring in him and she didn’t think it was altogether because of her. But what? And she remembered what he’d said—what his ex had said—that he was selfish. Why had the woman thought that? What had happened? When it was obvious he was generous, not just financially but in more ways than he’d admit. Suddenly Bella wanted him to see that.
‘Who waters your garden, Owen?’
He frowned.
‘Your plants upstairs,’ she explained.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Everything.’ She smiled. ‘That’s noticing, that’s remembering, that’s caring.’ She paused. ‘That’s all that children need.’
He was shaking his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They also need to be wanted.’
Her suspicions solidified as she heard his desolate hollowness. And even though the thought of the answer terrified her, she couldn’t stop from asking the question. ‘Have you been through this before, Owen?’
Owen owed her honesty. Then she’d see the person he really was, and this whole ending thing wouldn’t be nearly so bad—she’d be out of his place in no time. Because no woman would understand the way he’d reacted—especially not one who liked kids so much she actually worked with them. It would be over, and he could move on. ‘You know I had that girlfriend, right?’
‘The one who said you were selfish.’
‘Right.’ He grinned without mirth. ‘Around the time I was selling the company she told me she was pregnant.’
Bella nodded.
He looked away from her, not coping with the hint of sympathy he saw in her eyes. ‘I wasn’t remotely keen. I felt nothing. I felt worse than nothing.’ He took a breath and said it. ‘I didn’t want it. How terrible is that? Not to want your own flesh and blood?’ He’d felt trapped. He still felt guilty about that.
‘She was dreaming up names and was all excited and hanging out for a ring and I didn’t want to know a thing about it.’ He’d withdrawn and gone remote on her rather than admitting how he felt. Certainly hadn’t dropped down on one knee instantly as she’d seemed to expect he would. ‘It was a crazy time. I was working all hours negotiating this deal …’ That was no excuse; he should have been just a little more interested. But the fact was he’d been wanting out of the relationship for a while already. He just hadn’t got round to breaking off with her—too busy to be bothered. And he was still too busy to be able to think it through properly—he’d just avoided the issue for a while. Tried to pretend it wasn’t real, tried to swallow the guilt that came with that.
‘What happened?’
‘She was mistaken. There was no baby.’ She’d been late, that was all. When she’d told him, with red-rimmed eyes and a catch in her throat, he’d been so relieved and he hadn’t been able to hide it from her. That was when she’d lost it—screamed at him about how selfish he was, how unsupportive, that his heart only beat for his business. And she’d been right. He hadn’t wanted her or the baby or any of it. It had got really ugly then, and in the course of the argument Liz had slipped up.
It wasn’t that she’d been late at all. She’d made it up—there had never been the possibility of a pregnancy. She’d tried to manipulate him—cornering him just as he was about to come into vast wealth. And she’d done it in such a low fashion—because even though he’d known it probably wouldn’t work, his integrity would have insisted that he try. He’d have married her and she knew it. It was just that he hadn’t come to the party soon enough for her to get away with it. Whether she’d wanted him or the money he didn’t know—he suspected the latter.
He’d been viciously angry then and vowed never to be put in the same position again. No woman would wield that threat over him. He didn’t want it—marriage, babies—not ever.
‘She met someone else not long after.’ He dragged out a cynical smile, feeling sorry for the poor bastard she’d netted. ‘She married him, has a kid or two. She’s happy.’ She’d got what she’d wanted.
And he was happy too, right? Happy with his choices and with his freedom to focus on his work and on fun.
The silence was long. Bella was looking at him, expression clouded. He felt bad—the bitterness that Liz had left him with wasn’t for her. This hadn’t been her fault—it had been his irresponsibility. He’d broken his own rules, he hadn’t played safe—and he should have stopped fooling with her a week ago.
‘I’m sorry, Bella.’ He met her gaze squarely. ‘I should never have put you in danger.’ He didn’t want to treat her badly, and he probably would have.
‘I put myself there too, remember?’ She looked away, stood. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I’m a bit tired.’
He stood too. ‘You OK? Comfortable? Need a painkiller or anything?’
She shook her head, a sad smile twisting her lips. He knew what she was wondering—if he felt the same about this baby-that-wasn’t, if he had the same antipathy towards the idea. But he couldn’t answer her, couldn’t bear to think on it because it was hurting him more than he’d ever thought it could. And what hurt more was the realisation that she’d been right. He was a coward.
He watched her go. For the first time feeling as if he’d missed out on everything.
It had started out as the party from hell. The house had been tiny. The wind had meant there was no way they could be outside. The stereo system had failed. And there had been the most hideous boyfriend of one of the mothers who’d hit on Bella before she’d even got all the way up the path.
She’d worked hard to turn it around for the poor kid. Wished the audience of adults would just go away so she could have some fairy fun with the wee ones. In the end it had been good old-fashioned bubbles that had saved it—as she’d made big ones they’d spotted the rainbows in them. And then she’d read them the tale of the unicorn and the temporary tattoos had come out and the face paints and the magic of make-believe.
Bella parked Bubbles in the garage and braced herself. The week had gone quickly and she still hadn’t moved out. Still hadn’t the strength to leave the man she ached to love.
Now, with the payment from this party, she had no more excuses. She could give him at least some of the money she owed and get out. She’d phone her father for the rest to start afresh. It was best, because now she’d thought about it, she knew she wanted the whole marriage and kids bit. She couldn’t live with less. So she needed to get away and over him.
He wasn’t waiting to pounce on her the minute she walked back in. Instead he lifted his head from the paper he was reading in his big chair, took one look and frowned at her.
‘Didn’t it go so good?’
She sighed. ‘It was OK. But the house was tiny—and I mean tiny. And they’d invited twelve kids and all their parents were there.’
It made her skin itchy just thinking about it—all that close contact with complete strangers. The kids were OK. It was the adults who grossed her out. And she simply couldn’t perform to her best in an environment like that.
He shoved his paper to the floor and stood. ‘Actually I’ve been thinking about you and your parties.’ He paused, then words seemed to tumble from him. ‘Why don’t you use some of the space downstairs? You could do it up and get all the kids to come here. It would save you from lecherous uncles.’
Bella stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ He’d never want that—would he?
‘No. It might as well be used for something. It’ll get other prospective tenants off my back and it’ll only be used part of the time. During the week when my guys are in upstairs it’ll be quiet.’
‘Isn’t it a waste of your resource?’
‘It’s mine to waste.’ He shrugged. ‘And it’ll only be part of it. Still room for a restaurant if I ever want one.’
Oh, my, she thought as he winked. That sparkle was back and his expression was lighter and Bella felt herself falling once more, mesmerised by his vibrancy.
‘I’d have to decorate it,’ she said, half dazed. ‘I don’t have the money.’
‘I’ll loan you. Start-up costs. You can pay me back once you’re up and running. You’ll make it back in no time.’
She shook her head, stopped thinking completely. This was crazy.
‘Bella.’ He stepped near her. ‘This is what you’re good at. This is what you love. Every time you do a party you come home with bookings for at least one or two more. You’re a wonderful entertainer. This is what you’re meant to do.’
The idea was so tempting. Her own party space. She’d never even thought of it before. And she’d have such fun designing the venue … Unstoppable ideas swirled through her head.
He was grinning at her, as if he knew.
She inhaled deeply, shook her head. ‘Owen, I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Because things were complicated between them. She didn’t want this to be his latest idea that he’d set up and then skip on to the next. They weren’t together any more—were they? She really needed to get over him and on with her life. ‘I need to get out and find a new flat. I can’t stay here for ever.’
There was another non-committal shrug. ‘Maybe, but there’s plenty of time for that. Why not focus on building a business first? You could do the food too, couldn’t you?’
Of course she could—standing on her head. More ideas teased her—of menus and fun things and dreams and fantasies.
‘Tell you what.’ He kept talking. ‘Why don’t you just take a segment downstairs and paint it? See what you think. It might not be right as there isn’t an outdoor area. It might not work out at all.’
But it would work out. No outdoors didn’t matter, not if she created a grotto indoors. And she knew she could do that. And if they built a pirate ship the kids could climb up it and hunt for treasure and … and …
She looked at him. He was acting so casually about this. And yet, in his own way, he was pushing it. Batting away her arguments with a shrug and his usual ‘of course you can’ attitude. What was his real agenda? Was there anything more to this than a simple offer of help?
Her mind—and heart—leapt to the most blissful conclusion. Was this his way of keeping her in his life? On the terms that he could handle?
Probably not, she scoffed at herself. This was just his latest obsession. And once it was set up he’d be onto something else. She was looking everywhere for anything. But the little bubble of hope wouldn’t be popped. She’d keep on hoping, keep on dreaming. Maybe, just maybe, he’d wake up to the fact that there was more between them than either of them could have imagined. Or was it just her imagination going overtime again?
‘Come on, let’s go look at it now.’ He took her arm, half dragging her down the stairs. The space was huge.
‘We could partition it off.’ He stood, arms stretched out marking imaginary walls.
‘I’d have to get consents.’ Her trailing footsteps echoed. ‘There’d be building work to be done. I’d have to buy so much stuff.’
‘Yeah, but wouldn’t it be great?’ His eyes were shining so damn attractively. No wonder he was successful—he could make anyone believe in anything. Passionate, enthusiastic, energetic.
‘Look—’ he dragged her over to one corner ‘—you could have a little shop next door here selling things—like the fairy dresses and the tattoos and glittery stuff. And you could paint a mural—throw in a few tigers.’
She was amazed. ‘You’ve really thought about this.’
‘Sure.’
She could have different themed parties—art, beading, pirates, jungles, teddy bears’ picnics—the list was endless. His enthusiasm infected her—bubbling through her veins.
‘Owen.’ She was shaking her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile.
He smiled back at her. And then he stepped closer, his hands on her arms. She only needed to take a step forward to touch him—and she wanted to touch him so much.
‘Think about it,’ he said softly.
She was. She read the offer deep within him. On a plate he was handing her everything she could ever want—anything material. But what she really wanted wasn’t a tangible thing. And he didn’t think he had it to give. But he did—and so badly she wanted him to give it to her. She was a fool, such a fool, but his blue eyes shone even more brilliantly and she couldn’t ever say no—not when he looked at her like that.
He whispered again. ‘I’m going to kiss you, Bella. So if you don’t want me to, you better speak up now.’
Pure, deep, hopeless longing overcame her, rendering her silent, waiting and so willing for whatever he wanted.
But it wasn’t the fiercely passionate kiss she expected. It was soft and sweet and so gentle. He stepped closer, his hands lifting to frame her face—so tender. She felt her eyes prickle. She closed them quickly and the bliss simply increased. It rushed from both her toes and the tip of her head—meeting in the middle of her, expanding, taking over the beating of her heart.
Suddenly, somehow, they were on the floor and he’d rolled, pulling her on top, protecting her from the cold, dusty concrete.
‘This is bad,’ she breathed. ‘This is where the kids will be playing.’
‘No kids here now. Only a couple of adults. Consenting.’
‘Oh, yes.’