Love Islands: Forbidden Consequences. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
huffing out several breaths.
‘Sorry, that wasn’t fair, but neither were you.’ She flashed him a look of simmering reproach through her long curling lashes. ‘I may not be a perfect mother.’ It was a steep learning curve. ‘But I’m the best one I know and my mum is backup if I need it. Right now I’m going into my room to take a shower. It might not be a bad idea if you did the same—you look pretty awful,’ she lied.
Dragging a hand across his stubble-roughened jaw, he regarded her with an expression of stark incredulity. ‘You can’t close the door on this or me.’
‘I know that, I just... Why did you come here like this—for me to apologise for having Emmy?’ She lifted her chin and shook her head. ‘It’s never going to happen, and even if I had told you I’d have never let you convince me to have a termination.’
‘Is that what you think I’d have done?’ A look of stark incredulity spread across his lean face as her comment sank in. ‘Is that why you didn’t tell me?’
‘I had enough to contend with without having to fight with you too.’ She closed her eyes, a brief respite from the intensity of his cobalt stare. She tightened the hold on her towel before continuing in a slow, carefully controlled voice. ‘I know you don’t want children. It’s not like it’s a secret. That’s your choice. Mine was to have Emmy.’ There had been enough voices that suggested she shouldn’t, without adding another.
‘You think I would have coerced you?’ He struggled to hide how much the idea shocked him.
‘It was not your choice to make,’ she said evenly. ‘But don’t try and tell me you’d have been happy if you’d known about Emmy. We had casual sex and I got pregnant. Everything that happened after that was my choice, my responsibility.’
‘What world do you live in that you think my child is not my responsibility? I could have walked past my own daughter on the street and not known who she was...’ He closed his eyes and let the pent-up breath in his chest escape before fixing her with a steady look of intent and warning. ‘If you think I’m going to walk away now, forget it. It’s not going to happen and all the talk and protests and blame-laying is not going to change that.’
Lily’s chin lifted. ‘I might have been wrong not to tell you about Emmy—’
‘Might?’
‘You’re looking for a reason to be mad with me!’ she charged.
His pressed the heels of his hands to his brow and shook his head slowly.
‘It’s true! But you have no right to—’
His hands fell away and landed on her shoulders. Enough was enough. ‘Look at me...’
She struggled with all her might to resist his demand, but the compulsion was too strong. ‘I have rights. You may wish it otherwise, but I am the child’s father and I intend to play a part in her life.’
His hands fell away and Lily’s slender shoulders sagged in defeat. ‘So what happens now?’
Good question. ‘We talk. I’ll pick you up at...’ he glanced at his watch and thought a moment before adding ‘...seven. In the hotel foyer?’
Too drained to argue, she watched him go before turning and entering her bungalow.
She flung herself face down on the sofa and, feeling emotionally battered, cried herself to sleep.
SHE WAS STILL lying there several hours later when the maid brought her some afternoon tea.
‘Are you all right, miss?’
Lily pulled herself upright and pressed a hand to her head. ‘I had a headache, Mathilde.’ It was no lie; her head was pounding.
The maid made sympathetic noises and carried on chatting as Lily went off in search of an aspirin for her pounding head. Finding some in her flight bag, she swallowed them down. The scene from earlier replayed in her head as she washed her face and smoothed down her hair with a hand before returning.
The maid was still there emanating an air of barely suppressed excitement, which was explained when she tipped her glossy head towards the tray. ‘You have an important message, miss, right there.’
Lily opened the blank envelope that lay on the plate beside the basket of bite-sized savoury scones and sandwiches. Aware of the curious eyes trained on her face, she slid out the single sheet of hotel headed notepaper inside and unfolded it, and read it.
Six-thirty.
A man of few words and none of them please, she thought, experiencing a stab of rebellion, before reality kicked in and she thought, What’s the point? Save your energy for the battles that matter. A change of schedule was not one of them.
‘The man who left it at Reception is the rich Englishman,’ the maid explained, her eyes alive with curiosity.
‘Not all Englishmen are rich, Mathilde.’
‘He is,’ the girl insisted. ‘He arrived on a private plane this morning and it’s still sitting on the runway. The flight crew are staying on the other side of the island. I know because my cousin works at the hotel. The Englishman pays their wages while they sunbathe and eat their heads off. That,’ she said firmly, ‘is rich.’
Lily could not argue. And being that rich was usually equated with power, she reminded herself. A fact she had been in danger of forgetting, not that it was exactly news. The family at the big house were not exactly poor, but since he had first appeared in the Top 100 Rich List five years ago Benedict Warrender’s name had been climbing, while his number of visits to the estate had fallen.
‘So is he your boyfriend?’
It wasn’t hard to laugh at the description or ignore the dish-the-dirt invitation.
‘No, he isn’t.’ She felt almost guilty when the other girl’s face fell. ‘We really don’t live in the same world. My mother works for his family, my father used to as well.’ Lily felt a wistful stab of nostalgia for the time when their connection had been that simple and straightforward. But at least, fingers crossed, she had killed off any rumours that might be circulating on the island.
She kept the maid talking, delaying the moment when she would be alone with her own thoughts and fears. But inevitably it came.
Lily spent the rest of the day in a state of nervous anticipation. She would obviously have to compromise, but how much...?
She was ready early, too early. Luckily her holiday wardrobe was limited so by the time she took a last look in the mirror she had only changed outfit three times. Then she was almost late when, halfway to the main hotel building, she realised she’d forgotten her shoes. By the time she finally entered the main hotel building carrying a pair of pretty sparkly sandals, she felt hot and breathless.
Her eyes went to the clock on the wall: still early. Why does it matter if you’re late? she asked herself as she dusted the sand off her feet and slipped on the sandals. What she would have given to have had a pair of confidence-boosting killer heels with her. Chasing round after a two-year-old meant that heels were things of the past for Lily and, as she’d been coming on this holiday alone, it hadn’t occurred to her to pack anything other than beach footwear.
‘Miss Gray.’
Lily straightened up to face the girl who had emerged from behind Reception.
‘Mr Warrender said to tell you he will be outside at six-thirty.’
In case I couldn’t read. ‘Thank you.’
‘Can I get you a cocktail?’
‘Yes,’ Lily said, feeling in desperate need of some Dutch