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She gave a little huff of frustration. ‘Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as signing a contract, nothing more.’
‘Signing a contract of marriage, Ivy. And you still haven’t told me why.’
Now that he had her glass, Ivy had transferred her fidgeting to her fingers—tangling and twining them together.
Had she really thought he’d agree, just like that? An offer of a crazy amount of money and all sorted? Even if her proposal made no sense on any level?
He studied her. Was she was so detached and separate from reality in her billionaire’s turret that she truly believed that money could buy her anything? It was his immediate and rather angry conclusion.
He could feel every sinew in his body tense in frustration at the thought of the level of entitlement, of arrogance that would lead to such an assumption...
But now as he looked at Ivy, it didn’t fit. He hadn’t seen it in her in Bali, and he still didn’t recognise it now.
Sure, she was still some distance from normal, but he knew it wasn’t entitlement, or arrogance, that had triggered her plan.
It was something he could understand. That he could recognise.
It was desperation.
* * *
Ivy didn’t know what to do now.
Maybe he was right. Maybe pregnancy hormones had sent her loopy, because, honestly—had she really thought he’d just agree?
In her experience some people could be bought for the right price. Actually, make that many, many people. But nothing about Angus had indicated to her that he was one of those people. In fact, if she’d spent even a minute properly considering her plan, she would’ve seen this fatal flaw.
Which of course was the problem. She hadn’t spent any time thinking about it, at least not thinking about such pesky details like: what if he doesn’t agree? Because she’d been clinging to this plan as if it were a rope suspended over the abyss that was her pregnancy, and she just couldn’t, could not, let it go.
But, the thing was, if this plan had something to do with mineral exploration or extraction, she certainly wouldn’t give up this early in the fight.
And that meant that she’d have to—at least partly—answer his question.
‘When I turn thirty-two,’ she said, looking him in the eye just as she always did during business negotiations, ‘my mother will relinquish her position as Chief Executive Officer of Molyneux Mining to me. It’s the same age she was when my grandfather died and left her the company, and this has been planned literally from when I was born.’ She paused. ‘I turn thirty-two in July next year. Based on some useful internet calculators—pending me seeing a doctor—our baby will arrive approximately one week before that date.’
Our baby. A slip of the tongue, but Angus displayed no reaction.
‘Although the succession plan was determined before my birth, I can assure you that I want this too. I’m very different from my mother in many ways.’ A huge understatement. ‘But in this way, we are in sync. We both live for Molyneux Mining. This is incredibly important to me.’
It is everything to me, she almost added. But somehow she didn’t think that would help.
It was near impossible to read Angus’s expression, but he nodded. ‘I get that you love your job. I get that you don’t want to give that up. What has this got to do with marrying me?’
‘About ten years ago just under half of Molyneux Mining was listed on the Australian Stock Exchange. We’re still majority family owned, but I report to a board of executives, as well as to our shareholders. We also have a number of significant projects in progress, including a joint venture to mine manganese in the Pilbara, which is reaching final negotiations. It is also widely known that I will take over Molyneux Mining next year, and that we are already in a period of comprehensive change management.’
‘So you’re worried that a baby will impact your share price?’
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, not the baby. No one had better think that a baby will impact my professional performance.’
Oh, how she hoped that was true. She ignored Angus’s mildly incredulous raised eyebrows.
‘It’s all about how the baby came to be here, that’s the problem. My whole career has led to my next birthday. Everything I have done, every decision I have made, has been with this succession in the front of my mind. I am known for being meticulous in my planning. For never making a snap decision, for never being reactive in my actions. Even my boyfriends have been chosen with some consideration for my career—I always do background checks. I never take anything or anyone on face value.’
Except she’d never done a background check on Angus. The only thing she’d cared about that night was how good Angus had made her feel.
‘So a baby is okay. But hot, crazy sex on a beach with a stranger isn’t.’
Ivy recoiled a little, and felt her cheeks grow warm.
Now her gaze dipped to her fingers. With some effort she untangled them, laying her palms flat on the table to force them still.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ she said. ‘But yes. Ivy Molyneux would never be that reckless.’
There was that word again. Reckless.
This time it triggered a remembered snatch of conversation, the echo of her mother’s voice from a time for ever ago: How could you, Ivy? How could you be so reckless?
‘But you were,’ Angus said. ‘We both were. I was there.’
His low words snapped Ivy’s attention back from a better-forgotten memory. And something flickered in his eyes. Despite all this, despite this situation, despite this conversation, she recognised it.
Heat. Not like in Bali, but still there. Despite everything.
She knew her already warm cheeks were now scarlet, but all she could do was ignore that. And, as she should’ve at the wedding, ignore this thing between them.
Or at least try to.
‘I know,’ she said, very softly. ‘That’s what I’m trying to fix.’
The shocking warmth of his hand covering hers drew her attention downwards again, and she realised belatedly she must’ve been wringing her hands.
She’d trained herself out of all her fidgeting and step counting years ago, but right now this unexpected regression managed barely a blip amongst everything else that whirled inside her.
As in Bali, his touch impacted everything. She knew her heart had accelerated, and her whole body now seemed focused on where their fingers overlapped. Completely inappropriate warmth pooled low in her belly, and for long seconds Ivy wished like anything that this were a very real date.
But then Angus spoke.
‘I get what you’re trying to do, Ivy,’ he said.
Instantly hope began to blossom inside her, delicate and beautiful. But then his fingers tightened gently on hers, and Ivy knew.
‘My answer is still no.’
And for the second time today awful, unwelcome tears filled her vision.
Ivy never cried.
But then, Ivy never did a lot of things she’d been doing lately.
* * *
She snatched her hands away from beneath his, and for the briefest moment Angus reconsidered his decision.
He’d never be this close again to the fortune she’d offered him. Would he regret it some day? Was living a lie for twelve months really all that bad given such a massive payday?
And a second consideration snuck into his subconscious.
Or maybe he should just do this for Ivy?
Angus straightened in his chair, subtly putting further distance between them.
No. He wouldn’t regret passing on the money. His parents had taught him the value of hard work and, in every aspect of his life, he’d never been one to take shortcuts.
And for Ivy?
No. That was a slippery slope he did not want to get on. When he was deployed, he never allowed himself to clutter his mind with those he left behind. It was why he would never marry, and it was why he had never meant to have children. It wasn’t fair to anyone to be shoved aside in that manner. But it was what he did. It was, quite simply, who he was.
So no, he wasn’t going to do this for Ivy.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel like eating,’ Ivy said, breaking the silence. She pushed her chair backwards a little quickly, and steadied it with one hand as she stood.
Angus followed her lead and pulled himself to his feet, more than keen to get out of the bar. Around them, other couples and small groups appeared to be enjoying their meals. A man reached out to stroke the cheek of his date. Four well-dressed young women suddenly cackled with laughter and clinked their wine glasses together.
Everyone else’s lives appeared to be carrying on beautifully, and normally, and yet Angus’s life had just irrevocably changed for ever.
It still didn’t seem possible. Didn’t seem real.
Ivy was already negotiating all the happy diners, and Angus needed to take several large strides to catch up with her. Automatically, he reached out and rested his hand in the small of her back.
At his touch, she went still, her chin shooting up as she met his gaze.
She’d done a poor job hiding the sheen to her eyes back at the table, and she was far less successful now. Again her gaze was more than wobbly, and he was reminded that he wasn’t alone in his shock and disbelief.
He felt he should say something. Something reassuring and supportive.
But he didn’t have any experience in this kind of thing. Hell, his ex-girlfriends had made it clear he was a complete failure at even the most simple of relationships—let alone what to say to the woman who had just announced she was carrying his child.
So he said nothing at all, and Ivy’s gaze just kept on wobbling.
‘Ivy!’
Against his palm, Angus felt Ivy tense.
At the bar, only a few metres away, sat a seriously glamorous blonde. Her hair tumbled in generous waves over one shoulder, and beside her was a significantly less glamorous man.
Ivy appeared struck dumb, and didn’t move a millimetre as the pair approached them.
‘It’s been months!’ the blonde exclaimed. ‘How are you?’
‘I—uh—’ Ivy began, and then went silent, simply sending him a panicky glance. Her body was moving now. She was trembling.
Immediately Angus slid his hand from her back to her waist, and tugged her gently against him. Even now, when he shouldn’t, he noticed how naturally she fitted against him. And how soft and warm her body felt.
‘I’m Angus Barlow,’ he said to the couple, offering his free hand.
Then for the next three minutes he scrounged every last ounce of charm he possessed to conduct the most trivial of conversations, while Ivy managed the occasional nod and single-word response. And then he politely excused them, and escorted Ivy outside as quickly as their legs would carry them.
Outside, the night was cool against his skin. His arm was still around Ivy, and in the cold it seemed illogical to remove it, given the flimsiness of her dress.
He was still walking briskly, keen to put as much space between himself and the bar, when Ivy came to an abrupt stop and disentangled herself from him.
‘Where are you going?’ she said.
Angus paused. His car was parked in the opposite direction.
‘I have no idea,’ he said.
And amongst all that had happened tonight, those four little words were suddenly hilarious, and he burst into a harsh bark of laughter.
A moment later, Ivy joined in, and they both stood together on the footpath, cackling away just like those women having dinner.
When they both fell silent, Ivy looked up at him again.
No wobbles this time, just direct, real Ivy.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
FOUR (#ulink_ababc92b-1415-5dbc-8bf2-48fd62aa3f65)
Ivy listened half-heartedly to her sisters’ enthusiastic gossip. They sat across from her, their finished breakfast plates pushed aside. To her left sat Ivy’s mother, nursing a mug full of cappuccino.
Around them, Sunday morning at the exclusive beachside café was a buzz of activity. Ivy found herself picking up random snippets of conversation: the waiter two tables to her right repeating an order; an older man complaining at the lateness of his grandson; and from somewhere behind her a high-pitched: Really? followed by raucous laughter.
Their table abutted a wall of bi-fold windows, their louvred glass panes opened to welcome the salty breeze. Beneath them, keen sunbathers lay on brightly coloured towels in an irregular patchwork. It was an unusually warm October day, and Cottesloe Beach was, it seemed, the place to be.
It had worked out perfectly, really. Her family—just Mila, April and her mother—had dinner every second Sunday. But this weekend she’d suggested breakfast instead, so here they were.
The weather would be perfect for it! she’d said.
And everyone agreed.
As lies went, it was very much the whitest of them, but it still sat so uncomfortably. All to avoid refusing a glass of wine.
She was so close to her sisters, as different as they were. Mila, with her chocolate-brown curls and brilliant smile, was the baby, and the family artist. Never much interested in study, she’d barely finished high school before beginning a string of courses at TAFE—jewellery design, dress making, and a few others that Ivy had long forgotten. But then she’d started—and this time finished—a pottery course, and that was it. Mila had found her calling. Now she had her own studio, with a shop front for her work out the front, and space for her to teach out the back. Quiet, but opinionated and wise, Mila could always be counted on to see through the crap in any situation.
Then there was April. Beautiful, clever but flighty, she’d been the real rebel. She’d partied through uni, and still partied now. She’d completed her Environmental Science degree—chosen for its not so subtle dig at the way her family had made their fortune—but, apart from a few internships, hadn’t settled into full-time work. April brought sunshine wherever she went—always the first to smile and the first with a kind word.
And there she was. Ivy. The eldest by three years, she’d followed the script exactly as her mother had hoped: a diligent student throughout school. A top student at university, all the way through to her masters. Then straight to work for the family company, working her way up, just as her mother had, with, of course, a healthy dose of expected nepotism.
