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Margo couldn’t keep herself from wincing. How on earth could she tell Leo now? Considering what she’d said to him the last time they’d been together, he might not even believe the baby was his.
‘I can’t think about all this just yet,’ she said. ‘It’s too much. I have time.’
‘If you’re not going to keep it,’ Sophie replied warningly, ‘the sooner you decide the better. For your own sake.’
‘Yes...’
A termination, she supposed, might seem like the obvious answer. And yet the most fundamental part of herself resisted the possibility, shrank away from it in horror.
She hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t expected pregnancy to awaken anything in her but dread and fear. And yet she couldn’t deny the faint stirrings of hope, as ephemeral as a will-o’-the-wisp, that had gathered inside her. A baby. A second chance.
‘You do have some time,’ Sophie allowed, reaching over to pat her hand. ‘Don’t make any rash decisions, in any case.’
‘I won’t,’ Margo promised, but already her mind was spinning, spinning. If she actually decided to keep the baby she would have to tell Leo. And how on earth would that work? Would he believe her? Would he want to be involved?
She left Sophie an hour later and took the Metro back to her apartment on the top floor of an eighteenth-century townhouse on the Île de la Cité. As she stepped into the little foyer, with its marble table and antique umbrella stand, she felt some of the tension leave her body, uncramp her shoulders. This was her home, her haven, lovingly created over the years and the only real one she’d ever known.
She ran a bubble bath in the claw-foot tub and sank gratefully into its warmth, closing her eyes and trying to empty her mind for a few moments. But thoughts crept stealthily back in. A baby. How would she manage with her job? Childcare in Paris was expensive, and she was entitled to only sixteen weeks of maternity leave. Even though she made a decent salary she didn’t think she’d be able to keep her apartment and pay for the full-time childcare she’d need.
But far more concerning, far more terrifying than the financial implications of having a child, were the emotional ones. A baby...a human being she would be entirely responsible for, a person who would be utterly dependent on her...
A person she could love. A person she could lose. Again.
And then, of course, there was Leo. She didn’t even know if he would see her or listen to anything she had to say. And if he did...would he want to be involved in her child’s life? And if so...how much? How would they come to a custody arrangement? And was that what she wanted for her son or daughter? Some awful to-ing and fro-ing between parents who as good as hated each other?
Exhaustion crashed over her and she rose from the tub. She couldn’t think about all this yet. She certainly couldn’t come to any decisions.
* * *
As the days and then the weeks slipped past Margo knew she had to decide soon. Sophie had stopped asking her what she was going to do, but at work she could see the silent question in her friend’s eyes and knew she was concerned.
And then the sickness really hit. The faint nausea that had been plaguing her for a few weeks suddenly turned into something else entirely, something horrendous that left her barely able to get out of bed, and unable to keep anything down.
Lying alone in her bed, unable to do anything but crawl to the toilet, she realised how alone she was. She had so few friends in the city. Sophie wanted to help, but as a single working woman her resources and time were limited.
Margo knew all too well how short a step it was to destitution, to tragedy, when you were on your own. When there was no family, no safety net. If she was going to keep this baby she couldn’t do it on her own. She couldn’t risk it.
After suffering for a week, she managed to drag herself to the doctor for some anti-nausea medication.
‘The good news,’ the doctor told her cheerfully, ‘is that nausea usually means a healthy pregnancy. That baby is here to stay.’
Margo stared at him, his words reverberating through her. He had no idea, of course, how conflicted she was about this child. Except in that moment she realised she wasn’t conflicted at all. This baby was a gift—a gift she’d never expected to receive. And she knew then—realised she’d known all along—that of course she was keeping her child.
And of course she would have to tell Leo.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b193b05d-05f3-5b87-99dc-cb2529011809)
‘SOMEONE’S HERE TO see you, sir.’
Leo glanced up from his laptop at his assistant Elena, who stood in the doorway of his office on the Marakaios estate. He’d been going over some figures for a new deal with a large North American restaurant chain, and it took a few seconds for Elena’s words to penetrate.
‘Someone? Who is it, Elena?’
‘A woman. She wouldn’t give her name, but she said it was urgent.’
Leo frowned. His office was on the family compound in central Greece—the middle of nowhere, as Margo had so acerbically reminded him. He didn’t get unexpected visitors to his office here. Ever.
‘Well, why on earth wouldn’t she give her name?’ he asked as he pushed back from his chair.
‘I don’t know. But she’s well-dressed and well-spoken. I thought perhaps...’
Elena trailed off, blushing, and Leo took her meaning. She’d thought this woman might be one of his lovers. Only he hadn’t taken a lover in months—not since he’d last seen Margo.
And he very much doubted Margo had come all the way to Greece to see him.
Leo’s mouth twisted cynically at the thought. It had been over four months since he’d seen her—over four months since he’d walked out of her apartment with that ring in his pocket. Four months since he’d let himself think of her. That part of his life was over.
‘Whoever this woman is, Elena, I find it decidedly odd that she wouldn’t give her name.’
‘She seemed very insistent...’
With a sigh, Leo strode to the door. ‘I’ll see her, then,’ he said, and walked briskly out of his office.
It wasn’t until he reached the foyer and saw the woman standing there amidst the leather sofas and sleek coffee tables that his step slowed. His heart seemed to still. And an icy anger came over him like a frozen shell.
He folded his arms. ‘If I’d known it was you I would have told Elena to send you away.’
‘Please, Leo...’ Margo said quietly.
She looked awful—gaunt, with dark shadows under her eyes. She wore a black wool coat that made her ivory skin look pale...too pale.
Leo frowned. ‘What do you want?’
‘To talk to you.’ She glanced at Elena, who had gone back to her desk and was ostentatiously busying herself, but was of course listening to every word. ‘Privately.’
Leo opened his mouth to tell her they had nothing to say to one another, but then he paused. He didn’t want to have this conversation in public—didn’t want anyone, even his assistant, to know his private affairs.
With a terse nod he indicated the corridor. ‘Come to my office, then,’ he said, and without waiting for her to follow he turned and strode back the way he had come.
He watched as Margo came in and carefully closed the door behind her. She looked bruised and exhausted, as if a breath of wind would knock her right over.
‘You don’t look very well,’ he said flatly.
She turned to him with the ghost of a smile. ‘I don’t feel very well. Do you mind if I sit down?’
He indicated one of the two chairs in front of his desk and she sank into it with a sigh of weary relief.
‘Well?’ Leo asked, biting off the single syllable. ‘What do you want?’
She looked up at him, and he felt a ripple of uneasy shock at the resignation in her eyes. It was so different from the way he’d usually seen her—all elegant polish and sassy sophistication. This was a different Margo...one with a layer stripped away.
‘Leo,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m pregnant.’
He blinked, the words taking him totally by surprise.
She said nothing, waiting for his reply.
‘And how does this concern me?’ he asked coolly.
She held his iron gaze. ‘The baby is yours.’
‘And you know that how? Do I need to remind you of what you told me four months ago?’
‘No.’ She hesitated, her gaze moving away from his. ‘The other...man...he can’t be the father,’ she said at last.
A rage so fierce it felt like an earthquake shaking his insides took hold of him. ‘Don’t,’ he said in a voice like a whip-crack, ‘talk to me of him. Ever.’
‘This baby is yours, Leo.’
‘You can’t know that.’
She sighed, leaning her head back against the chair. ‘I do know it,’ she said wearily. ‘Utterly. But if you like I’ll have a paternity test done. I can prove it beyond a doubt.’
He stared at her, shaken more than he wanted to admit or reveal that she sounded so certain. ‘I thought you didn’t want children,’ he said, after a long, taut moment.
‘I didn’t,’ she answered.
‘Then I’m surprised you didn’t just deal with this on your own,’ he snapped.
She put a hand to her throat, the gesture making her seem even more fragile. Vulnerable.
‘Is that what you would have wanted?’
‘No.’ He realised he meant it utterly. A child...his child, if she wasn’t lying. Yet how could he trust a word she said? ‘Why have you come here and told me?’ he asked instead. ‘Do you want money?’
‘No, not particularly.’
He laughed at that—a cold, sharp sound. ‘Not particularly?’
‘I admit having this child will be hard for me financially. But I didn’t come here to ask for a hand-out. I came because I thought you should know. You’d want to know.’
He sank into his chair, the reality of it crashing over him as he raked his hands through his hair. ‘Theos, Margo. This is a lot to take in.’
‘I know. I’ve had three months to process it—’
‘You’ve known for that long and you are only telling me now?’
Colour touched her cheeks faintly. ‘I’ve been very ill. Extreme morning sickness, apparently.’
‘Are you taking medication?’ he asked sharply, and she nodded.
‘It helps a little.’ She sighed and shifted in her seat. ‘The truth is, Leo, I didn’t know how you would respond, or if you’d even see me. And I wanted to tell you in person. But with being so sick I couldn’t face travelling all this way until now.’
He nodded. It all sounded so very reasonable and yet he still felt angry. He should have known. He should have had the choice to be involved from the beginning. And now...?
‘If this is indeed my child,’ he told her, laying his hands flat on the desk, ‘there is no question of my not being involved.’
‘I know.’
‘And I don’t mean some weekend arrangement,’ Leo continued, knowing he meant it even though he was still reeling from her news. ‘I won’t be the kind of father who sees his child only on a Saturday afternoon.’
‘No,’ Margo agreed quietly. ‘I don’t want that either.’
‘Don’t you?’
He gazed at her narrowly for a moment. He still didn’t understand why she was here. She hadn’t possessed enough honour to be faithful to him, so why would she care whether he knew about his own child or not?
‘I would have expected you to have had a termination,’ he said abruptly. ‘Or, if you wanted the child, to pass it off as this other man’s.’
She winced at that. ‘Clearly you don’t have a very high opinion of me.’
‘And you think I should?’
‘No.’ She let out a little defeated sigh. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘So why didn’t you do either of those things, Margo?’
It was the first time he’d said her name since he’d seen her again, and it caused him a sudden, surprising flash of pain. He clenched his hands into fists, then deliberately flattened them out, resting them again on his desk.
‘Because I am not, no matter what you think, completely without morals,’ she replied with a bit of her old spirit. ‘I want my child, and I want my child to know its father.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And more than that I want my child to have a loving, stable home. A home where it knows it’s safe, where its parents are, loving and protecting. Always.’
Her dark brown eyes seemed to glow with an inner fire, an utter conviction.
‘And how,’ Leo asked after a pause, ‘do you suppose that is going to work?’
‘That’s the other thing I want,’ Margo said, still holding his gaze, her eyes like burning coals in her pale face. ‘I want you to marry me.’
* * *
In another situation, another life, Margo might have laughed at the way Leo’s expression slackened with surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that—and why would he? The last time he’d seen her she’d sent him away with a scornful rejection, told him lies of infidelity that she’d known would make him hate her. And here she was now, with a proposal of her own.
‘You must,’ Leo said, his voice like ice, ‘be joking.’
‘Do you think I’d come all the way to Greece just to make a joke?’ Margo asked quietly.
Leo stood up, the movement abrupt. He paced in front of the window that overlooked the Marakaios olive groves, now stark and bare in winter, which produced Greece’s finest olive oil.
‘Your proposal,’ he said, his teeth clenched and the word a sneer, ‘is offensive.’
