you know the way.’
‘All right.’ His grey eyes were unreadable. ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then.’
‘What time do I need to be ready?’
‘The party starts at half-past seven, and it takes about an hour to get there. So I’ll pick you up at half-past six.’
‘I’ll be ready. Should I have dinner first?’
‘There will be nibbles there—but yes, I’d say grab a sandwich or something before I pick you up,’ Oliver said.
Ella noticed that he didn’t suggest eating together first, and pushed down the feeling of hurt. After all, she’d already accused him of being bossy. He’d probably thought she’d bite his head off if he suggested it. ‘All right. I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
She watched him walk out of the door. Had he just asked her on a date of sorts? Was he thinking about trying to make a go of things between them, and introducing her to his family was the first step? Or was this some kind of test she needed to pass?
‘You’re overthinking it, you numpty,’ she told herself crossly. She knew Oliver didn’t play games. He was simply introducing her to his family. Not as the mother of his child, but as… She didn’t quite know what as, but it was most likely he’d say she was his colleague or maybe his friend. And then, when he’d worked out how his family reacted to her, he’d find the right way to break the news about the baby. It was nothing to worry about.
‘We’re going to be just fine,’ she said, resting her hand where her bump wasn’t even visible yet. ‘If they don’t like us—well, that’s their problem, and we’ll deal with it if and when we have to.’
DESPITE HER BRAVE intentions of the night before, Ella spent Thursday feeling really nervous. What would Oliver’s parents be like? Would they accept her? He’d said that his relationship with them was complicated. Would the baby make things worse? Or was he hoping that the baby would be a bonding point?
But then again, how many people thought that having a baby would paper over the cracks in their relationship, only to find instead that the pressure of having a newborn made the cracks burst wide open? And that would be true of any family relationship, not just that of the baby’s parents.
She tried not to think about it too much while she cleaned her flat, and it made her feel slightly better when Annabelle sent her a text during her break on the ward.
Good luck for tonight. Am sure O’s parents will love you.
Then she went into Cheltenham to do her Christmas shopping, and all her fears came back. Everywhere she looked, she seemed to see new mums proudly pushing a pram with their partners by their side.
Tears pricked her eyelids. She missed her parents. And she knew they’d both be doting grandparents, always ready with a cuddle and a story. Would Oliver’s parents feel the same way about the baby? Or would it make their strained relationship with Oliver more difficult?
Plus it was still very early days in her pregnancy—especially given the complications of her own medical history, which she hadn’t yet felt comfortable enough to share with Oliver. The sonographer hadn’t said anything, but what if there was a cyst on her other ovary? What if it grew during the pregnancy and she ended up needing an operation to remove it? She knew that kind of operation wasn’t usually done until halfway through the pregnancy, to protect the baby—but what if the cyst ruptured, like the other one had?
‘Stop it. You’re borrowing trouble, and you know that’s stupid,’ she told herself crossly.
It had to be hormones making her all tearful and miserable like this, because Ella had never been a whiner. Even on days when the pain of her endometriosis had made it hard for her to crawl out of bed, she’d tried her best to pretend that everything was just fine.
And she needed to be on top form tonight, all smiley and cheerful, so Oliver’s family would like her.
Oliver.
Should she get him a Christmas present? They weren’t in a relationship exactly, but he was her baby’s father. Though Ella didn’t have a clue what to buy him. He never shared anything personal at work. Although she knew from the night of the Hallowe’en ball that he liked piano music, she didn’t know what he already owned. And she didn’t want to buy him something bland and impersonal like a bottle of wine.
She shook herself. She’d worry about that later. For now, she needed to think about meeting his family and hoping she could make them like her.
The shopping and the cleaning took it out of her, and she ended up falling asleep over her books. She had only just enough time to get ready, grab a sandwich and do her hair and make-up before Oliver arrived at precisely half-past six.
‘You look lovely,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ So did he, in a dinner jacket and bow tie—just as he’d worn to the ball. Evening dress suited him.
And she remembered exactly what it had felt like to slide that shirt off his shoulders and trace his pectoral muscles with her fingertips—and how it had felt when he’d unzipped the dress she was wearing right now…
Oh, help. She really had to keep her imagination and her memory under strict control. Tonight she needed to be on her best behaviour—and that didn’t mean doing what she really wanted to do most at that moment and kissing Oliver until they were both dizzy with need and ended up back in her bed. Especially as she wasn’t sure at all how he felt about her.
Hormones, she reminded herself. This is all just hormones rushing round and I need to be sensible. ‘Um—would you like a drink?’ she asked.
‘Tea would be good, thanks.’ He looked slightly wary. ‘I need to talk to you about something.’
This didn’t sound good. ‘Come in and sit down.’ She busied herself making tea; he didn’t say anything, which made her feel even more awkward. But she wasn’t a coward; she’d face this head on. ‘What did you want to talk about?’
‘My family,’ he said, surprising her. ‘I know I don’t have to ask you to keep this confidential.’
Because he trusted her? That was a good thing. If he was going to tell her why his relationship with his parents was tricky, it might stop her accidentally making things worse tonight. ‘Of course I’ll keep whatever you tell me to myself,’ she said, wanting to reassure him.
‘I don’t mention my family at work,’ he said, ‘because I want people to see me for who I am, not whose son I am.’
She frowned. ‘Your dad’s famous?’
He coughed. ‘My father’s the Earl of Darrington.’
It took her a while to process it. ‘You mean your family’s like a real-life version of the one in Downton Abbey?’
‘Yes.’
She stared at him, not quite able to believe this. She’d known
