everything. The high-necked Victorian steam punk outfit had hidden the scars on her neck that had not yet been tackled, and the veil had added a note of mystery.
That night people had looked at her with intrigue and with delight. They’d smiled...they’d complimented her on how wonderful she looked. Their words had made her giddy with happiness. She’d been normal there. Like them.
And then he’d been there. The guy. The pirate. He’d seemed uncomfortable. Had appeared to be waiting for enough time to pass so he could make his escape.
She knew how that felt. She’d felt a kind of companionship with him, despite their not having exchanged a word.
It had helped, of course, that he had seductively dark eyes and a wickedly tempting mouth, and she’d almost stopped herself. She’d taken a moment to register the fact that she was attracted to a man when the very idea of that had been anathema to her for so many years.
But not that night. The costume, the veil, had given her a sense of bravery she hadn’t felt for a long time.
‘I’m Freya. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Jamie.’
‘I saw you eyeing up the exit. Getting ready to make a break for it?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it.’
‘Please don’t. Stay for a little while longer. Let me get you a drink.’
It had been crazy how emboldened she’d felt. Her entire body had been thrumming with adrenaline and serotonin, her heart pounding like a revved-up engine. She’d felt alive, happy, normal again—having a conversation with an attractive man, feeling the thrill of first attraction.
Silly. Childish, maybe, when she really ought to have known better, but it had just felt so good!
He had made her feel that way. The way he’d looked at her, his eyes sparkling with inky delight, his full lips curved in a wicked smile. He’d laughed with joy at her anecdotes, had genuinely seemed happy to stay.
She’d felt warm and wanted again. Desire had filled her the second he’d let go of the stem of his glass and let his fingers trail delicately over the back of her hand. She’d focused on that movement, watched his fingertips on her skin—her very sensitive skin. She’d looked up and met his eyes, and the most extraordinary question had left her lips.
‘Are you married?’
‘No.’
‘With someone?’
‘No.’
‘Do you want to be?’
She’d startled herself with the sheer audacity of her question. That wasn’t her! Freya MacFadden did not proposition strange men!
She’d pulled her hand away then, retreating into the shell she was so accustomed to being inside. But then he’d reached for her hand again. Not to stop her from running away. Not to try and possess her or control her. But just to get her to make eye contact with him.
‘I’m guessing you didn’t mean to say that?’
‘No.’
‘Then we can both forget it. Don’t worry.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t ever be.’
He’d been so kind. So understanding. So she hadn’t bolted and neither had he.
They’d continued to sit with each other and talk about what the other guests were wearing and why the charity they were there to support was so important. They’d laughed and had a good time, enjoying each other’s company.
He’d offered to walk her out at the end, and she’d let him, intending to say goodbye at the door. To fetch her coat and leave. For ever to remain an enigmatic stranger at a party that he would remember with fondness. Like Cinderella leaving the ball at midnight, only without the glass slipper.
Freya let out a deep breath. She couldn’t stay here in the bathroom for too long. There was a hand-over from the day shift.
Freya loved her daytime colleagues, and they her, but she was happy when they went home. Because then she could begin to craft the intimacy that the night shift brought. Lowering the lights. Softening the voices.
It was time.
She couldn’t wait any longer.
It was now or never.
She looked down.
And sucked in a breath.
‘I’m pregnant.’
She looked back at her reflection, disbelieving.
‘I’m pregnant?’
She didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or to cry, to gasp or anything else!
She was pregnant.
There was no question as to how it had happened. She remembered that night all too well. The father of her child was quite clear in her mind. How could he not be? Even if she didn’t actually know who he was. Or where he came from.
Their meeting that night had been quite by chance—as sudden and exciting and as passionate as she’d imagined it could be. Scary and exhilarating, and one of the best nights of her life. She’d thrown caution to the wind and felt fully alive again for just a moment. For one desperate moment she had been someone else.
She had gone to the ball knowing she would be able to hide behind her veil and costume all night. It had been very gothic-looking, high-necked, with lots of black and dark purple, layers and petticoats. And there had been a top hat, embellished with a large swathe of plum ribbon, copper cogs and whatnots, and a veil of amethyst silk covering her nose and mouth like a Bedouin bride, leaving only her eyes visible.
Her best feature. The only part of her face not scarred or damaged by the acid. She’d been lucky in that respect. Most acid attack victims were blinded.
Her dashing admirer had tried to remove her veil when he’d leant in to kiss her, but she’d stopped him.
‘Don’t, please. It’s better this way.’
He’d smiled and used his mouth in other ways...
Now everyone at the hand-over would be waiting for her, and they’d all look at her when she went back through. The longer she left it, the worse it would be.
She put the cap on the test stick and slipped it into her pocket, then unlocked the bathroom door. Shoulders back, trying to feel relaxed, she headed off to the briefing.
Okay. I can do this. I’m an expert at pretending everything is fine.
The staff were all gathered around the hub of the unit. Whenever a new patient was admitted, or whenever family came to visit, they would walk down this one corridor that led to the hub. From there they would be directed down different corridors—to
