wearing the green satin gown she’d attended the Blackstone Ball in what felt like several lifetimes ago. She had no idea where her tote had ended up and she certainly wasn’t about to ask Lukas about it. .
She’d barely spoken to him during the journey. The questions whirling around in her head about Nico in between the fitful sleep she’d managed on the luxury jet all ones she was too scared to ask as they were whisked from JFK to Heathrow.
Not that he’d given her much of an opportunity. He’d ignored her during the journey, working on his laptop and taking a series of calls during the helicopter flight from the hotel in Manhattan and on the flight across the Atlantic.
Bronte had been overawed enough by the whole experience—she’d never travelled in a helicopter before, let alone a private jet—without borrowing more stress by trying to interrogate the man about his intentions towards his soon-to-be nephew. But that hadn’t stopped the questions flooding her brain as he ignored her.
She’d stupidly assumed when he told her of the trip that he must be softening. But why should that be the case? Dread edged out the last of the hope in her stomach. What made her think that Lukas would be any better than most men? Her own father had discarded her and her sister when they were almost too young to remember him, walking out one day and simply never coming back.
Their mother had spent years searching for him, convinced he’d been killed in some freak accident, or lost his memory or some such fanciful nonsense, only to discover ten years after he’d disappeared—from a chance article in a local paper—that he’d been living in a neighbouring borough with his new wife.
Bronte huddled in her coat as the crisp morning air slid through the helicopter cabin and the vast black machine’s runners touched down on the hospital helipad. The memory of that hideous day still haunted her.
She could still remember the childish anticipation as her mother had dressed her and her sister in their Sunday best clothes and told them they were going to see their daddy. And the dispassionate look on the strange man’s face when he answered the door and told her mother he’d moved on. He hadn’t even glanced at Bronte and Darcy as they clung to their mother’s side.
Her mother had sobbed all the way home on the Tube. And the truth was Ellie O’Hara had never really recovered from that final terrible rejection.
Bronte had made a point of never thinking of her father again. Of trying to erase that day, so she could bury all those gut-wrenching feelings of inadequacy and insecurity that were wrapped up in her only real memory of him. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from replaying it in minute detail ever since she’d boarded Lukas Blackstone’s private jet.
Probably because thinking about her father made her think of the only other time in her life when she had been forced to focus all her hopes and dreams on the reaction of a man who had the emotional integrity of a stone.
The problem was, knowing what a bastard Lukas Blackstone was didn’t help. Because all it did was make her more aware of exactly how powerless she was.
What would she do if Blackstone refused to help Nico when the blood tie was confirmed? And, really, how good were the chances he would help? She’d had that momentary surge of optimism, but her hope seemed more and more misguided. What evidence did she have that Lukas was even capable of any emotion other than anger and cynicism?
Lukas left the aircraft with the executive assistant. Bronte scrambled after them.
Seeing Dr Patel and her wonderful neighbour Maureen Fitzgerald, who had been visiting Nico at the hospital while she was away, standing at the entrance to the heliport gave her some relief.
She was going to see Nico. After three days away from him in New York, she’d missed him terribly.
‘Mr Blackstone, I’m so pleased you have agreed to come,’ Dr Patel greeted Lukas with a smile on her face. ‘As I told your medical team on the phone, Nico is...’
Lukas held up his hand. ‘There’s no point in talking to me about the boy until we get the results of the DNA test. Then we can proceed. I believe my legal team have also been in touch.’
Legal team?
‘What legal team?’ Bronte asked, unable to keep the high note of panic out of her voice. She was jetlagged and exhausted; she needed to see Nico, but she didn’t like the way Lukas Blackstone seemed to be taking over. He was in the UK now. He couldn’t just order her or the staff around.
Apparently, though, Lukas hadn’t got the message because he barely spared her a glance before saying, ‘Perhaps you should go and see your nephew. I don’t think we require your presence while I take a blood test.’
She wanted to argue, to ask again why his legal team were getting involved in any of this, but as Lukas and his entourage were ushered down the hallway by Dr Patel, Maureen stepped forward to give her a motherly hug.
‘Bronte, it’s so good to see you. Nico will be overjoyed. He’s been asking after you every day. I brought the clothing you texted about.’
‘Oh thank you... I can’t wait to see him too,’ Bronte said, grateful for Maureen’s steadfast presence and the chance to change out of the gown. But as she craned her neck, trying to see Lukas’s tall frame as he disappeared down the corridor, a terrible feeling of foreboding descended.
‘And it’s such spectacular news that Mr Blackstone has come over to help,’ Maureen added, but the enthusiasm in her voice only made the ball of anxiety in Bronte’s stomach knot.
‘Is it?’ she said.
Maureen’s warm smile became quizzical. ‘What’s wrong, dear? You don’t look as ecstatic as I thought you would.’
Bronte sighed. Maureen had been her rock ever since she’d moved into the flat above Bronte’s a year ago. A retired nurse with no family of her own, she had been only too willing to step in whenever Bronte needed a babysitter. She’d been indispensable since Nico’s illness. And Nico adored her.
‘I’m not sure Blackstone has any intention of helping Nico, even if the DNA test comes back positive,’ Bronte said, voicing her fears.
Maureen glanced over her shoulder, but her smile remained relaxed. ‘Bronte, you’re tired. And stressed. You really mustn’t worry any more than you have to. Dr Patel told me Mr Blackstone made a million-dollar donation to the hospital’s charitable trust last night. And he’s come all this way. Surely he wouldn’t have done all that if he didn’t intend to help Nikky?’
Blackstone had made a million-dollar donation? The news stunned Bronte, but it did nothing to ease her panic, or her sense of foreboding.
Maureen squeezed Bronte’s arm. ‘All you really have to worry about now is whether Mr Blackstone is the match we need.’ The older woman’s smile glowed with all the optimism Bronte no longer felt. ‘Given that he’s the spitting image of Nikky, I think we can already hazard a guess what the DNA test will reveal.’
Bronte nodded, forcing her jetlagged mind not to go to places she couldn’t handle right now. ‘Okay.’
They walked down the corridor together to the children’s ward. Maureen left her at the door with another hug and an admonition not to worry.
But still the anxiety threatened to choke her as she rushed in to see Nico.
