style="font-size:15px;"> ‘This is the hotel I’m staying at,’ she said quietly. ‘Take the time to process what’s happening and then come and find me when you’re ready to talk.’
‘What is there to talk about?’ he asked roughly, not taking the card, not willing to risk touching her in any way.
He knew what he had to do. There was no point in wasting air discussing what was a foregone conclusion.
He’d walked away from her with his head reeling and the weight of the world crashing down on him. He’d intended to work all the stress out and bring himself to a point where he could trust himself to have this difficult conversation without exploding.
He’d got as far as his car when the implications had really hit him and he’d known that to leave her there would make him as big a monster as the world believed him to be.
‘We’re having a baby, Javier. I would say there’s a lot to talk about.’
‘Not for me there isn’t. If you’re carrying my child then there’s only one thing that needs to be decided on and that’s the date of our wedding.’
She blinked. ‘You are willing to marry me?’
‘My child will bear my name and if you want any kind of financial support from me then you will agree to it.’
Sophie was naïve. Damn her, she’d been a virgin, a fact she had neglected to mention when they’d been ripping each other’s clothes off.
If she had any illusions about him or their future relationship let her have them dispelled now. If she didn’t already know what kind of a man he was—and his failure to seek her out in any form these past few months must have given her some clue—then let her know now.
She would never know it but he was doing her a kindness.
To his surprise, a small smile curved her pretty lips. ‘You don’t have to threaten me. I want us to marry.’
That took him aback. ‘You do?’
Her throat moved as she nodded.
He laughed, a guttural sound that grated to his own ears. For all her naivety and surface sweetness, Sophie was already making the financial calculations of how being his wife would significantly improve her bank account.
But there was no returning laugh from Sophie. Her eyes did not flicker or leave his face. ‘Our child is innocent. It did not choose to be conceived. It deserves to know and be wanted by both its parents.’
He made no attempt to hide his cynicism. ‘If that is true then why wait so long to tell me? You must have known for weeks.’
He was no pregnancy expert but he had studied biology at school and knew the ways a woman’s body worked.
‘I knew within a week,’ she said steadily. ‘I could feel changes happening inside me. I took the test the day after my period was due, so I have known for certain for six weeks. Technically I’m ten weeks pregnant as the due date is taken from the date of my last period. I waited before telling you because I needed my head to be in the right place before I faced you again.’
‘Did you have to research the best ways to leverage cash from the situation?’ he mocked brutally. He had never met a woman who didn’t have cash signs ringing in her eyes.
Having more money than he could spend in a thousand lifetimes was good for many things but leverage was its greatest gift. He’d used his wealth to buy Freya and she, the coldly perfect prima ballerina that she was, had been happy to be purchased. It was what had made her so ideal for him. ‘Is that why you have set your path on marriage to me?’
But, again, there was no flicker in Sophie’s pale blue eyes. ‘I want nothing but what is best for our child.’
From the corner of his eye he saw two security guards approach. They would be making a sweep of the theatre before locking up for the night; the aftershow party taking place in a basement conference room.
If there was one thing Javier despised it was people knowing his business. His family had been fodder for the world’s consumption since before his birth.
He might still be trying to process that he was going to be a father but already he knew that he would do whatever it took to protect his child.
Rubbing his jaw, he took a deep breath. ‘Whatever you say your motives are, our unborn child is the only thing that matters.’
‘Yes,’ she interjected softly.
‘It is late. This is something that needs to be discussed when we have fresh minds. I have had an incredibly difficult day.’ She couldn’t begin to understand how difficult it had been. ‘My driver will take you to your hotel. Get some sleep. You look tired.’
That made her eyes flicker.
‘I’ll have you brought to me in the morning,’ he continued, now walking back to the stairs. He kept his eyes focussed straight ahead of him, no longer wishing to look at the woman who had just detonated a bomb into his already turbulent life.
The bomb was of his own making, he accepted grimly. He was the damn fool who had failed to use a condom for the first and only time in his life.
He was the fool who’d invited her into his home.
Their baby was the consequence of that foolhardiness and, as Sophie had already pointed out, an innocent in all of this.
She remained silent as she kept pace beside him, silent all the way down the stairs and through the foyer. Only when they reached the exit door did she turn to him and say, ‘What time will your driver collect me in the morning?’
‘Arrange that with him.’ He stepped out into the warm night air and strode to his waiting driver.
‘Take Miss Johnson to her hotel,’ he said, then, without a word of goodbye or a second glance at her, set off for his home.
He could feel Sophie’s gaze upon him but kept his sight fixed ahead, increasing his pace.
As he power-walked the three miles to his home, the memories he’d spent two months suppressing came back to him with crystal clarity.
He’d woken that fateful day to the news Freya and Benjamin had married and a barrage of hate mail. Someone had leaked his personal email address online and keyboard warriors had had an excellent time aiming their poisoned ire at him. So angry had he been that he’d dismissed his household staff for the day.
His rage was best kept private. It was safer that way. For everyone.
And then his intercom had rung and he’d looked through the monitor to see Sophie standing there, a thick folder in her arms, which, she had claimed over the intercom, contained private documents of his.
He’d recognised her immediately. Freya’s dance colleague and flatmate. The wallflower who had never met his eye on the few occasions he’d been in her presence. If anyone had inside information on Freya and Benjamin’s treachery that he could use to his advantage it would be her.
It had been a baking summer’s day.
