His cobalt eyes gleamed with gratitude. His fingers rested gently on her cheek for a moment. ‘Spoken like a true corporate wife.’ He looked round. ‘There’s a snack bar over there. I’ll grab a sandwich to eat at my desk.’
He made one call during the taxi ride to his office, booking the ultrasound for Monday the twenty-first of April at ten. She wrote the date and time in her notebook as he repeated them for confirmation, realising it was the day after the wedding. When she would be recorded as his wife.
Ethan sensed a change in her. Was she too beginning to realise the enormity of their agreement, so simple in words, so complex and mind-boggling in reality? In front of the doctor he’d claimed to be the father of her child. He’d said ‘our baby’, ‘our child’ so easily. Now he had to fulfil the promises he’d made to Alina and his sister’s memory.
His pragmatic nature demanded everything be put in place quickly, privately. Nothing left to chance, no hesitation that might give anyone cause to believe he doubted his paternity. Even before she’d agreed he’d set up appointments without considering the effect on her. Even after learning of her loss he hadn’t deviated from his plan.
He hadn’t allowed for the reality—hadn’t understood the impact it would have on them both.
He reached for her hand, breathed in her sweet fragrance. She didn’t react; lost in a world he had no right to access.
The taxi was nearing his office. He tilted her chin, took in her subdued expression and almost told the driver to keep going. What could he say or do? Nothing until she was ready to confide in him. A quick kiss on her forehead produced little response. He had no right or reason to be disappointed. Only a week ago he’d walked out on her.
* * *
Alina’s head was inside the kitchen island cupboard when the intercom buzzed at about eleven the next morning. She’d just managed to reach the small can in the back corner and jerked at the sound, banging her head.
She walked over to the front door. Hesitated. Ethan hadn’t mentioned anyone coming. Would he want her to answer? Another buzz. She pressed.
‘Hello.’
‘Good morning. Is Ethan at home?’
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted at the high-pitched, cultured voice. Her mouth dried. She swallowed twice, rubbed her neck. Finally managed a croaky reply. ‘No, I’m sorry, he’s not.’
‘I’m Sophia James. May I come up?’
His mother—judgemental to the nth degree. Far worse than the ex-girlfriend she’d suspected. Should she let her in? What would she do if Alina refused her entry?
‘Hello? Are you still there?’ Slightly peeved.
‘Please come up.’ Denial only delayed the inevitable. In three weeks Sophia would be her mother-in-law. For a short time anyway.
She raced to her bedroom to check her appearance. After brushing her already neat hair she went slowly back, taking long lung-filling breaths. Waited, slowly counted to nine after the bell rang before opening the door.
Sophia James was the epitome of a stylish, sixtyish woman with all the resources to fight any sign of ageing. From her coiffured dark hair to the handmade high-heeled shoes colours matched, everything fitted perfectly. There was nothing soft about her at all. Not a trace of warmth in her red lips or in her flat brown eyes.
Alina felt an irrational zing of satisfaction that both this woman’s children had expressive blue eyes, clearly inherited from another family member.
‘Please come in,’ she said, standing aside.
Sophia walked in with an air of entitlement, scanning the area as if it were her territory. Scanning Alina as if she were an applicant for a lowly household position.
‘You are not the cleaner. Why isn’t Ethan here with you?’
Spoken as if she couldn’t be trusted to be alone in his home. She felt a twinge of insecurity, then pride came to her rescue. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. She’s Ethan’s mother. Treat her with respect. She’s the baby’s grandmother. That last thought eased her resentment. This lady would not take kindly to any of the traditional titles given to a grandmother.
‘I’m Alina Fletcher. Would you like coffee or tea? Ethan’s at work.’ She held back on saying, But I’ll bet you know that.
‘Mild coffee, thank you. White. No sugar.’ As if she were ordering from a waitress in a café.
Alina watched as Sophia stopped before entering the lounge, giving the area a thorough scrutiny before selecting one of the armchairs. Giving the impression that she had never seen the decor before. After popping a pod into the machine Alina joined her, staying on her feet to attend to the drinks.
‘You’re the girl with Ethan in the photograph a friend texted to me. You were kissing in the street, and now you’re acting like this is your home. Are you living with him?’ Blunt and insulting.
She made a point of staring at Alina’s bare left hand, made no attempt to hide her displeasure. Alina’s attitude swung again. How dared this woman question and insult her?
‘I don’t discuss my private business with strangers.’
Sophia’s lips thinned, almost disappeared. Her back stiffened. ‘I’m his mother. I have a right to know.’
‘Then perhaps you should ask him. Next time we’re in contact I’ll ask him to get in touch.’
It was a definite dismissal. Forget coffee. Alina wanted her gone.
The scathing look Sophia gave her was defused by the dull shade of red flooding her face. She rose stiffly to her feet.
‘Be warned, Ms Fletcher. You don’t fit. You may have him fooled for a short time, but his contemporaries will see through you as easily as I do.’
Her movement to the door was as near to a stomp as Alina had ever seen anyone do in heels. She followed, far enough behind so that Sophia had to open the door herself.
She turned for a parting shot. ‘Even suitable girls don’t seem to last long with Ethan. Your novelty will quickly pall for a man of my son’s impeccable taste.’
She swept out, leaving the door open.
Alina closed it, shaking with disbelief. She uncurled her clasped fingers to enable them to rub the back of her neck, tilted her head to the ceiling. What had she done? Apart from insulting his mother, and practically throwing her out of his home, she’d given the impression she had authority here.
Ethan hadn’t wanted his parents to know about her yet. A public kiss hardly equated domestic cohabitation. Should she have lied?
Her head reeled.
Should she wait ’til he came home to tell him, when she’d be able to see his reaction? What if Sophia rang him first with a distorted version of events?
Taking bites of some dark rich chocolate for courage, she debated the pros and cons...
‘She
