need.’
FOR TWO DAYS he avoided Ruby.
There was too much to think about—too much to absorb.
Any time he was around Ruby he was drawn to her and wanted to touch her.
But horrible little parts of what she’d said were keeping him awake at night.
The photograph part was easy. He knew exactly which picture to frame for Annabelle. It was embarrassing to think he hadn’t even considered it before.
He—and the advisors around him—had just assumed that Annabelle wouldn’t remember anything about her mother.
He hadn’t deliberately kept her pictures away from Annabelle—he just hadn’t thought to talk to Annabelle about her mother.
She was playing in her room now. One blonde doll seemed to be driving a racing car around the furniture and over most of the other toys. She was making noises again—a brrrrmm for the racing car and a gasp as the doll plummeted over the bedcovers.
His heart twisted in his chest. If Sophia had lived would their little girl have been like this? It was a horrible thing to consider. It meant facing up to facts—facing up to a responsibility that he’d thought he had fulfilled.
Ruby thought differently.
He couldn’t hesitate any longer. He walked into the room, keeping his voice bright. ‘Hi, Annabelle. I’ve brought a picture for you.’
He put the silver frame on Annabelle’s bedside table.
There was an audible gasp. It almost ripped him in two.
The picture was almost exactly at Annabelle’s head height. She tilted her head to one side, her eyes wide.
He could have picked from a million pictures of Sophia. Once Annabelle was old enough to use the internet she would find another million pictures of her mother online.
But this was his favourite. This had always been his favourite. It was the picture he still had of Sophia in his mind—not the frail, emaciated pale woman she’d become.
This picture had Sophia on a swing, her blonde hair streaming behind her, her face wide with laughter and her pink dress billowing around her. She was around eighteen in this picture and it captured her perfectly. It captured the fun-loving human being she’d been before illness had struck her down.
He had other pictures. Pictures of her holding Annabelle not long after the birth and in the following months. There were lots of those.
But all of those pictures were touched with inherent sadness. The inevitability of a life lost. He’d put some into a little album for Annabelle. Those were for another day.
She reached out and touched the photo, obviously captivated by the joy in the picture. That was the word it conjured in his brain. Joy.
He knelt beside her. ‘That’s your mama, Annabelle. She was a very beautiful woman and you look just like her. I thought it was time for you to have a photograph of your own.’
Her little brow furrowed for a moment. He could almost see her brain trying to assimilate the information. Her lips moved, making the M movement—but no sound came out.
He rested her hand at her back. ‘Look—your dress is the same colour as hers.’
He could see the recognition on his little girl’s face. His whole body ached. Why hadn’t he done this sooner?
A wave of shame washed over him. He should have known to do this. He should have known that his daughter needed this. But Alex had no experience around children. He had no relatives with youngsters, and as an only child he didn’t have much experience to draw on.
He’d had friends—peers—during his life. Sophia had been among them, as had his schoolmates and university friends. But he hadn’t been exposed to a life of looking after other people’s children.
His sole experience of children before the birth of Annabelle had been on royal tours, where he was expected to talk to kids and hold babies. That was all fine, but it only lasted minutes. It didn’t give him a taste of real life.
He looked down at the little girl in front of him. She’d gone back to her dolls and was racing them around the room again. Just like any three-year-old should.
His eyes glanced between his daughter and the photo. The wave of grief was overwhelming. Ruby was right. Sophia hadn’t just been his friend.
Would he have married her if she hadn’t been sick? Probably not. Their relationship hadn’t been destined to go that way. Sophia had had wanderlust. She would likely have travelled and married someone from a distant country.
But the genetics of life had changed all that.
He took a deep breath. He hadn’t felt the surge of emotion around Sophia that he felt around Ruby. There hadn’t been that instant connection. More like a slow-growing respect. But other than Ruby she was the only woman on this planet he’d actually felt anything for.
In his head it had all been about duty and loyalty. He hadn’t wanted to let his heart get involved. But if he wanted to move on with Ruby he had to acknowledge that she’d been more than just a friend.
He held his hand out to Annabelle. ‘Annabelle, honey. Come with Daddy. We’re going to go and put some flowers on your mama’s grave.’
Another tiny step. Another massive milestone.
When was the last time he’d visited Sophia’s grave?
He knew for sure he’d never taken his daughter there.
That was all about to change.
* * *
The changes were subtle at first.
The first thing she noticed was the picture in the silver frame next to Annabelle’s bed. It made her heart squeeze in her chest. One, because he’d done it himself, and two, because Annabelle’s mother had indeed been beautiful.
She wasn’t jealous. She couldn’t bring herself to be jealous of a dead woman. Those initial little pangs of frustration had disappeared. On dark nights—for some horrible moments—she’d wanted this woman never to have existed. Irrational and unreasonable thoughts had filled her head momentarily: Sophia had stolen those ten years she could have had with Alex.
All nonsense.
Life was life.
There was a gorgeous little girl running about around her legs and that was what she should focus on.
Her brain could be logical. It could tell her that she was there to do a job. It could tell her that she was the best person possible for Annabelle.
And there were discernible changes in Annabelle. Small ones—as if the little girl’s walls were being finally
