was sacked!’ Mia broke in, her voice choking with emotion at the memory of her father’s strained face, the utter devastation as he’d slumped in his chair that afternoon, told Mia that after twenty years of devoted service the Carvelles had accused him of theft. ‘And worse, he was expected to be grateful that you hadn’t called the police…’
‘He was fiddling the books, Mia…’ Ethan’s voice was pure ice, his stance unequivocal, but seeing her lie back on the pillow, the swell of her stomach beneath the white sheet, witnessing firsthand the utter exhaustion and devastation on her proud face as she lay struggling to hold it together, he chose to relent.
‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’
‘Which I am.’
‘Not according to the doctor,’ Ethan pointed out, but his voice was gentler now. ‘He seems to think that you’re not well at all.’
‘This isn’t your problem.’
‘I know.’
‘In fact…’ Mia’s voice gave an involuntary wobble but she quickly recovered ‘…this has absolutely nothing to do with you.’
‘Thank God,’ Ethan muttered, flashing a malevolent smile, just to show he was still in control. ‘So I take it you want me to go?’
Mia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ethan leaving was the last thing she wanted, but it was safer, so very much safer this way.
‘I’ll let the rest of your visitors in on my way out, shall I?’
‘The rest of my visitors?’ She stared at him nonplussed, simultaneously kicking herself as she realized she’d fallen directly into his trap.
‘I thought as much,’ Ethan said with a note of triumph. ‘There’s not exactly a queue of concerned visitors outside, waiting to drive you home. What about the baby’s father?’
She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, feel its icy rivers trickling between her breasts, her pale cheeks flushing as Ethan’s eyes bored into her, running a tongue over impossibly dry lips as she carefully chose her words.
‘He’s not in the picture any more.’
His breath hissed out, the longest silence followed by the sharpest of words. ‘Another “passing acquaintance”, I presume.’
‘Much more than that.’ She stared at him, eyes glittering in pain, honesty a breath away but she held it in.
‘So tell me, Mia, are you planning to drive yourself home?’
‘Of course. I’m fine!”
‘Not according to this you’re not.’ Picking up her chart, he skimmed his eyes down it; not like a normal person, though, Mia noted. Normal people squinted at charts upside down, made sure no one was looking as they tried to decipher what had been written, but Ethan Carvelle, damn him, was holding the chart and reading it authoritatively as if he were the blessed consultant. ‘It says here that you’re underweight, dehydrated and your blood pressure’s way too high.’
‘Of course it’s high.’ Mia’s voice was rising now. ‘I’ve spent the last few months driving up and down the mountains every day to visit Richard as well as trying to keep the gallery going…’
‘Gallery?’
‘My old studio. The one my father…’
‘The one where we…’ His voice trailed off as he apparently realised the danger in pursuing that line of questioning. The fact they had first made love there had no bearing on today. Could never have any bearing now.
‘It’s a gallery now,’ Mia said instead for him. ‘And the reason my blood pressure is up is because, not only have I been neglecting it of late, not only am I way behind with some paintings I’ve been commissioned to do, I’ve also just lost my best friend in the whole world…’ her voice wobbled, the tiniest, most irrelevant of problems surfacing now, an attempt perhaps to drag her mind away from the true preposterousness of her situation ‘…and to top it all I’m on a two-hour park in the middle of the city…’
Tears started then, horrible, uninvited tears that she didn’t want him to witness, that she didn’t want to stoop to, but, seeing him there, another layer of emotion on top of her hellish day was all too much and the tension, the utter, unbearable tension that had been holding her together, snapped then, whipping her reserve away as sobs drenched her fatigued body. Ethan was over in a second, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly. It was the only place on earth she wanted to be, the only place she had ever truly belonged. And even though it was wrong, even though it could surely only complicate things, right here, right now she needed him. She wanted those strong arms to hold her and needed just a fraction of the strength that was Ethan Carvelle. Even though it was only transitory, and for all the wrong reasons, she allowed herself the indulgence of being held by him, of just letting go and leaning on him for a tiny while.
‘I don’t pretend to know a thing about art—’ his voice was low and deep and comforting ‘—and I know I don’t mean a thing to you compared to Richard…’ She inhaled his scent, dragged on his strength, even moved her head a fraction in denial. Nothing could ever replace Richard, but Ethan was everything to her, always had been, and always would be, but sensibility prevailed, holding her back at the final moment, keeping in what could never, ever be said. ‘But if a car needs moving, then I’m your man.’
The flash of humour was so unforeseen, so unexpected, it toppled her over the edge. Clinging on for dear life, she found herself letting go, really letting go, perhaps for the first time in seven years.
‘Let it out, Mia.’ His face was buried in her hair, her cheek against his chest feeling every breath he took as his heart hammered against her. His elusive scent she had chased for seven years filled her nostrils, and he was all she needed, everything she needed and maybe, just maybe, now she could tell him.
‘Ms Stewart?’ The doctor was back, an unwelcome intrusion, and Mia stiffened, but still Ethan held her…still she clung on. ‘I’ve just spoken to your GP on the telephone; he’s filled me in a bit on your history. I’m very sorry—I didn’t realize that it was the baby’s father you buried today…’
Mia felt Ethan tense in her arms. His breathing stilled for an impossibly long time, then tripped into overdrive as he broke away. But as he lay her back on the pillow not a flicker of his expression relayed his reaction to the news as her anguished eyes searched his. ‘Perhaps given the circumstances…’ the doctor droned on, utterly oblivious to the bombshell he had just dropped, impervious to the mounting tension in the room ‘…home might be the best place for you. I’d prefer if we let the drip finish, though, so we can ensure that you’re adequately rehydrated, and I want you back here tomorrow or at your local GP’s to have that blood pressure checked.’
‘Thank you,’ Mia croaked, dreading what she might see, yet looking for some type of reaction, trying to fathom Ethan’s take on the news he had just heard, but his expression gave away nothing.
‘Naturally, someone should drive you home.’
‘I will.’ Ethan’s voice was supremely calm. ‘How long till the drip finishes?’
‘An hour or so,’ the doctor answered.
‘Give
