Lizzy sank her teeth into her lip. Leaving without seeing Ian was out of the question. She’d blown almost two grand on the trip. Nearly one month’s rent money on a plane ticket. That wasn’t counting food, cab rides, or anything else she might need. She wasn’t broke, but she couldn’t afford to do the entire thing again in a week. Lizzy leaned against the wooden desk. The edges of her waistcoat parted, giving the receptionist a full view of her swollen belly.
“You don’t understand. I need to speak with Mr. MacHolden. It’s time-sensitive.” Lizzy cast her eyes down toward her stomach. Or where her stomach would be if her swollen breasts didn’t block it from view. “And I’m not leaving until I’ve seen him.”
“Oh.” The color drained from the receptionist’s face as she reached for the phone. “Your name?”
“Elizabeth…Lizzy Burdette. He’ll remember me.”
Lizzy pushed her waistcoat closed again. She glanced around the room, her eyes moving over photographs of men posed in front of stills that hung on the beige walls. The oldest had a sepia tone that caught Lizzy’s eye. It was skillfully staged for an old photograph, each of the dozen people in it stood in just the right spot in front of the still to create a pleasing composition. The photo closest to her featured a man and two teenage boys. They must have been brothers, judging by the family resemblance. One of the boys was Ian. He’d dropped more than one hint about running the family business, but he’d never said that business was booze. Maybe women in Scotland were snobbier than American women about where the money came from.
The receptionist’s voice brought Lizzy back to reality. “Miss Burdette? Mr. MacHolden will see you now.”
The interior hallway was warmer than the lobby. She rubbed away the beads of sweat that gathered on her brow with the back of her sleeve. Once she was in the office, she could take off the waistcoat and give Ian a good look what their fling had created. But for the moment, she was more concerned with not having anyone notice her. People tended to forget that just because a woman was pregnant didn’t mean it was okay for strangers to touch her. Another lesson Lizzy had learned the hard way.
As they approached the end of the hallway, the silence became more than Lizzy could stand. “Let me guess. He said he’s never heard of me.”
“Mr. MacHolden couldn’t place your name. He agreed to see you because you were so insistent.”
Lizzy bristled at that. “I have as much right to see him as anyone else. Just because I’m not bringing money in the door—”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything, Miss Burdette.” The receptionist opened the heavy wooden door. “Mr. MacHolden, Lizzy Burdette to see you.”
“Thank you, Abby,” he said, though he didn’t turn his chair around. The receptionist, Abby, dismissed herself. Lizzy pulled off her coat and tossed it onto the nearby chair, but didn’t sit.
The interior of the office fit the exterior. It was charming in an old-world sort of way, and unlike what Lizzy expected. A strange sensation tugged at her. Something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. She wrote it off as jet lag and the shock of being in a new place half a world away from anything familiar.
“I didn’t think you’d see me,” she said. “Since you left in such a hurry.”
The chair swiveled around, and the man sitting in it locked eyes with Lizzy. He was well-groomed and gorgeous, with tousled red hair and piercing hazel eyes, but he wasn’t Ian MacHolden.
A swell of anger washed over her, the power of it making her stumble backward toward the door. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I ought to be the one asking you that question, Miss Burdette.” He leaned forward, his muscular arms braced against the desk.
“I’m looking for Ian MacHolden.” Her stomach roiled. She’d expected a lack of enthusiasm from Ian about her pregnancy, but she hadn’t anticipated him to hand her over to a stranger. The darkest part of her, the part that took months to silence enough to make the trip at all, figured Ian didn’t love her, that his sweet words meant nothing. But she hadn’t expected this level of disregard.
The man’s brow furrowed and leaned forward against the polished wood top of his desk. “I’m Ian MacHolden, Miss Burdette, and I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
Lizzy pressed her back against the door as if the sturdy material would give her the strength she needed. As if the cold wood could counteract the weakness she felt spreading through her knees.
“I know Ian MacHolden. I’m his...I was his....” She didn’t know what to call herself. Ian had said all the right words, words that she’d needed wanted to believe in spite of herself. He’d even waited until she was comfortable opening her body to him, but just when she’d opened her spirit too, Ian had disappeared. What could she call herself? His lover? The mother of his child? Neither title felt like the entire truth.
The real Ian stood up, concern etched on his face. “Are you all right?”
The room lurched in Lizzy’s eyes. If the man she’d loved wasn’t Ian MacHolden, who was he? To whom had she opened her heart?
Lizzy shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just...I’m sure I know Ian. He’s a little bit taller than you, with green eyes and brown hair.” The description sounded lame, even to her ears. Six weeks of dinner dates and a few nights of passion, but she didn’t even have a picture to prove she wasn’t as crazy as she sounded.
Lizzy didn’t hear the man cross the room, but she knew he was nearby from the smell of his cologne. It was richer than her Ian wore. Spicier and more complex.
“Miss Burdette, is this him?” he asked
Lizzy opened her eyes and stared at the framed photograph the man offered. As her eyes cleared, the two Ians came into focus. The man who’d shared her bed, and the man in front of her. Both men in the photo smiled, but her Ian looked more tired than she remembered. Dark circles settled under eyes that the smile on his lips didn’t touch.
“That’s Ian,” she said.
The man pulled the photo back and shook his head. “That’s my brother, Gerard. I’m sorry, Miss Burdette.”
It took a moment for her to process the words. For as long as she could remember, she’d had a personal rule. Never tempt fate. Never assume a situation was as bad as it could get. Because the universe had a way of proving Lizzy Burdette wrong. She’d thought flying halfway across the world to see the man who’d abandoned her was bad. Doing it while carrying his child was worse. But this was a whole new level of awful beyond Lizzy’s wildest dreams.
“If he’s not Ian, then why...?” She didn’t know what to ask. Why use his brother’s name? That didn’t matter anymore. Why pretend? That didn’t matter either. People always had reasons for the masks they wore. Sometimes they were even good reasons. In the end, the deception didn’t change anything. She still needed to see Ian, still needed him to make good on his promises to her.
The man seemed to understand. He placed a gentle hand on Lizzy’s shoulder. She hadn’t realized she was cold again until the warmth spread from his hand through her cotton T-shirt.
“Gerard is—was never the best with responsibility. He loved to have a good time. He loved life and new experiences. It was always the details that tripped him up.”
Lizzy stared at Ian. “Was?”
Ian nodded, grief tugging at the corner of his eyes. “Gerard was in a car accident twelve weeks ago. He didn’t make it.”
Lizzy clamped her hand over her mouth as her stomach flipped and swallowed as hard as she could. The real Ian seemed kind, but she doubted he’d be happy if his brother’s baby mama puked all over his carpet. Never tempt fate. Never think anything was as bad as it could get.
What little strength remained in her knees drained away, and Lizzy slid to the floor. The real Ian moved with her, his hands on her waist to slow her fall.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. A scream welled in her chest, a mighty cry of pain and anguish that she knew would never end if she gave it release. “I’m sorry, I just...”
Ian to
ok her trembling hands into his own. They weren’t as soft as Ian’s—Gerard’s—had been. Their last night together he’d reached between for her hand and entwined their fingers. She had cherished that memory over their months apart, now and then looking at her hand and imagining that she could still feel his touch. She would never feel it again. Never see his mischievous grin or feel him run his fingers through her hair. Their child would never know him.
“Miss Burdette, I have to ask. Is Gerard the father?”
Lizzy was prepared to have a verbal showdown with her Ian. She was prepared for accusations and hurt feelings and promises to make good. She’d come to this country prepared for a battle, but hoping for a happy ending—she realized that now. Instead, she was on the floor of an office building miles from home with a man whose name she knew, but whose face was unfamiliar.
She struggled to her feet as fast as she could manage and tugged the door open, but the real Ian’s body blocked it from opening. After the second tug, Ian climbed to his feet.
“Miss Burdette, wait,” he shouted, but Lizzy was already running down the hall. She heard his footsteps behind her.
She kept running. Past the small desk with the puzzled receptionist. Back onto the street and the chilly Scottish air.
“Miss Burdette,” he shouted. Something in his voice sounded different. Panicked. Lizzy turned to unleash all the anger and confusion. What did she care if she hurt his feeling? What did his grief mean to her? Her Ian was gone, and all of her hopes for a happy family had gone with him.
Ian MacHolden’s face was the last thing she saw before the car struck her.
Chapter Two