Pregnant 3+
She looked up at César. ‘It’s positive.’
His expression didn’t change by so much as a tremor.
‘I’m pregnant.’
She knew that these tests were ninety-nine per cent accurate, but somehow saying the words out loud made it feel more real. It was there—in her hand. She was going to have a baby.
Only the person who was supposed to be the father, supposed to be there with her, was no longer around.
Her heartbeat had slowed; she felt as if she was in a dream. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said again.
César’s grip tightened around her hand, and as she met his gaze she felt her legs wilt. His eyes were so very green, and for a moment all she could think was that they should be brown.
Her head was swimming. It had taken five years, but most days she was content with her life. She still regretted Jimmy’s death, but the acute pain, that hollowed-out ache of despair, had faded a few years ago. Only now this news had reawakened old emotions.
He caught her arm. ‘You need to sit down.’
Still holding her hand, he led her into the living room. She sat down on the sofa. The first shock was starting to wear off and panic was starting to ripple over her skin.
‘I don’t understand how this could happen.’
When she and Jimmy had started trying for a baby he had been so keen he’d taken a fertility test and everything had been normal. She’d been about to get herself checked out when he fell ill, and then there had been too much going on, other more urgent tests to take and so each time she wasn’t pregnant she had blamed herself—her periods had always been irregular. Only now it seemed as though it hadn’t been her.
César sat down beside her. ‘I’m pretty sure it happened the usual way.’
She stared at him dazedly. Her head was a muddle of emotions, but he was so calm. So reasonable.
‘You haven’t asked me,’ she said slowly, ‘if the baby could be someone else’s.’
In a way, that was more of a shock than her pregnancy. With hindsight—her late period, her sudden craving for fruit juice, her heightened relentless fatigue—all pointed to one obvious explanation, but she knew it was a question most men in his situation would have asked.
He leaned back a little, studying her face. There was an expression in his eyes that she couldn’t fathom.
For a moment he didn’t reply, and then he shrugged. ‘What happened between us isn’t something I’ve found easy to forget. I’d like to believe that you feel the same way. But if you think there’s any question over my paternity now would be a good time to say so.’
She shook her head. ‘There hasn’t been anyone but you.’ Her eyes flicked to his face. ‘And, yes, I feel the same way.’
As she spoke some of the tension in her shoulders lifted. They hadn’t planned for this to happen, to bring new life into the world, and they might not love one another, but those few heated moments had been fierce and important for both of them, and she was glad that this child had been conceived out of such extraordinary mutual passion.
‘I don’t regret it,’ she said abruptly. ‘What we did or what’s happened.’
Her heart swelled. She had wanted and waited for this baby for so long, and suddenly all those other tests, with their accusatory ghostly white rectangles, seemed to grow vague and unsubstantial.
‘Well, it’s a little late for regrets.’ He paused. ‘This baby isn’t going anywhere. What matters now is what happens next.’
What happens next?
The options revolved inside her head.
She could go home—and of course a part of her obviously desperately wanted to jump on the next plane to England. But even if César agreed to help support her financially she was going to need a job at some point.
The fog inside her brain was making it difficult to think straight.
‘I suppose I should probably get an appointment with a doctor,’ she said hesitantly.
He nodded. ‘I can help you with that. And I want to help.’