“Stop.” He held a hand up, and his face was instantly taut. Terse. “Be careful, mother. I understand you’re surprised by this news, but don’t forget: Imogen will be the mother of my child. I suggest you think carefully about how you speak of her.”
Elena’s head whipped back, her surprise obvious. But what had she suspected? That he’d sit there and let her rubbish a woman she’d never met?
He had understood his mother’s need to defend Marie – even to defend her when Marie had savaged their relationship beyond redemption. But he wouldn’t allow her to attack Imogen for the simple mistake of sleeping with him and happening to fall pregnant, despite the precautions they’d taken.
“So you’re in a relationship with this woman?”
A flash of desire warmed the pit of his gut. It had been a week since he’d kissed her on the terrace. A week since he’d remembered the way her body had called to his from that first night, at the pub in the middle of nowhere. A week since she’d told him that was a mistake, and gone out of her way to keep her distance.
No more yoga in the lounge room. No more bikini time on the terrace. No more cooking and humming as she padded around the apartment. He’d scared her away, and all he wanted was to crack through the distance she’d thrown down; to warm her back up.
“No.” The word did no justice to the avalanche of disappointment that was behind it.
“Well, what is this then? One mistake shouldn’t lead to a life of servitude…”
“A life of servitude? Jesus, mother. Think this through.” He leaned forward, his eyes holding a silent warning. “Play this scenario out to its conclusion. What happens when she has the baby, if I’m not in her life?”
“I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Elena sighed wearily, finding it almost impossible to reconcile this bombshell with the life she’d imagined for her son.
“If Imogen and I aren’t close, and she has this baby, I’m not going to get a chance to know it. She lives miles away. What if she meets someone else? Suddenly my child is going to have some other guy playing dad?” His eyes glittered with fierce determination. “I want this baby. I want to be the father to this little boy or girl. And that means supporting Imogen in any way I can.”
Somehow, the confession seemed to relax Elana. “I understand,” she nodded softly. “Yes, I see.” Then, with true sadness in her voice as she thought of all she’d lost in the prior twelve months. “You were married. You and Marie were so happy.”
Theo, on reflection, could admit to himself how untrue that was. “That’s ancient history.”
Elena’s pale face sent sympathy through him, and the way she threw her drink back compounded it. “I’ll speak to Imogen and arrange a time for you to visit. You’ll like her. I promise.”
He stood, his drink untouched, and pressed a kiss against his mother’s dark hair. She seemed to visibly rouse herself. “Fine, yes. Good. I’m sure I will.”
*
The blue was too bright. Like the sky had got drunk, spun itself on a merry-go-round and vomited all over the place. The pink was similarly nauseating. She tabbed over the swatch, lifting them up higher, staring at them until she was cross-eyed.
Yellow seemed to be the accepted wisdom for babies, and there were some lovely shades, but none of them felt quite right. Again, her finger drifted over the swatches, landing as it had done on previous days, on the greys.
She crinkled her nose and closed her eyes, imagining the walls of her baby’s bedroom a heavenly pale grey. So pale it would be like moonlight. Splashes of feature colour would give accents and personality and yes, if she wanted to she could add pink throws for the girl or baby blue rugs for the boy. More likely than not, though, she’d opt for a monochromatic colour scheme. Something classic and timeless.
“Smell something strange?”
His voice cut through the room she was picturing in her mind and Imogen blinked her eyes open, swallowing the now-familiar gut response of need that assailed her when she saw him. He’d obviously just got back from his office, if the suit and tie were anything to go by.
Mmmm. Such a nice suit.
Then again, what wouldn’t look great on him?
“I’m trying to decide on a colour,” she said, hating how stiff the words sounded and wishing she could be more natural around him. Only the kiss on the terrace had reminded her of the danger inherent to their situation. There was a flame between them; with the slightest encouragement it would incinerate them both.
“I can see that.” He stepped deeper into the room, his hands thrust in his pockets. “And this helps?” He crinkled his nose just as she had and squeezed his eyes shut.
Imogen smiled, despite herself. “Yes. Well, I think so.”
He grinned down at her. “Which one wins?” He asked, nodding at the swatches she held in her hand.
Until that moment, it hadn’t even occurred to Imogen to consult with Theo. But of course he should have a say in the nursery’s décor. Not only was he her co-parent, it was his apartment.
“I thought grey,” she mumbled, surprised at how inconsiderate she’d been. “But if you don’t want anything so permanent, I can just choose some prints and decals to brighten it up. You know, something that can be moved easily…”
“I like the colour,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And a baby’s pretty damned permanent, wouldn’t you say?”