“Yeah! Talk about an Olympic swimmer or something, right?” Her laugh was thickened by tears.
“I can feel him. I can feel him.” And he curled his palms around her belly, holding her for another moment and then let out a whoop of delight, scooping his arms around Imogen’s waist and lifting her up, holding her tight to his chest. “You’re amazing.”
“Avocado’s amazing,” she corrected.
“But you’re making Avocado,” he laughed, tipping his head back and spinning her around the room before setting her back on her feet. Their eyes held and a charged moment of understanding passed between them.
They’d just felt their baby move; and they’d felt it at almost the exact same time. They’d experienced it together, and they were going to experience the rest of the pregnancy together, and then? Their child’s life.
The bell rang again, and it had the power to shatter the moment but it didn’t. Magic was wrapping around them, fierce and undeniable and it was still thick in the air when Theo moved towards the door a moment later and pulled it inwards.
Did the woman on the other side feel it? It was hard to tell; Imogen couldn’t tell a thing about her! She was stern looking but very beautiful, with coiffed dark hair that sat around her face like a newsreader’s might, all bouffant and shiny. Her lips were a cherry red and her makeup elaborate yet understated. Had she actually done that thing called contouring or were those genuinely her cheekbones?
Was this Marie? Of their own volition, her hands curled over her stomach, as if to protect her unborn baby.
But then her eyes lifted higher and locked with the woman’s and Theo was staring back at her. At least, the same eyes as his were buried in this woman’s chiseled face.
“Mother,” Theo confirmed her suspicions. “What a … surprise.”
“Yes, well, I have been trying to phone, but it seems you’ve lost the ability to return calls. Lately.” The final word sat like a sword in the stone, daring someone to pull it out.
Lately.
As in, since Imogen.
“You could have been dead, for all I knew,” Elena added waspishly as she side-stepped Theo and moved into the apartment. And the magic floundered somewhat.
“I presumed Marie had given you proof of life,” he contradicted, the barb sailing through the air like a blade.
“She deserved to know,” Elena responded carelessly, narrowing her gaze as she stared across at Imogen. “So. You must be Imogen.” She said the name almost like a curse and a shiver danced down Imogen’s spine.
Theo’s stride was long, his manner intent, as he crossed the carpet and stood beside Imogen, one arm wrapped around her waist in a gesture of support. “Yes, mother. This is Imogen.” He squeezed her hip encouragingly. “My mother, Elena.”
“Nice to meet you,” Imogen mumbled, though she was pretty sure it was no such thing and the passage of time wouldn’t change that perspective.
“Likewise,” Elena nodded crisply, her sentiment seeming to echo Imogen’s. Her dark grey eyes dropped lower, running over Imogen’s body with a proprietorial inspection that made Imogen’s skin crawl. “The mother of my grandchild.” The smile practically split Elena’s lips it was so tight, like a banana that had outgrown its skin.
“Apparently so,” Imogen nodded.
Silence drew around them, tightening and pulling and making Imogen’s tummy ache.
“Well,” she said with a small smile. “I was about to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
“I think Hendrick’s would be more suitable.”
Beside her, Theo stiffened and immediately Imogen felt a bolt of sympathy for this man. Her own mother’s image floated into her mind – Didee, with her big smile and kind eyes; the contrast between the two women was enormous.
Imogen looked up at him and smiled and a whisper of the magic they’d created swirled around them, just them, as though they stood in their own little snow-globe with its own atmosphere and air.
“I’m all out,” he lied. “It’s not actually a great time, mother. Was there something specific…”
Imogen’s gasp was just audible. She frowned as she looked to Theo, and undercurrents of tension rolled around them. Whatever the reason for it, Imogen instantly despised it, and the Fixer in her wanted to remove it. To erase any hint of unpleasantness that might stain their happiness.
“Tea then,” she murmured, her smile encompassing mother and son, as she stepped backwards and moved towards the kitchen. She flicked the kettle on autopilot and pulled three mugs down from the cupboard.
“I never acquired a taste for tea,” Elena said, deep and husky. “I prefer coffee.”
“Fine, coffee,” Imogen nodded, missing the deep frown that scored across Theo’s face. She fished a pod out of the container and pressed it into the machine, waiting until it started to run through a dark, golden liquid. Her stomach clenched, instantly rejecting the aroma.