“Well, I didn’t want to get engaged like that,” he laughed gruffly. “Then again, it would have been preferable to putting you through this.” He held her hand. “I wanted you to know, Imogen, that I love you. That I will wait for you to settle into this. Motherhood. Living in London. I don’t expect you to love me. It’s enough that we’re attracted to each other and that we have her,” he nodded to the bundle. “But please don’t walk out on me without at least giving me a chance.”
“Theo, you idiot,” she said crossly. “You know I’m head over heels in love with you.”
He stared at her in obvious confusion. “No.”
“Come on! How can it have been any more obvious?”
“Well, I could say the same,” he pointed out.
And Imogen’s heart began to thump as their reality shifted before them. “You love me?”
“I will always love you,” he nodded. “Please come home with me.”
“Home.” Her voice cracked on a sob as she repeated the word. “With you.”
“Our home.”
“You’re serious?”
“Imogen Harper, I have never been more serious about anything in my life. I want you to come home with me, to marry me; I want to love you forever and ever. And one day, I want to make another baby with you. And another. And another.”
Her breath caught in her throat and she could no longer contain the smile that burst over her face. But she stilled it thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps we could engage a surrogate for any future babies.”
“A surrogate?”
“Labour isn’t exactly something I’m keen to experience again,” she said, wincing as she shifted a little in bed.
He smiled, but his heart throbbed. “I hated hearing you scream, not being able to come to you.” He lifted his hand, cupping her opposite hip, his finger strong and warm and so instantly familiar that her heart spun in her chest. “I would have done anything to be here with you, helping you, supporting you, and seeing her the moment she arrived on earth,” he said gently.
Imogen had known Theo to be outside, but she hadn’t been able to countenance even the idea of his joining her. “I was so angry with you,” she said quietly. “All week I’ve been fuming. It never occurred to me that what I’d heard was just two angry, bitter women wishing things weren’t as they are.”
He moved closer, so that he could press a kiss against her upturned palm. “I have an idea for her name.” He changed the subject quietly and Imogen was temporarily jarred. But then, happiness began to drip through her veins, replacing hurt and heartache.
“Yeah? Let me guess… Miss Trunchbull?”
He shook his head. “Better. I’ve put a lot of thought into it.”
“You only just found out she was a girl,” Imogen laughed.
“I knew,” he said, his lips twitching but his manner so confident otherwise that she actually thought perhaps he had known, on some level.
“So you’re psychic now too?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay, genius. What is it?”
“We need something Shakespearean, obviously. That makes sense. And yet it has to be perfect for us. And meaningful, too.”
“You’ve stumped me.”
“I can’t believe it. You really don’t know?”
“I have no clue. What should we call her?”
He reached up, gently freeing the blanket from the lower part of the baby’s face, so he could see her perfect little cupids bow lips. “How about Hermione?” He murmured, smiling as he stared at their baby. “It’s Shakespearean, and meaningful to us.”