CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THEEVENINGIS going better than I expected. In fact, I'm almost enjoying myself. I suspected Talia was insecure about coming. She wanted to look good—as if she ever doesn't. I was going to give her the diamond necklace I bought earlier in the week on a whim I can't explain, but when I saw her in that black gown I abandoned the plan. She needed not a thing more. Besides, I knew she'd baulk at accepting it and that she'd let Simone get her shoes is progress enough for now. She straightened up and I could only stare, my mouth gummed. I thought I could stay in control but then in the car she looked at me with that desperate desire in her eyes and I lost my head.

At first in the bar she clung to my hand as if we were facing a life-threatening situation but it soon became evident she didn't need me. I don't want her feeling as though I'm supervising her every second as if I don't trust her. I want her to be comfortable, to have fun and actually enjoy a party for once—not have to carry platter after platter of canapés. So I talked to that soap actor wanting investment advice for a while, only to then be immediately bailed up by a political candidate who leads me somewhere slightly more private. He drones on for way longer than I like. I've only just shaken him off when Simone hurries over.

‘Where've you been?' she whispers.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Why aren't you glued to her side?' she hisses. ‘People are talking and you left her alone to...'

‘To what?' I stiffen. ‘Talia's perfectly capable of taking care of herself.'

‘Quite,' Simone snaps. ‘A little too capable.'

I frown because that makes no sense. ‘What's happened?'

‘She basically told Chloe that there's nothing between you.' Simone watches me closely. ‘That you're still on the market.'

I blink. ‘She talked about us?'

I've said ‘us',which immediately feels dangerous. But then I'm taken aback that Talia's publicly denied that there's an ‘us'. I shut down the outraged feeling that immediately rises. Now isn't the time to feel anything. My teen years of suppressing emotion in public come in handy now.

‘I thought you'd figured this out,' Simone whispers urgently.

‘I have,' I say crisply. ‘Things are good. They're fine.'

‘Fine?' Simone stares at me. ‘They should be fabulous. You have a wonderful woman and you're—'

‘Fine. It's under control.'

‘It clearly isn't,' Simone mutters. ‘She said that she's merely the mother of your baby. That's all. That there's still time for one of them to make their move.'

Anger swishes inside—I'm an overfilled bucket about to spill. ‘Talia can say whatever she wants.'

And it was a sarcastic comment, right? But one I don't want her to say. Not to any of these people. Not at all. Especially when she's not said anything like it to me first.

I visually sweep the crowded bar but can't spot her. Was this event too soon? Maybe she wasn't ready. Maybe she felt more pressure than I realised. Or maybe she's messing with me and I don't know why. I thought I had iron-clad defences and could handle this.

Are we my parents creating public drama? People will talk if you give them something to talk about. And of course there was always going to be talk about us, but she's inexplicably caused more. That she's merely the mother of my child?

Rot.

How could she say such a thing when minutes before we arrived she was pressed close, begging me to take her? She was barely able to control herself, supple and slick in my arms, her eyes like jewels, dazed and full of desire, uncaring that we were in the back of a moving car. I battle the urge to find her, pull her close and prove to everyone present just how much she isn't merely anything. Prove to her that she can't resist me.

But I can't stand a scene and we're already a scene just by being here.

I still can't see her in the bar and a suspicion chills me. Has she run away from the party? The bigger question is whether she's run away altogether. That emotion I thought I could suppress so easily? It burns and my control slips. While she wants me, she doesn't need me. She doesn't want to need me and I suspect she doesn't want to want me either.

I struggle to keep my breathing even. I thought things were going to be okay. But it seems I'm wrong and my only relief is that Lukas is too young to be aware of any of this. We need to sort this out properly before he gets any older.

As I walk through the crowd one of the barmen slips me a scrap of paper. I glance at the scrawled note.

She's feeling unwell. She's sorry. She's taken a taxi home.

She's so damned proud. So damned independent. So damned defensive. I have a love-hate relationship with those things about her. Right now it's more a hate thing.

I crumple the paper and shove it in my pocket. She thinks she's been discreet in arranging this message, instead she's given the bar staff something to gossip about as well as half the guests. But I refuse to let anyone know how irate I am.

‘Talia and I won't be able to attend the play, please enjoy it without us.' I mention the pertinent ‘facts' to a key group who I know will pass the information on. ‘Lukas is unsettled.' I smile and act as if I'm not seething inside. ‘Talia's gone ahead already but I need to be with them both.'

I ignore Simone's silent scrutiny and say nothing extra to her. I tell the bartenders to be liberal with the champagne. It might help everyone forget Talia's comment. Except I don't care about any of them or what they think any more. I just want to get out of here and home to her. I want to make sure she has gone home.

Fear slices through me. I need to talk to her.But I need to regain control first. Good thing there's a drive to endure. I count the seconds as my chauffeur speeds through the darkening streets but it doesn't stop my brain from racing from one horrible thought to another.

I finally arrive back at the house. It's dark. I grit my teeth and head upstairs hoping like hell she's actually here.