CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

A WEEK AFTER moving to New York, Libby had to admit her fears had been baseless. Her worries about how she and Raul would make this work, her concern that their sexual chemistry would make any kind of cohabiting situation untenable, had evaporated in the face of the fact they barely saw one another.

Raul worked long hours. So long she had begun to wonder how he functioned—even to worry a little, because how could a person sustain themselves when working so hard? And when he was home, or rather in the sky palace, as she’d started thinking of it, it was more than large enough to accommodate the pair of them without them needing to interact. Libby had her own spacious bedroom, balcony and bathroom, and she tended to eat dinner alone, hours before Raul returned. Her days were long and solitary, but Libby refused to give into the temptation to feel sorry for herself.

While this was far from her ideal situation, there was plenty to be thankful for, and excited about. She focused on the baby and on exploring this enormous, exciting city. She certainly didn’t think about the dreams she’d always cherished, and about how far her arrangement with Raul was from the safety and security of the real, loving marriage she’d wanted since she was a little girl.

Raul’s apartment was on the Upper East Side, and Libby discovered she was an easy stroll from many of the sights she’d seen in movies and on TV. From famous restaurants and grocery stores to museums, galleries, Central Park, and just the streets themselves, she kept herself busy by walking for miles and miles each day. It was admittedly far colder than Libby had ever thought possible, and frequently she’d been caught out in the snow, but on the first day in town she’d found a department store and bought a discount puffer coat that zipped up from the knees to the collar. It was like wearing a blanket, and when combined with gloves and a beanie, she was warm enough to walk and walk.

It made her tired though—pregnancy was exhausting, anyway—but she was always glad to be tuckered out at the end of the day and ready to flop into bed. Sleep came easily most of the time, meaning she didn’t lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering about Raul, and this bizarre arrangement of theirs.

And so one morning, eight days after arriving in America, Libby woke and looked out at the crisp blue sky and contemplated which direction she’d strike out in, where she might go, what she might see. She didn’t think about Raul, she didn’t think about their baby, she just focused on keeping herself busy, day by day, until one day, this all felt normal.

She made herself a piece of toast for breakfast, eyeing her Vegemite jar with a hint of concern. It was already half empty.

‘Morning.’

Libby startled, almost dropping her tea into the sink, as her gaze jerked across the room to find Raul standing there, arms crossed, legs wide, watching her.

Her mouth went dry and her heart began to pound; her lips parted on a quick sigh. The temptation to cross the room and touch him was totally unwelcome. She mentally planted her feet to the ground, refusing to surrender to the sudden desire.

‘Hi,’ she said unevenly. ‘What are you doing here?’

His expression was quizzical. ‘In my home?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’ Forcing herself to act normal, or try to seem normal, she lifted a piece of toast to her lips, took a small bite, chewed, struggled to swallow. ‘You’re usually long gone by now.’

His eyes flickered over her face. ‘We have to sign the paperwork,’ he said, reaching for the tie that was hanging loose either side of his chest and beginning to draw it together. His fingers were nimble and deft, working the silk until it formed a perfect knot at his throat. She was transfixed by the simple, mechanical gesture. He obviously performed the task often, and yet there was something about his confident motions that made her skin lift in goosebumps.

‘Oh.’ Libby’s heart thudded against her chest. ‘Now?’

‘As soon as possible. Have your lawyers looked it over?’

She shook her head, took another bite of toast to buy time, aiming for casual nonchalance. ‘I wanted to read it through first.’

He looked at her expectantly.

‘I’ll do it today,’ she promised, looking longingly towards the outside world, thinking of the walk she’d been planning on.

‘Okay. Let’s discuss it tonight. Dinner?’

Libby’s eyes strayed back to Raul’s face, surprise in her features. ‘Oh.’ She dusted crumbs from the side of her lips. ‘I mean... Sure,’ she heard herself agree, even when inwardly she wanted to run from the idea of dinner with Raul, discussing the contract for their marriage.

But wasn’t she the one who’d insisted on all of this?

On a proper prenuptial agreement, on them trying to form a relationship that had some kind of semblance to civility and friendship? They couldn’t do that by never being in the same room.

‘Okay,’ she said with more confidence. ‘I’ll cook.’

He looked as though she’d suggested an afternoon skydive. ‘Please don’t bother. I’ll organise something.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Libby promised. ‘I like to cook, really.’

‘It wasn’t my intention to put you out.’

Libby expelled a breath and then laughed unsteadily. ‘Raul, if we’re going to do this, we have to start acting more normally. We’re going to be raising a child together. I’m going to cook meals—I like to cook. It isn’t a big deal.’

He nodded slowly, still looking far from convinced. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am.’ She felt strange. This was the closest they’d come to normal domesticity—him here, in the mornings, putting on a tie, talking about something they needed to do together, planning for dinner.

‘Any food allergies?’ she asked as he reached for his jacket and pulled it on.

Raul’s laugh was a single bark, but it spread through her body like wildfire and then she was grinning too. This man probably had the constitution of a lion. ‘I like food,’ he said, walking to the door. ‘All food, and lots of it.’

‘Got it,’ she murmured, taking another bite of toast. ‘Make loads.’

He shot her a smile as he opened the door and her heart jettisoned from her chest and into her throat. Something like panic slicked her palms. ‘See you tonight, Libby.’

By the time Libby had made her way to the amazing grocery store on the west side of the park and perused the aisles and deli counter, decided what she was going to make then bought the ingredients, she was too laden to make it home on foot, so she had her first experience of a New York City cab—which she loved, and she and the driver made conversation the whole way around the park and up Fifth Avenue. She paid with cash and her dwindling supply put her in mind of how pressing her financial situation was. She knew it was a conversation she had to have with Raul.

After all, she had no employment prospects in New York as she wasn’t legally able to work, and there was still rent to cover on her apartment back home. She’d made the decision to continue her tenancy, because it seemed too permanent to get rid of the flat just yet. She wasn’t ready.

But the walls were closing in on her. She felt the financial insecurity pinching her, just as it always had as a child. Since leaving school, she’d been determined to stand on her own two feet. To work just as hard as she could to make sure she’d never have to worry about money ever again. Yet here she was, in a gilded cage, without her own financial security, and it scared her, even when she knew somehow that Raul would never see her go hungry. That wasn’t quite the same thing as being in control of your own financial destiny, but there was nothing she could do about that for now. Once the baby was born she’d make it a priority to find a way to stand—at least a little—on her own.

Back in the apartment, she set dinner cooking then made a tea and sat down with the contracts, opening them to the last page she’d read on the flight over, and flushed to the roots of her hair.

To see the intimate details of their marriage written in such stark detail did something funny to her pulse, just as it had on the plane. She knew she should be glad that it was all there in black and white, but she couldn’t help the hot flush that ran over her skin as she contemplated the sort of marriage they were negotiating, that two teams of lawyers would be aware of.

It all just felt so...depressing.

She sighed, turning the page, focusing on the next section. Schooling. She read with interest the provisions laid out by Raul—all very reasonable. They were to have equal say in the choice of school, and where they could not find agreement he’d selected a family counselling service to offer mediation. Libby turned the page, continued to read.

The next heading was: In the Event of Both Parents’ Deaths . She blanched a little, the thought one that hadn’t occurred to her. Her grip on the pen tightened, because the all-consuming love she already felt for their unborn child made her reticent to even contemplate such an event—the idea of their baby being flotsam in the world, with no one to love him or her, filled her with despair.

In preparation for the unlikely event of both parents’ deaths, a suitable guardian will be nominated and agreed upon by both parents prior to the child’s birth.

Libby’s heart stammered. A suitable guardian?

She felt queasy at the idea of not being able to raise her own child, but of course it was something to consider, an important point to tick off. It wasn’t likely to come to pass but, given Raul’s upbringing, it made sense he’d want to know they’d made an effort to mitigate any eventuality.

She turned the page quickly: In the Event of Divorce.

And there it was, in black and white. The reality of what they’d do if their shotgun marriage failed. Heart thumping, she skimmed the page first, then returned to the top and read it properly.

The document set out terms requiring them to live no more than three miles apart, to share custody fifty per cent per parent, and to mutually agree to any other caretaking arrangements. It was all very reasonable. So reasonable that, for a brief moment, Libby contemplated taking the deal.

After all, they were terms she could almost live with.

Almost, but not quite.

Sharing her baby? Not having them with her half of the time, but rather sending them to live with Raul. She shuddered. Perhaps there would come a point when she’d be prepared for that, but it was not now, not yet. Not before they’d even given this a proper try.

She pushed the contracts aside and returned to the kitchen, trying not to think about the contingencies they were making a plan for. All Libby wanted to focus on was her baby.

‘Where did you learn to cook?’ he asked, shovelling a third serving of lamb onto his plate along with mashed chickpeas and some greens. Libby stared at him, aghast. It had been delicious and tender, but surely he’d had enough?

‘Um...’ she said, momentarily not computing his question because she was so caught up in his appetite. ‘I suppose I cooked a lot, growing up.’

He waited for her to continue, lifting a fork of dinner to his lips. She was mesmerised. Not just by his appetite but by everything about him. The entire experience of having him come home from work, place his leather laptop bag down on a kitchen stool, drape his jacket nearby, roll up his shirtsleeves to reveal two tanned forearms, remove his tie, flick open his shirt... It had all been so...intimate.

She glanced away from him, the word catching her by surprise.

They were not intimate. They’d slept together once, and they were having a baby, but there was nothing close nor personal about their dynamic, even when they were sitting opposite one another, sharing a meal.

‘As a hobby?’ he asked, though there was something in the depths of his grey eyes that showed he perceived more than he was revealing. That he already suspected the answer to that question.

She shook her head slowly. ‘It was one of my jobs.’

He was quiet as he contemplated that. ‘One of?’

‘I helped run the house,’ she said, pressing her fork around her plate, manoeuvring a piece of broccolini from one side to the other. ‘My mother wasn’t much for housework, but she expected things to be just so. She liked nice food, said it was our job to provide a good meal for the man of the house.’ Libby couldn’t help rolling her eyes. ‘She was old-fashioned like that.’

Raul made a noise of disapproval.

‘Besides which, I like food too, and it was either learn to cook or eat very badly, so I learned.’

‘How?’

‘I watched tutorials on the internet,’ she said. ‘I had to get creative. We couldn’t afford a lot of the ingredients, so I’d take a meal and work out how I could do something similar for a fraction of the cost. There was a lot of pasta and rice substitution,’ she said with a tight smile.

Raul’s eyes narrowed; sympathy softened the edges of his mouth.

She cleared her throat. ‘But I liked it,’ she said, because the last thing she wanted was for him to feel sorry for her. ‘I got a sense of satisfaction out of what I could make. I enjoyed shopping, preparing, and discovering that whatever I’d cooked was actually pretty damned good. Most of the time.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘There were also some disasters.’

His laugh was soft, warming. She liked the sound of it.

‘When did you move out?’ he asked, eyes heavy on her face.

‘My mother left me, actually,’ Libby said. ‘I was nineteen. She’d started living with a new guy a few months before. He got a job in Brisbane, and I came home from work one day to find the place empty except for my bed.’

‘Charming,’ Raul muttered.

Libby made a sound of agreement. ‘I was an adult.’ She shrugged, trying not to focus on the feeling of betrayal and hurt. ‘It’s not like I was too young to manage. I coped.’ Her chin tilted and she felt the look in his eyes, the emotions there, and wished he’d stop looking at her with so much pity, or something.

‘How did you cope?’

‘I was already working,’ she pointed out. ‘I just had to find somewhere smaller, cheaper, work a bit more.’

He made another noise. ‘Always as a cleaner?’

‘Actually,’ she said wistfully, ‘I got a job as a kitchen hand at first. I had big dreams of applying for an apprenticeship, becoming a chef.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I couldn’t afford it,’ she said with a shake of her head.

‘The degree?’

‘No. The apprentice salary was so low, and I wouldn’t have been able to work as many hours and study. It just wasn’t tenable. I always told myself “one day”, but then life just gets away from you sometimes, doesn’t it?’ she remarked quietly. ‘I’m twenty-six years old. It was just a pipedream, anyway.’

His brows drew together and Libby shook her head.

‘Please stop looking at me like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘As though you feel sorry for me. I hate it.’

Surprise showed on his face for a moment, before he contained it. ‘I think you got the raw end of the deal,’ he said after a beat.

‘But so do lots of people. I’m happy, Raul. Really, I am. I like my life and I liked my job. It’s not what I dreamed of, but I make it work.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ His voice and expression were now even more unsettling than the pity he’d shown a moment earlier, because Libby heard admiration in his tone and it pulled at something deep inside her, something she preferred to keep locked away completely. ‘Is your mother still in Brisbane?’

Libby shook her head. ‘She passed away a few years ago.’

Raul’s eyes glittered as he waited for Libby to express an answering emotion to that statement.

‘I was sad I didn’t get to see her again, before she died. I often wondered if she regretted...well, lots of things,’ Libby said with a humourless smile. ‘I wonder, sometimes, if she missed me.’

‘Your mother sounds like a selfish woman.’

It was a fair assessment. ‘In many ways, yes, she was.’

‘It’s unlikely that someone like her is capable of feeling regret. I’m sorry.’

Libby laughed then, a soft sound of surprise. ‘Don’t be. I appreciate honesty.’

‘I know you do,’ he said quietly, then, to lighten the mood, pointed to his plate. ‘This is honestly one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten. Thank you for making it for me, Libby.’

Warm pleasure flooded her veins and Libby smiled across at him, already wondering what she might cook next. But that was a silly thought. A red herring. They weren’t a couple, and this wasn’t the beginning of some kind of happy domestic relationship. It was nothing like the dreams she’d cherished—where she’d meet someone who swept her off her feet for real, not like her mother’s silly, unstable relationships.

Despite the fact Raul was charming and Libby had enjoyed sharing a meal with him, she knew she couldn’t lose sight of what they were doing.

It wasn’t until Raul had cleared the table, and Libby had made some hot drinks and put out a tray of biscuits, that they got around to discussing the finer points of the contract. Libby was quick to admit to Raul how thorough he’d been.

‘It’s what I do,’ he said, dismissing her praise.

‘Write contracts?’ she asked, curling her legs up beneath her on the sofa, one hand wrapped around her cup of tea.

‘Make agreements,’ he clarified, tapping his pen against the papers. ‘Did you want to make any changes?’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t sent it to the lawyers you hired for me yet. I don’t really see that I need to.’

‘You should,’ Raul murmured. ‘For additional protection.’

‘From you?’ she asked, genuinely surprised.

He nodded. ‘It’s always a good idea to get outside advice.’

‘It seems pretty simple to me, but okay. I’ll email it tonight.’

His eyes met hers, holding, appraising. ‘We should discuss dates.’

Libby’s first thought was a misunderstanding. She thought for a moment he was implying they should go on a date, in a romantic sense, and everything got wonky and strange, before sanity reasserted itself and she realised he meant the dates on a calendar. ‘For what?’

‘The wedding,’ he said. ‘I thought, given the practical nature of our marriage, we could go to a registry office for the wedding itself. But you may have other ideas.’

‘I—’ Libby stared at him, the wedding something she’d given startlingly little thought to. ‘No, a registry office is fine by me too. Why dress up what we’re doing?’ she added. ‘It’s little more than a contractual agreement, right?’

‘Yes,’ he responded, scanning her face. ‘That bothers you?’

Libby’s eyes widened. She didn’t bother to deny it, but nor did she want to admit how much the nature of this marriage bothered her. What she’d wanted for herself no longer mattered; she was going to become a mother. This baby would always come first for Libby. ‘It’s just... I know so little about you,’ she said after a beat. ‘To be getting married to a virtual stranger, having a baby with him...it’s a lot.’

He appeared to relax back in his chair. ‘What would you like to know?’

She laughed at the unexpectedness of that, and his grin pulled at her belly. She looked away, sipping her tea. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Spain.’

‘More specifically?’

‘Madrid.’

‘When did you leave?’

‘When I was twenty-one.’

‘Do you ever go back?’

‘Yes.’

‘Often?’

‘As required.’

She rolled her eyes. He was answering her questions but it felt a little like pulling teeth. She persisted.

‘Do you ever want to live there again?’

His shrug was indolent. ‘Who knows?’

She laughed despite herself.

‘That’s funny?’

‘You don’t strike me as a free spirit.’

He grinned. ‘I go where I need to.’

‘What constitutes need?’

‘Work,’ he said immediately, sipping his coffee.

‘So that’s what brought you to New York?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why New York?’

‘The first global company I acquired was based here. I bought the building with the company. It just made sense.’

Her eyes widened. ‘The whole building?’

His smile was slow to spread. ‘Yes.’

‘Just how rich are you, Raul?’

His laugh was low and gruff. ‘I’ve lost count.’

‘Whereas I have spent the last however many years knowing down to the last cent what’s in my bank account,’ she volleyed back with a small shake of her head.

‘Speaking of which—’ He stood, moving to the kitchen, where his jacket had been discarded, and removed his wallet. He walked towards her. ‘This is for you.’

She took what he was offering without looking, but when she drew the item closer, she saw it was a credit card, with her name on it.

‘Oh.’ Her cheeks flushed. She wished she could say she didn’t need it, that she could decline, but the reality was, she would need his financial support. That was part of the deal they’d made.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, crouching down in front of her, staring at her in that way he had, as if unpicking every little piece of her.

‘It’s just... I’ve worked and earned for a long time. It’s going to take some getting used to, just accepting money from you.’

‘I respect that,’ he murmured. ‘This can be temporary, Libby. Once the baby is born, when you’re ready, you can go back to work, or study, whatever you’d like. Don’t overthink it.’ He reached out then, almost as if against his judgement, and put a hand on her knee. ‘We both know I can afford it.’

Libby’s heart raced as she placed the credit card on the end table and forced a smile to her face. It would be different if they were in a real relationship, a real marriage. Then she’d have no trouble considering whatever was Raul’s to be hers, and vice versa—such as it was.

‘You’ll need to come by the bank to sign some papers this week—to do with the trust funds I’ve set up.’

‘Oh, when shall we go?’ she asked, factoring that into her busy schedule of wandering the streets.

‘You won’t need me,’ he said, standing and returning to his own seat. ‘Justine can schedule it at your convenience.’

‘Great,’ she said, over-bright, feeling like a fool for expecting him to accompany her. Silence fell, but it was a heavy silence, at least, for Libby. She was aware of too much. Of what she’d learned about Raul and what she still didn’t know, of the disparity in their finances and general life experiences and, most of all, her awareness of him as a man, which was making it hard to think with the objectivity she suspected she needed.

‘I have also made enquiries about an obstetrics team,’ he said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs.

Libby’s mouth formed a perfect O. ‘You have?’

‘You’re pregnant, remember?’ he drawled, face deadpan, but she smiled anyway.

‘That’s right, I’d forgotten,’ she joked, patting her stomach. In the last couple of days she’d felt different, a little softer, and her jeans had become harder to button up, so she’d taken to wearing them with just the zip in place. ‘But isn’t there just a local hospital or something I can go to?’

‘This is better.’

Libby dipped her head to hide a smile. She wasn’t about to argue. If he wanted to pay for the best medical care money could buy, who was she to disagree? But...

‘A whole obstetrics team?’ she said after a beat, recollecting his phrasing.

‘A nurse, midwife, two obstetricians—’

‘Two?’

‘In case one is unavailable.’

She laughed. ‘Raul, we have no reason to think there are going to be any complications with my delivery. I’m young and healthy.’

‘Nonetheless, why take chances?’

‘Okay,’ she said softly. ‘We’ll do it your way.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, and Libby’s eyes lifted to his face at the unexpected expression of gratitude.

Was this how it would be between them? Discussion, agreement, compromise, gratitude? It wasn’t a happily-ever-after love match, but it still felt pretty heartwarming for someone like Libby, who’d never known the pleasure that could come from mutual respect.

She returned his smile, even as she kept a firm grip on her heart and mind. He was charming, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be charmed. ‘You’re welcome.’