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He cleared his throat. ‘And the birth? Am I allowed to share that with you?’
Her chin wobbled. Blinking hard, she swallowed and nodded. ‘They’re your babies too. You should be there to greet them into the world. All I ask is that you put aside your loathing of me for it.’ The semblance of a smile broke free. ‘I’ve heard that labour can be a bit painful so I’d much rather not have you glowering at me while I’m going through it.’
* * *
Rose sat on a rock in the small, private cove reached through the bottom of the garden, and watched the waves crash onto the shore. Despite living by the coast for so many years, she’d never had much interest in the sea. Since discovering she was pregnant though, she’d found herself taking long beach walks, the fresh sea air clearing the demons in her head as she marvelled at the changing nature of it all, how one day there was barely a ripple as far as the eye could see, the next a swirling tempest.
It had been weeks since she’d found the energy for her daily walk. Now it took all her reserves just to reach the cove. That morning had taken more of her reserves than normal.
Diaz was coming over.
It would be the first time he’d been to the house since that night.
She’d not felt that she could refuse. Not when he was coming with a specially commissioned twin cot for the babies.
Only four weeks to go and then their babies would be sleeping in it. The complicated nature of Rose’s blood pressure and other warning signs meant she’d been advised to have a caesarean at thirty-eight weeks. She hadn’t argued. All she wanted was for her babies to make it into the world whole and healthy. Diaz hadn’t argued either. On this one thing, their thoughts were perfectly aligned.
She hadn’t seen enough of him to know if their thoughts aligned on other aspects of parenthood. He’d accompanied her to all her medical appointments but that had been it. He’d taken her request to go through the pregnancy without his blood-pressure-raising presence seriously, and for that she was grateful. She was grateful, too, for the regular thoughtful messages he sent, checking in that she was okay. His primary concern was the health of their babies but she knew in his own sick, twisted way, that there was an underlying concern for her health too. She just wished her heart didn’t skip to see his name flash on the screen. Wished she didn’t have such a strong awareness whenever she sat in the cove that a twenty-minute walk along the beach would take her to the house he’d bought a few months ago so he could be close at hand if she needed him.
She wished a lot of things, none of which could ever come true.
Her phone pinged a message.
Be with you in ten.
Her heart thumped, and she closed her eyes with a long sigh.
There was a pain beneath her ribs, and she rubbed it as she walked—waddled—up the gentle path to the garden. Her head was hurting too. She’d long resembled a beached whale but today she felt especially bloated.
Passing the small housekeeper’s cottage she’d lived in with her mother, she blinked back the tears that had been swelling more frequently than they’d done in years. Grief, Rose had learned, was like the sea. Some days you barely felt a ripple. Others, it was like a tempest of it had unleashed. There had been more tempest days than calm in recent months. She’d never needed her mother more.
Wiping a falling tear, she sniffed the emotions back and continued to the house where her every memory of the man who haunted its walls had been born.
And there he was, his tall rangy figure coming round the side of the old manor house, dark brown hair blowing in the cold breeze, wearing dark jeans and a tan leather jacket. Despite being only a quarter English, he’d never felt the cold like she had.
Her breath caught in her throat and for a beat she wished she had her camera around her neck.
There had been a day, years ago, when she’d been sixteen and thrilled with her first professional camera, a Christmas present from Mrs Martinez, and she’d taken pictures of anything and everything. Diaz had been alone in the old-fashioned drawing room reading something on his tablet. The Christmas decorations had been taken down but he’d filled the room so well with his still presence that Rose had barely noticed their absence. She’d taken the photo of him without thinking.
He’d looked up at her, she remembered. Remembered too the long pause before his lips had twisted and he’d asked what she thought she was doing, taking sneaky pictures of him.
Mortified, not just at being caught but at the compulsion to take his picture in the first place, she’d given him a sulky smile and said it was only the one picture and that it was for her dartboard.
Now, nine years later, she saw him clock her again. Noted the hesitation in his gait before he crossed the lawn to her.
He rammed his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘You have been for a walk?’
Feeling suddenly and unaccountably awkward, she looked down at his expensive black boots and answered quietly, ‘Just to the cove.’
She felt his stare pierce her but he made no comment. She could only imagine what the restraint of keeping a civil tongue in his head around her was costing him, and wondered how long after the babies were born he could keep this civility up. Probably until he judged she was fully recovered from the birth. Her head was hurting too much for her to think how she would play it when that happened and normal loathing resumed.
Walking in step, they reached the boot room in silence. Rose swallowed as she pulled her house keys out and unlocked the door.
Instead of following her into the cramped space, Diaz took a step back. ‘I’ll get the cot.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll unlock the front door.’ Silly, really, as he still had his own keys. She should ask for them back, especially now that he’d signed his share of the house over to her.
Mrs Martinez’s dream of them making this house a proper marital home had lasted less time than their marriage. Another four months and their marriage would be dissolved, and the dreams that had come vividly to life for one passionate and beautiful night would dissolve with them.