Page 132 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

She flung him a killer glare. ‘Why,’ she added, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, ‘are you even in here?’

He was watching her progress with a critical frown. ‘I’m delivering the medication, as per your doctor’s instructions.’ He nodded to the parcel on her bedside table. ‘He tells me that, taken early enough, these usually stop the progress of a migraine.’

‘Mostly.’

‘You, I understand, did not bring your own medication.’

She slung him an irritated look, not appreciating the preachy tone he had adopted, as if she were some recalcitrant six-year-old. She toyed with the idea of just flicking him the finger and crawling back under the covers. It was a non-starter as options went but thinking about it tugged the corners of her mouth upwards into an almost smile.

‘I had to leave the house in rather a rush.’ She bit down on her lower lip. Damn him, she evensoundedlike a six-year-old now!

Their child would have been eight now.

It was several years too late for a big reveal, which she was glad of, as the idea of telling Leo filled her with icy horror.

She had tried once, though… When she had discovered she was pregnant, the first thing she had done was to ring him. But her call, and the many that had followed, had been blocked.

So she had packed a bag and decided to follow him. Tell him he was going to be a father.

It was a measure of her panic and desperation that she had ever imagined that was a sane idea. Not after the way he had left. She hadn’t really thought the plan through; actually, she hadn’t had a plan at all. She had been running to him on pure instinct, more homing pigeon than sane person.

Except, of course, Leo had never been her home, although having him here, looking out for her, she couldn’t help but imagine what her life would have been like if he had.

Life hadn’t disillusioned her enough to make her lose the belief that a person could be your home—the right person. She just no longer believed she would find the right person for her.

As time had gone on, it had grown increasingly unlikely. Besides, her work had never allowed for a lot of dating and the men who asked her out usually wanted to use her to advance their careers, when she had been in a position to do so.

But she had tried to do the right thing, despite how hard it was. She’d left a note for her parents, telling them not to worry and she’d be in touch. She had been on a train going to London when the cramps had kicked in.

She had made it back home again before her parents had found the note. Other than the hospital staff and the cleaner who had found the discarded hospital identity bracelet in her bedroom and silently handed it to her, and hugged her, she had told nobody.

‘Are you all right?’

Amy pulled her head up cautiously but still managed to loosen another hank of silky pillow-tousled hair. ‘Fine,’ she said giving up with a sigh of frustration on refastening her braid. Instead, she began to remove some of the remaining hairpins, lining them up on the bedside table before sliding her fingers into the already unravelling braid to loosen it.

‘If you want me to admit it’s my fault that I almost threw up on your grandfather’s shoes, then fine—mea culpa,’ she said, continuing to work on her hair, which had been damp when she had fastened it and now fell in a mass of Pre-Raphaelite ripples down her back.

Sensing he was watching her, she looked up, and there was something compulsive in his stare that sent her stomach muscles into a nosedive.

‘Why don’t you wear it loose any more?’

‘I work in a kitchen, so it’s a matter of health and safety. I actually cut it a few years ago, but it was more work keeping it—’ She stopped, thinking,Oh, yes, Amy, because your hair down the years is a really fascinating subject.

‘You have beautiful hair.’ The stark delivery, combined with the mesmerising heat in his stare, added another layer to the rapidly thickening atmosphere.

‘I remember you sitting astride me and your hair brushing my chest—’ He halted, his smoky stare managing to be fierce but also soft and seductive.

Amy stopped breathing. She was shaking, except she wasn’t. The tremor was not superficial; it was deep inside her.

Remember?

She remembered crying herself to sleep for days and weeks and months. And she remembered feeling utterly bereft, never sharing her secret, her grief, with anyone, because there was no one to share it with.

She had wanted Leo so much. Him being here now, looking out for her, brought home just how badly she had needed him back then too.

‘I try not to relive the past, Leo.’ Because it hurt too damned much. ‘That’s why none ofthisis a very good idea.’

‘I’m not trying to relive the past. I’m trying to exorcise it and the ghosts and enjoy the present.’