The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,64

hand from his to clasp both of hers in her lap. Tight, by the skin stretched taut across her knuckles.

The silences between them before today had been comfortable. That was one of the things he liked about her, that she didn’t expect him to talk to fill the quiet. She let him be. But this bordered on awkward, and as he reached out to touch her arm in reassurance, she eyeballed him and blurted, “I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.”

Rory heard the words, but he didn’t compute them above the roar in his head. He’d never wanted kids. Stuttering could be hereditary, and no way in hell he’d risk passing on this bloody affliction to a child of his.

Pregnant.

With his kid.

Fuck.

“I know it’s a shock—”

“Are you going to keep it?”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her, and he regretted speaking before engaging his brain. He didn’t mean it to sound so callous, but it was a legitimate question, considering she was carrying their child and it was ultimately her choice whether she wanted to or not.

She nodded, her neck stiff, her lips thinned with disapproval. “I had fertility issues in the past. I didn’t think I could have a baby. And I’m thirty-fucking-seven, so yes, I’m keeping the baby.”

He couldn’t recall hearing her swear before, so the fact she did now meant he’d seriously pissed her off. He didn’t know what she wanted from him. He would support her decision and offer whatever financial support he could, but he didn’t want a child. He couldn’t go through the heartbreak, and the accompanying guilt, if the one thing he passed on genetically was the one thing he loathed about himself.

“Okay,” he said, sounding like it was anything but, and she wriggled back on the sofa, disappointment etched across her face.

“I don’t expect anything from you.” She stood, her movements jerky, like she couldn’t quite coordinate her muscles to work in sync. “And I’m exhausted. So let yourself out, and we’ll talk more about it, if you want to, another time.”

She stalked toward her bedroom, her back rigid. He should go after her. He should reassure her everything would be okay. He should say something to erase his stilted, unenthusiastic response a few moments ago.

Instead, he sat there like a dummy, regretting a lot of things, most of them centered on a broken condom and the far-reaching consequences for them all.

Thirty

Since her divorce and fleeing Melbourne, Samira had been proud of her independence. She didn’t need anybody. She did everything on her own: building her physical therapy clinic from scratch, buying her apartment, dating if and when she felt inclined.

But two hours after Rory left, she still lay on her bed, curled on her side with her legs drawn up, craving comfort. Pia would be the person she’d usually reach out to, but her cousin had left her in little doubt how she felt about this baby.

Her mom would be the next obvious choice, but after dealing with Pia’s reaction and then Rory’s, she couldn’t face Kushi’s disapproval too. She needed to be in a stronger state emotionally when she told her mom the good news. And it was good news. Sensational, in fact, because once she’d got over the initial shock, she couldn’t help the elation filling her, expanding like her belly soon would.

That was what nobody had understood about Avi’s betrayal. His cheating had been bad enough, but the thought of him having something she’d wanted so badly . . . it had gutted her.

Maybe she’d already sensed his withdrawal from their marriage early on and she’d thought having a baby to love would soothe some of her loneliness. So when he told her the truth, she’d mourned for the baby they never had more than the loss of her marriage.

Now, she’d have the baby she’d always wanted, without the encumbrances or expectations of a partner. Because Rory’s response to the news told her exactly how much of a part he wanted to play in their child’s life: absolutely none. He’d been stunned, understandably, but the first question that popped out of his mouth about whether she would keep the baby or not spoke volumes.

He didn’t want to be a dad.

And she didn’t need him to be.

But she’d been disappointed, nonetheless. She’d hoped he’d hold her in his arms and tell her how excited he was. In fact, a small part of her had envisioned him being so swept up in her euphoria he’d try to convince her how they could