Evie's Bombshell - By Amy Andrews Page 0,59

Isaac as I can without totally exhausting myself. I can’t bear to think of him there all by himself, Finn.’ She took a sip of water as she felt a thickening in her throat. ‘There certainly won’t be any time to be shifting apartments.’

Finn nodded. There was no point reminding her that Isaac wasn’t alone because he knew exactly how she felt. It felt wrong being away from him, leaving him in the care of strangers—no matter how excellent or vital it was.

He nodded. ‘Okay, fine, but …’ He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a burgundy velvet box. ‘I want you to have this.’

He opened it to reveal the one-carat princess-cut diamond—a princess for a princess. It sparkled in Pete’s downlights as he pushed it across the table to her. ‘I realised that I hadn’t given you one yet and that was remiss of me. I want you to have it, to wear, so everyone knows we’re going to be a family.’

Evie was rather pleased she wasn’t drinking anything when he put the box on the table or she might well have choked to death this time. Her pulse thundered through her ears as she picked it up. The ring was exquisite in a platinum antique setting.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered. It was the kind of ring she would have picked out herself and just for a moment she wanted to hold it and look at it and marvel. ‘It must have cost you a fortune.’

Finn shook his head. ‘No price is too high for the mother of my child.’

Evie felt a hysterical sob rising in her throat and swallowed it down hard. Everything she had inside her wanted to take the exquisite piece of jewellery and put it on her finger and never take it off.

To be Finn’s wife.

But she knew if she did, if she compromised what she needed from him, she’d lose herself for ever. With more self-control than she’d known she possessed, she snapped the lid shut and passed it back to him, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the bead of moisture running down her glass. ‘I’m not going to marry you, Finn.’

Finn frowned as a prickle of unease scratched at his hopes and dreams and he was reminded of how she hadn’t been able to look at him yesterday. ‘What?’

Evie fiddled with the straw in her glass. ‘I know I told you I would but … that was before all of this.’

Finn put his hand over top of hers, stilling its swishing of the straw. ‘Look at me, Evie,’ he said.

Evie fleetingly thought of telling him to go to hell but this was a conversation that they might be better having now so Finn knew she couldn’t be waited out, persuaded or bullied. So she looked at him and tried to keep the hurt from her gaze.

‘What’s really going on here?’ he asked.

Evie sighed at the brilliant, clueless man in front of her. What would Lexi or Bella say to him? ‘You suck at proposing, Finn.’

Finn snorted. She was having some kind of female hissy fit because he hadn’t gone down on bended knee? ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a little busy to organise a flash mob and a blimp.’

Evie felt tears well in her eyes and for an awful second she thought she was going to cry. Right here in the middle of Pete’s. Wouldn’t that be great for the gossips? ‘I don’t need grand gestures, Finn,’ she said quietly. ‘Not a flash mob or a blimp or even a bloody house. But I do need to hear three little words.’ She paused and cleared her throat of its wobble. ‘I’m not marrying you because you don’t love me.’

Finn frowned. That was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. ‘Yes, I do. Of course I do. I’ve told you that.’ He had, hadn’t he? More than once.

‘Sure,’ Evie said bitterly. ‘Suddenly the love is flooding in for Isaac so much it radiates out of you and you’re dragging everything nearby with you like some bloody comet, and I’ve been swept up in it too.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Evie, that’s not right.’

‘Isn’t it?’ she demanded in a loud, angry whisper, sitting forward in her chair. ‘I’m the mother of your child—of course you love me, you have to. You’ve got me all set me up as this esteemed mother figure. As this revered nurturer. The provider of milk and changer of nappies.’

If Finn could have kicked his own butt he would

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