Prognosis Baby Daddy - Amy Andrews Page 0,56

she was still so relieved to see the baby was OK, she didn’t even think to protest. After it was done he walked her up to their quarters, stood outside the cubicle while she showered and then tucked her into their bed.

‘Do you want me to stay?’ Ben asked. It had been a frightening couple of hours and the last thing he wanted to do was go back to work. But there was still one more case to complete.

‘No.’ Katya smiled reassuringly, lying on her side and hugging her belly. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Page me if you need me,’ he said, dragging the bedside phone closer to her. ‘I’ll bring us some dinner when I finish.’

Katya nodded and was grateful when Ben finally left. Her mind was whirring around despite the classical music Ben had switched on before he’d left. She knew what she had to do.

She couldn’t stay any longer.

She knew now there was no way possible she could hand this baby over to Ben and walk out of its life. Those awful moments when she’d thought she was losing the baby or had harmed the baby had been the worst of her life.

Worse than discovering her pregnancy. Worse than admitting her love for Ben.

Why had it taken a threat to the baby’s life for her to realise the truth? It was her destiny to be a mother to this child. What kind of a fool had she been?

Yes, she had been scared. Scared that she’d make a mess of it. Scared that something awful would happen to him as it had happened to Sophia, as it nearly had today. Scared that she couldn’t provide for him like Ben could. Scared of the single-parent life she was about to embark on which her own mother had failed at so miserably.

But it all paled in comparison to her love and desire to be with this baby. Ben’s son. Her fear of never seeing her child far outstripped her fear of failure. She was just going to have to be the best damn mother she could.

The safest. The most vigilant. The most loving.

Because she’d known, looking at that screen, her baby strong despite the trauma it had been through, that she couldn’t give her baby up. She’d known it as surely as she’d known that day she hadn’t been able to terminate the pregnancy.

The revelation had been unexpected. It had been much simpler before today. Pregnant with baby. Don’t want baby. Have baby. Leave baby with father.

Simple. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.

Although as each day passed and the end drew nearer and she felt a deeper and deeper connection with the baby, the lines were blurring. And falling in love with Ben had complicated it further. And now things were as sticky and mired and complicated as they could get. Which meant only one thing.

She had to get out. Leave Ravello. Leave Positano. Leave Italy. Leave Ben. Get as far away as possible.

Because she couldn’t hand her son over and she couldn’t stay either. Ben had made it very clear that he wouldn’t love again. Couldn’t love again. And she couldn’t live with him, loving him, knowing that she’d never hear those words. Sitting in their house, waiting for him to say them, hanging on, getting more and more desperate every day — just like her mother.

Becoming old and bitter.

Watching him heap love on their child. Growing jealous of that? No, she would slowly wither and die. There was no choice. She had to cut her losses now.

Loving Ben these past few weeks had been a surprise and a complication she could have done without but she was a big girl, a practical woman, and she’d known she could bear a broken heart to achieve her goal. But today, with the fall and the bleeding scare, the lie of the land had completely changed.

So now she was stuck with two choices. Leave the baby with Ben, as their deal currently stood, and go on her merry way.

Impossible.

Or stay in their one-sided relationship and raise their child together. And die a little each day.

Also impossible.

But there was a third option. Take the baby and run. Possible and plausible.

Essential.

But could she do that to Ben? As painful as it was to admit he didn’t love her, the same couldn’t be said for their baby. Ben was besotted with him. He spent ages each day talking to his son. First thing in the morning and in bed at night he would stroke her stomach and place his lips