New York Nights (Heart of the City #2)(12)

I opted for a language he would recognise: passive-aggression. If Penny Worthington had taught me one thing in my short time here, it was that being passive-aggressive was by far the most infuriating way to communicate.

'That's okay. The stroganoff has been slow cooking for four hours, but I'm sure it will keep for tomorrow,' I said, casually washing the masher in the sink.

Ben didn't move, but out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me, probably equally pissed that his thoughtful gesture was not being recognised. After all, I thought bitterly, he had hunted and gathered for his family, surely that deserved a medal? It took every fibre of my being to reel in my snarkiness when I turned to him. I plastered a calm smile across my face as if it was no bother at all and placed the lid on the pot of potatoes.

'Well, it smells  …  nice,' he managed, in a way that sounded foreign to him, like he had to search for the word required to give a compliment. Yeah, he hadn't exactly pulled it off.

'Thanks,' I said.

'Listen, Chinese tastes better the next day if you want to-'

'No, it's okay, this will keep.'

'So will this, it's no trouble to-'

'I know, it's no trouble either.' Ugh. God, this was painful.

He had been in the door less than five minutes and we were already dancing around each other awkwardly, trying to balance contempt and civility over something as simple as dinner. For the first time I wished Grace would cry out, break the awkwardness and take me away from this situation. There was something very clear, though: Ben was not the kind of man who backed down or negotiated. He ignored my insistence and placed the takeaway in the fridge as if the argument was non-negotiable  –  we were having what I had cooked and that was that. Now I felt anxious, hoping that it was something worth eating after all. The weekend was going to be a nightmare.

As if escaping any more arguing, Ben did the one thing that seemed most unnatural to him: he walked over to where Grace lay on her blanket, delighting in the mobile that danced above her. Instead of getting down to her level, he stood there, looking at her, a lightness in his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth. I wanted him to pick her up, for him to prove me wrong. Show me he was capable of some form of emotion, that he wasn't a robot, functioning solely in the business world. I wanted to storm over there, pick up Grace and shove her into his chest, tell him to bloody man-up.

How on earth was he going to manage this weekend on his own? Had he ever been alone with his daughter? Did he even know how to change a nappy? What the ratio was for formula, or how long to heat it?

Okay, Sarah, stop! I was already crossing the line and the weekend hadn't arrived yet.

As if sensing my concern, Ben looked at me. 'She seems so happy, I don't want to disturb her,' he said.

If being disturbed meant the warmth of her dad's arms then I was sure it was worth the risk.

'Might as well get in one last cuddle before I dish up.' I tried to keep it light by saying something my mum might. And much to my amazement, it worked. Even as anxiety showed on his stern face, he approached Grace, lifting her as if she were the world's most precious thing. The distant, abrasive man was gone; here stood a dad, looking into the eyes of his daughter, a surprise dimple appearing in the corner of his left cheek. I had never seen him like this, so overwhelmed with love for the squirming bundle in his arms. This was what it was all about, this was instinct, this was natural. I had worried needlessly, thinking he wouldn't be able to cope. Of course he could, there was nothing more protective and reassuring than a father's love. It was going to be okay.



       
         
       
        

And then of course the worst thing happened. Grace's face screwed up as she began to scream. Ben looked at me, his confidence shattered, as if he he had somehow caused her misery. And as much as I knew I shouldn't, I went to his side.

Before I could offer him reassurance that this was nothing to do with anything he had done, he handed her over and walked away.

'I'm going to take a shower.'

What I would have given for Grace to have continued screaming the house down, but she stopped crying and settled as soon as she was in my arms. This was not good.

Grace's teary eyes landed on me and she was okay, squirming and happy now the strange man had gone. My heart sank. As much as I wanted to insist that Ben stick it out and talk to Grace, soothe her, he had shut down and it broke my heart. Here was this beautiful little girl with no mother in sight and a dad without a clue who wanted  –  needed  –  to be loved. My arms could not be her sole comfort, it just wasn't right.

It might have been the Worthington way for children to be seen and not heard, raised by staff members and nannies, but in my world it took a village to raise a child, and if that meant that I would have to help bridge the gap then I would do it for her.

Somehow.





Chapter Thirteen


I served Ben's dinner and knocked on his bedroom door to tell him it was ready, but he never came down. And much as I had imagined the night might go, I took his plate from the table, wrapped it in foil and left a note for him with a recommendation on how to heat it. I took Grace to the bathroom for her nightly lavender-scented bath, hoping against hope that it would make her drowsy, so drowsy she might sleep eight solid hours. One could dream, right?

Rubbing her dry with the aid of baby powder and a few songs out of my nursery-rhyme archives, Grace was either bored by me, or she was actually tired, her little bow shaped mouth expelling a yawn. I wasn't willing to let myself get too excited about the latter possibility. I glanced over at the nursing chair where Charlotte's Web lay exactly as I had left it. It was too much to hope that Ben might appear to sit with Grace and pick up where he had left off.

I laid Grace down, crept to the door and waited with my heart in my mouth to see if she would settle. It seemed that fatigue was on my side for once. Sarah  –  1, Grace  –  0.

Never knowing how long any victory would last, I decided to ready myself for an early bedtime too. Pulling my long hair free from my bun and allowing it to tumble over my shoulders felt incredible. My back was killing me. I stretched out the pain caused by having to carry a little baby up and down flights of stairs. I was going to need an extra-long hot shower tonight, but before I could give into the joys of such a thing I heard the unmistakable sound of movement from below, the clinking of cutlery in the kitchen, the closing of a microwave door. I winced at the beeps, hoping that I had thought to switch the baby monitor off in the lounge and that the noise wouldn't wake Grace. But that wasn't the thought that had me coming to an abrupt halt on the stairs, a line creasing my brow. Oh no, it was something else entirely as the unmistakable aroma hit me. Chinese food. 

'You've got to be kidding me,' I said under my breath, walking down the stairs. This time I didn't worry about stepping as delicately as before; if anything, I wanted my presence to be known as I swung around the bottom banister and padded toward the kitchen. Never once did Ben pause, not even when I came into view. There he was, hair damp from the shower, dressed as casually as I had ever seen him, in jeans and a simple grey tee. As he retrieved his reheated Chinese food from the microwave, he seemed more like a uni student ready to dive into some tucker than a successful businessman about to have dinner in his multi-million-dollar townhouse. If he felt guilty about not eating my home-cooked meal made with love and questionable seasoning, he didn't act like it.

'Did Grace go down all right?' he asked, and I wondered if he cared about the answer or if he was just making small talk as he plucked a succulent prawn from his plate with his chopsticks.

His words jogged my memory, and I went over to the lounge monitor to turn it off. I wanted to say something smart about dinner, but then another part of me didn't want to feed his power by having him think I cared too much about it. So he fancied Chinese tonight  –  I just had to let it go.

'She was tired, a little grizzly,' I said, thinking maybe that would alleviate any thought he had of having upset her. While I had his attention I thought it best to tackle the things that kept me up at night, in addition to Grace.

'So are you right with her? I mean, for tomorrow?' It was a simple enough question, one that I never would have expected to cause such a glare.

'You mean, will I be able to cope on your day off?' he asked, his words laced with sarcasm.

'No, I mean  … ' What did I mean? Wasn't that exactly what I was getting at? I wanted him to reassure me that I was okay to enjoy my day off. I know that it was written in the working hours of my contract, but I wanted to hear him say it, to do as the Liebenbergs would have done: ask me what I had planned for the weekend and tell me to enjoy myself. But I wasn't in Kansas any more, and Ben Worthington was a far cry from the Liebenbergs. The sooner I started to realise the difference, the better.

'Well, if you need me for anything, you have my cell number,' I said, moving past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. It was only then that I realised I had his full attention, noticing how his eyes quickly snapped upwards; he had been looking at my hair.

'What? Is there something -'

'No, I just haven't seen you with it down before.'

'Oh, yeah, well, I'm sure Grace would love to get her little fists into my hair and yank every piece out if she could. Hours of fun.'