No Longer Forbidden(45)

He had nothing to offer a woman and a child but the same bleak void he’d grown up in. Making her pregnant would be a disaster. He had no choice but to pray it wouldn’t happen, yet a torturous want crowded into him. A deep, undeniable ache filled him to be better than he was. Damn Olief for never setting an example or instilling confidence in him when it came to interpersonal relationships. He’d left his son floundering, armed only with a shaky desire to succeed without any skills to back it up.

Rowan’s eyes met his as he struggled with his need to be everything his own father wasn’t. Her voice cracked and her hand came up to cover her trembling lips. Her self-possession began to fall apart and threatened to shatter Nic’s. Purely out of instinct he pushed to his feet, moving to stand beside her. It was like stepping into cold fire. He hadn’t meant to put himself in this position. Public speaking didn’t bother him, but this was different. He never put his emotions on display, and his intense feelings were just under the surface while a sea of faces stared.

He took Rowan’s hand. It was so icy his heart tripped in concern. He closed his fingers tightly over hers. She pointed to a place on the page and he began to read.

“‘Olief tried hard to be a father figure to me …’” he began, the words evaporating on his tongue. Olief had tried with Rowan, and maybe that was the takeaway lesson. He had to say goodbye to Olief’s failings as a father and look forward with his own purpose and approach and simply try.

Rowan squeezed Nic’s hand with all her might, fighting back the breakdown that had come down on her like an avalanche when she had met Nic’s tormented gaze. He was genuinely worried she’d turn out to be pregnant. She’d seen it back at the apartment, had even tried to brace herself for reassuring him how remote a possibility it was, but dread turned like a medieval torture device in her. He’d be relieved and she would be crushed.

The arrival of the car had saved her, but as she’d stood up here, playing the part of the good daughter, all she’d been able to think was that it was her mother’s fault she had no periods. Even before the intensity of ballet classes the pressure had been on to mind her calories. Rowan had felt like a hypocrite, talking up the woman she resented deep in her heart. Then she’d looked into Nic’s eyes and known he didn’t want her to conceive, and with equal fervor knew she wished she could.

Yet wouldn’t.

It had been too much, and she was clinging to composure by her fingernails.

Nic closed with a few personal words of his own, Rowan swallowed, and thankfully they were able to sit down. But Nic didn’t let go of her hand. Maybe that was her fault. Her fingers were white where she entwined them with his. She stared at their linked frozen hands as one of her mother’s friends rose to sing an Irish ballad.

The worst was over. She only had to get through the reception in the adjoining hall without betraying her inner tension. As they stood to move through the doors that were thrown open for them she disengaged from Nic’s grip. “You don’t have to stay,” she offered, even though he’d said he wasn’t angry about the service anymore.

His dark brows came down like storm clouds, scolding and chilly. “I’ll stay.”

She felt a lash of fear. A wild impulse to bolt from here whirled through her. Very mature, Ro. But there was something resolved in his expression. She sensed a Talk looming and wasn’t prepared to face it.

“Suit yourself,” she murmured, and let herself be drawn by people who were anxious to express their condolences.

Nic wondered if he had imagined her clammy grip on his hand. She was so willing to have him disappear now. Because she blamed him? She had every right. He was the experienced one—in more ways than one. He shouldn’t have taken such a risk with her.

He wished it was as simple as saying she had provoked him, but that wasn’t right. Hearing she’d been hurt by his neglect had rattled him. “Maybe if you’d spoken to me …” But he’d been afraid to speak to her, afraid she would hurt him again with all that he’d told her. He hadn’t liked facing that he was a coward who had avoided her out of fear.

“Does sleeping with me make you hate me less?”

Yes, it did. Which scared him even more and made him profoundly aware of his inability to love. He’d said something crude at that point, infuriated that he could never be what she needed and deserved. The futility of their relationship had struck home and he’d wanted quite desperately, just for a second, to bind her to him in the most irrevocable way possible.

He watched her work the room filled with screen stars, diplomats, business magnates and overgrown titled children. For the first time he didn’t see a spoiled girl demanding attention. He saw a young woman who ensured everyone was noticed, greeting individuals affectionately and putting them at ease.