No Longer Forbidden(49)

He glanced at Rowan, his ambivalence high. She’d accused him of not wanting a family and he didn’t, he assured himself quickly. The weight of responsibility, the vastness of the decisions and accommodations, were more than he could take. And winding through that massive unknown was a dark line, a fissure. Him. The unknown. The weakness. Could he hold a family together or would he be the reason it fell apart?

At the same time he was aware of his heart pounding with … God, was it anticipation? No. He tried to ignore the nameless energy pulsing in him, but he couldn’t shake the urge to push forward into the future and see, know, feel a sense of belonging after so many years of telling himself to forget what he barely remembered.

He and Rowan were both on their own and surprisingly good together in some ways. He couldn’t help wondering if that could extend to parenting a child, making a life together. He could easily stomach waking every morning the way he had today, recognizing Rowan’s scent before he opened his eyes. Something had teased at him as he had become aware of her warmth and weight against him. Something optimistic and peaceful. Happiness?

Whatever it was it wouldn’t happen, he acknowledged darkly. Her hot statement about shotgun marriages being a mistake had spelled that out clearly enough. She was right; they were a mistake. He couldn’t even argue that he was good husband material. But her flat refusal to consider marrying him still put a tangle of razor wire in his chest.

She noticed his attention and her hand went to her middle. “Sorry,” she said.

They were halfway to the helipad. It took him a second to realize she wasn’t referencing a possible baby forming inside her. Her stomach was growling.

“You still haven’t eaten?”

“You said the car was ready.”

“Ready whenever you were,” he corrected, biting back a blistering lecture on taking care of herself and any helpless beings she might be carrying. “You’re a menace,” he muttered, and leaned forward to instruct his driver that they were detouring for brunch.

Minutes later they were sitting al fresco in the weak winter sun, a little chilly, but blessedly private away from the bustle of hungry diners. He’d ordered a yogurt and fruit cup for Rowan to eat immediately and a proper entrée for each of them to follow.

“I won’t get through more than the fruit cup,” Rowan warned.

“I’m hungry enough to eat whatever you don’t.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast either? Menace!”

She had her finger hooked in a wedding ring on a delicate chain around her neck. Her mouth twitched behind the back and forth movement as she rolled the ring along its chain. He was inordinately relieved to see the return of her cheeky smile, but still exasperated.

“I’m not eating for two, am I?” he challenged.

She sobered. “Neither am I.” She dropped the ring behind her collar.

“You don’t know that.”

A belligerently set chin and a silent glare was her only reply.

Time would tell, he supposed, dredging up patience, but his hand tightened into an angst-ridden fist. The knife in his belly made a cold, sickening turn as he recalled her rejection of marriage. He steeled himself against the rebuff and ground out, “Yes, by the way, I would marry you.”

His begrudging statement made Rowan feel like he’d shaken out a trunk of golden treasures and brilliant riches at her feet. But it was all glass and plastic. All for show, with no true value. Numbness bled through her so she barely heard the rest of what he said.

“Don’t think for a minute I’d refuse to be part of my child’s life.”

A choke of what felt like relief condensed in her throat. She wasn’t sure why hearing he would be a dedicated parent turned her insides to mush. Maybe because it was a glimmer of the diamond inside the rough exterior. Potential.

She swallowed, but the thorny ache between her breasts stayed lodged behind her sternum. It didn’t matter what Nic was capable of if fatherhood was forced upon him. It wouldn’t happen. Not with her

Their dishes arrived and she manufactured a weak smile for the waiter, but couldn’t unlock her fingers and pick up her utensils.

“I didn’t realize your parents were married,” Nic said. “Why do you use your mother’s name?”

“So no one would find out Mum was married.” Her voice sounded a long way off even to her own ears. All she could think was that keeping her mother’s secret had been one more accommodation to an overbearing woman whose constant nagging for results had put Rowan in this position: up for the part of Nic’s wife and yet not quite qualified.

She ought to tell him she couldn’t conceive, but everything in her cringed from admitting it. Even though she could live without making babies. There were other options if she wanted children. She knew that. It was the fact she would never have children with him she wasn’t ready to admit aloud.