‘Demyan...’ She lay there. ‘You don’t have to marry me.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Because of the baby?’
‘I told you, I don’t do that.’
‘Yes, but you said that when you already knew that I was pregnant.’ That fear was back, fluttering in her chest, leaping in her throat.
‘How can you not have faith in us?’ Demyan asked.
‘I do, but—’
‘This is the but,’ And at the most inappropriate moment Demyan got out his computer. ‘I show you my friends.’ He felt the burn of her shame as he pulled up her father’s profile and fully exposed her pain.
‘Don’t...’
‘He didn’t know you,’ Demyan said, ‘or he would never have left. I know you and I never could.’ He looked at Alina. ‘Are we in a relationship?’
‘Yes.’
She watched as he clicked the button and then Demyan started to type his first post ever.
Alina and I are pleased to announce...
‘Alina, do you want to be my wife?’
She lay there.
‘I don’t nag.’
‘Beg,’ she corrected.
‘For you I beg,’ Demyan said, ‘but just this once. Will you please be my wife?’
‘What do you think?
‘Of course you will,’ he said. ‘You just have to learn how to say yes.’
‘Yes.’
Demyan hadn’t known when he’d use it, just that he would.
‘Ready to cut those strings?’ Demyan checked as he typed.
Alina and I are pleased to announce that we are soon to be married. It will be a small, intimate service, with just the closest of family and friends. We just wanted to share the happy news.
‘Ready to soar?’ Demyan asked as he handed her the computer.
It was up to Alina to hit Send.
She did.
They were home.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHE PAINTED HIM with her fingers.
It had been an indecently long honeymoon and now, on their final stop, an island off Far North Queensland, as the sun set on their last day, Alina tried to put the finishing touches to her work, her attempt to capture, on canvas, a chameleon called Demyan.
The sun burnt on her shoulders and their baby slept in her ripe stomach as Demyan lay on the day bed and watched her concentrate and then blush as she painted his dangly bits, which were starting to undangle themselves.