He’d never said those words to anyone but his father. How was he supposed to know? The thought of losing her physically pained him and telling her what was going on was a sure way of losing her.
If he could wait out any big decisions until after Marie had the baby, then things between him and Gray might still work.
The baby was due in a few weeks, four at the most. The one time Marie had responded to Anders, she at least gave him that much. Marie said she would call the moment she went into labor.
She expected Ciar to be at the hospital to meet her solicitor, where she would legally sign all her rights over to Ciar.
The only way he would agree to that was if Marie agreed to a DNA test before the birth. According to Google, it could take one to two weeks to get the results, so he needed to speak to her as soon as possible. Hence, the vodka.
He needed liquid courage to meet the possible mother of his child.
Before he could think of how to handle Gray, he needed to speak to Marie. Anders gave him her number, and he dialed it quickly, knowing the longer he waited, the less likely he would do it.
She answered on the fourth ring. “Who is this?” she asked in her thick Russian accent.
“Ciar Murphy.” Silence met him. “Meet me for lunch,” he demanded, rattling off the name and directions of a café not far from the city’s center.
“Ciar,” she pleaded.
“No, Marie. You will meet me. You brought my name into this. The least you can do is speak to me face to face.”
Her sigh had the barest of hitches. She wasn’t as unaffected by the circumstances as she might wish him to think.
“I’ll be there.”
sixteen
CIAR
He wasearly and asked the waitress for a table in a secluded corner. He also ordered most of the brunch menu for Marie, not willing to have food ordering interrupt them.
He saw her before she noticed him. Her blonde bob was sleek and stylish. Marie was pushing forty but still stunning. Her makeup, clothes, and attitude screamed “affluent woman.”
He got to his feet when she noticed him. He wasn’t happy with the situation, but he was raised to be a gentleman, and this pregnancy took two people to create, and whether he was the father or not, he would respect her as a woman.
“Marie,” he said solemnly as she approached. She didn’t respond except to dip her head. When she undid the tie to her Burberry raincoat, he helped slip it from her shoulders and laid it over one of the four chairs at the table where water and juice awaited. His eyes couldn’t help but rudely stare at the large bump her coat had hidden.
The waitress approached bearing a full tray, unloading the fare at their silent table. “We won’t need anything else. Thank you,” he tipped his head to the graying waitress who hadprobably served enough patrons to recognize when they needed less service. She finished unloading the tray of food without fanfare, nodded, and left them to it.
At Marie’s hesitancy, Ciar said, “Please, fill your plate. I might not have any experience with pregnant women myself, but I’ve heard stories about not letting one go hungry.”
She actually snorted in amusement and relaxed enough to smile before taking his advice and picking through the offerings while he poured them both glasses of orange juice and ice water.
After she’d taken several bites, he decided it was best to speak plainly. “We both know the likelihood of my being this child’s father is small.” He’d used a condom and to his knowledge, it hadn’t been torn when he took it off. Always a chance of course, but the probability…
Heat flared across her cheeks, and the slightest bit of sweat beaded her brow, but still she didn’t speak.
“Marie, please,” he said in Russian, “tell me what this is about.”
She choked and pressed her fist to her mouth, shaking her head in denial.
“You have to know that I won’t sign any papers when this child is born unless you agree to a DNA test immediately. Now. When we leave here,” he added, wanting no misunderstanding of his intention.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “This child belongs to you or…oh Jesus, or to a man from an underground sex club three weeks after us. My due date may not be accurate because I didn’t have my first ultrasound until the second trimester, and because I suffer from polycystic ovary syndrome, both of which can alter the date.
“If I go a full forty-two weeks and it’s the other man’s, it can be weeks more,” she moaned in despair, “and I already miss Chris desperately.
“The man from the club was fair and beautiful. I don’t even know his name,” she whispered, shame scorching her admission.
