‘I won’t even deny it.’ Ronan’s voice is suddenly serious.
My daughter Eden saves me from having to wonder why. She chooses this precise second to shout from the deep end of the pool. ‘Watch this, Mammy.’
My head flicks up as she dives gracefully beneath the clear blue water. My twin daughters might be identical in appearance, but in personality they are worlds apart. Where Eden strives to please, Isla strives to make mischief. Second childsyndrome is real, even though there’s only a couple of minutes between them.
‘That was rubbish!’ Isla exclaims. ‘Watch this, Mammy.’ She dive-bombs into the pool, ass first. Water sprays four feet in every direction before she emerges with a raucous cackle.
God help me when the hormones hit.
‘Bravo, girls.’ Ronan claps his palms together and nods approvingly. Both girls beam at his praise. Isla whoops and holds her hand up, offering him a gleeful thumbs up. Eden simply gives him a shy smile.
I might think Ronan’s a dickhead, but my daughters adore him. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he’s ridiculously good with them. He indulges them when they climb on his back (Isla, obviously), praises them when they venture into the deep end, and wipes the water from their eyes when their goggles aren’t sitting right.
Ronan teaches swimming at St Jude’s Girls’ School during the week as part of the school curriculum, but the girls prefer these private one-to-one lessons every Saturday morning because they get to shamelessly monopolise him for forty-five minutes. I’d pay for them to come every day if Ronan had the space, but these classes are like gold dust. The fact Ronan somehow always squeezes my girls in somewhere every Saturday is a wonder.
‘That’s it for today,’ Ronan calls, glancing up at the huge clock mounted on the wall behind the diving board.
‘Ohhhhh,’ the girls groan simultaneously and reluctantly drag themselves out of the pool.
The perving session, I mean swimming/sparring lesson, is over, for another week at least.
Ronan’s baby blues settle on mine again. ‘I’ll text you a time for next Saturday.’
‘Morning works best for me.’ I uncross my legs and rise from the uncomfortable chair.
His biceps flex as he hauls himself out of the water. I will my eyes to look anywhere but at those damn pecs, scratches or no scratches. ‘Yeah, I thought you’d be a morning type of person.’ His lascivious tone conveys a clear innuendo.
Does he see me as a challenge?
Is it because I don’t date?
No, Ronan flirts aggressively with every woman he meets. Hence the never-ending supply of paparazzi shots the papers are always publishing.
I roll my eyes at him and take a step back to put some distance between us. ‘Think about me a lot, do you, manwhore?’
‘Usually when I’m in the shower.’ He grins and shakes the water off himself like a dog before stepping closer to me.
My tongue clicks against the roof of my mouth, primarily because now that specific image is imprinted into my brain for evermore. ‘Have you no shame?’ I nod towards my approaching shivering daughters.
‘Absolutely none.’ He winks again. ‘See you next week.’
Chapter Two
SAVANNAH
In the changing room, I help the girls shower and then dress in matching denim jumpsuits. Eden blow-dries her own hair. Isla screams in protest as I run a brush through her long, dark locks.
My daughters have my heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and button noses, but they have their father’s dark hair and hazel eyes.
Not that they know that.
They’ve never met their father.
He-Who-Has-Never-Been-Named wanted nothing to do with them.
A memory of the last time I saw him plays through my mind like a low-quality blurry video recording.
‘I’m pregnant.’
