She blinks slowly and purses her mouth. ‘You’re right. That is pathetic. I meant tell me something aboutyou,Mr Luke Harris. Or is your life as perfect on the inside as it always seems from the outside? In which case I will have to hate you, and you will be no use to me.’
He chuckles softly, even as a shiver shoots through him. His life isn’t perfect. Nobody’s is, but is it really that bad? Is ‘not great’ bad or is it just … not great?
‘Come on, Luke. The night is still young.’
He looks more closely at her eyes as he considers his answer. She’s wearing that slightly weary, slightly teasing expression, but behind it all he sees a plea.Join me. I don’t want to be alone in this.
He takes a moment, digs deep. At first he thinks he’s just going to unearth nothing, but then he hits something hard. Something painful. Something he’d rather not talk about, actually.
But he has to. For her.
He raises his chin slightly. ‘I really want to be a father, but I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen.’
She leans forward, her brow creasing. ‘Why?’
He’s not sure he wants to tell her. He doesn’t want to expose himself – or Jess – but as he looks at Elena, he thinks about how much she’s shared with him in recent weeks, how vulnerableshe’s been. It hasn’t made him think any less of her. In fact, it’s made him respect her all the more. Maybe he owes her the same?
‘I don’t know if my wife actually wants to have kids.’
Elena’s eyebrows rise. ‘You didn’t discuss this before you were married? Or in the early years?’
‘Oh, we did. I thought we were on the same page. She still says she wants to – or at least she did the last time I asked, which was probably more than a year ago now.’ However, he’s had an idea for an anniversary present for Jess, and it’s got him thinking about it again. About family.
‘But … ?’
He smiles slightly. She knows him so well, heard the unspoken word at the end of his sentence. ‘But there’s always something, always a reason why now’s not a good time, why we need to put it off. I’m starting to wonder if she’s just waiting for her biological clock to run down and then it’ll be a done deal. Out of our hands.’
‘You truly believe this?’
He gives a self-deprecating laugh. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Jess is a bit of a perfectionist. Maybe she’s just waiting for the perfect time. Life has been a bit crazy in the last few years. You know how busy I am with the business now Dad has allowed me to add a few more strings to our bow.’
Elena seems to sense that he’s said as much as he’s able to, because she spends a while looking out the window, and then she closes her eyes. She’s tired, he can tell, and he almost thinks she might have dozed off when she says in a whisper, ‘I would like to have children too, some day. But, as you say, life gets in the way. I no longer have a husband, but I had my eggs frozen when I was ill four years ago.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. But if I go down that path, I suppose I will need a … what do you call it?’
‘A man?’ he says, one side of his mouth hitching up.
She rolls her eyes. ‘Not unless I can help it. I’m done with them, remember?’
‘So I recall. But you will at least need some of his best swimmers.’ The skin above her nose crinkles. She doesn’t understand the idiom. Her English is so good he sometimes forgets it’s not her first language. ‘A donor,’ he adds.
‘Ah, yes! That is the word. A donor. Not now, of course. But maybe in a year or two, if I am lucky.’ She looks at him with her large brown eyes, so wistful, but also so full of tentative hope. They hold eye contact as the seconds tick past but then he feels uncomfortable enough to look away.
God. What was that? Sometimes, when their eyes meet, it feels as if part of him is hooking on to part of her, but that time … Was she … ? Did she … ? Did that mean something? Is she saying she wantshimto be the donor?
No. Of course not. Don’t be so stupid.
‘Let us not think of things that may never be,’ she says matter-of-factly, and the moment is gone. Over.
He’s always imagined what his kids would look like, wondered if they’d have white-blond hair like he did as a child, or whether a touch of Jess’s red would be in there, turning it strawberry blond, but now another image scoots into his mind unbidden – a little boy, about eighteen months old, with golden skin, dark curls and ridiculously thick eyelashes. He shuts the thought down immediately, despite its appeal.
Not appropriate, Luke. Definitely not appropriate.
‘Solving your problem should be a lot easier than solving mine,’ she tells him. ‘What do you think is going on with Jessica? Why has she changed her mind?’
He sighs. ‘I wish I knew.’
