She sat straighter, fixing her stare on the dark blue blur that was the shoreline on the far side of the harbour. ‘I’m remembering that day. The day I lost my baby.’
His hand stilled. Did she feel it quiver? Before she could pursue the thought his hand resumed that hypnotic rhythm.
‘I’m so sorry, Greer. Our child was a gift and—’
‘Please. Don’t.’ She couldn’t bear for him to pretend to feel more than he had. Sheknewhe hadn’t regarded her pregnancy as a gift. ‘Not now. I don’t want to talk about the baby.’
She wouldn’t blame him for not loving their child but…
Don’t you? Isn’t that why you ran away from him? Why you moved out of his penthouse while he was still out of the country?
Conall was silent for so long she felt almost guilty at how she’d cut him off. Until she remembered how it had been between them. That he’d felt forced into fatherhood by her determination to keep the baby. When she’d needed him most he’d gone, so she was alone when she lost the baby.
It was one thing for him to regret her miscarriage. He wasn’t unfeeling and he clearly realised how devastated she’d been. But the idea of sharing her grief with him when he hadn’t really cared about the baby felt wrong. As if it would be a betrayal of that precious life she’d once carried.
That was why she’d left the city after the miscarriage. She’d sent him a message straightaway, telling him what had happened and that she was okay. She’d assured him he needn’t cut short his trip because she needed time alone and was going away for a while.
Then she’d switched her phone off, returning to the penthouse long enough to pack a bag and leave, placing the rings he’d given her and her key to his apartment on the hall table. Because surely it was over. He’d married her because he’d felt he had to, for her baby’s sake, and now there was no baby. Presumably there’d be no marriage.
Pain tore at her throat and she strove to suppress more tears.
Conall’s hand moved again, slower than before, smoothing up and down her spine. The movement loosened knotted muscles and she felt a ripple of something like gratitude.
‘Where did you go, Greer? I searched and searched but—’
‘To the Blue Mountains. A little cottage.’ She’d taken several weeks’ leave, effective immediately, trying to sort herself out.
‘I worried about you.’
Something in his voice penetrated her misery. She turned to see him staring straight back at her, his eyes dull as if reflecting the searing pain she felt.
Her breath hitched. In the days following her miscarriage she’d half-blamed him. As if he’d have been able to prevent the miscarriage! And for not loving their child, or her, the way she wanted.
It was crazy thinking but at the time, overwhelmed by hurt, she’d felt so guilty and desperate enough to blame someone else. No wonder she’d craved solitude. It had been easier to retreat into herself, telling herself she couldn’t rely on him.
Her mother had taught her self-sufficiency and since her mum’s death, Greer had learned not to rely on anyone but herself. That was a large part of the reason she’d hunkered down alone after the miscarriage. She didn’t lean on others.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I should have contacted you. I wasn’t thinking clearly.’ Even now, that time in the quaint cottage was a blur.
‘I can barely imagine. I was just relieved when you reappeared.’ His voice was as strong and sure as ever but with an unfamiliar quality that made her heart clutch and her shoulders brace.
Because now she saw he’d suffered too.
In the weeks following the miscarriage she’d told herself he was okay. He hadn’t wanted their child, and hadn’t been emotionally invested, so he wouldn’t grieve. He didn’t loveher. They wereclose, intimate, connected, friends with wonderful benefits. But he’d never so much as hinted at deeper feelings for her.
He’d viewed what they had as an affair and had no idea she loved him. Their marriage had only been to secure their child’s future from potentially grasping relatives. The diffidence he tried and failed to hide made that clear.
So, logic had decreed, Conall would be okay without her. He’d understand she needed time to herself. He’d probably be grateful he wouldn’t have to pretend to a grief he didn’t feel.
But reading his features now, she knew that wasn’t the case. He didn’t look like a man who was okay.
Greer stiffened. Had she been selfish, hiding alone and stopping all contact? She’d needed solitude but she could have contacted him again so he didn’t worry about her.
She hadn’t even told him when she returned to the city, choosing to stay in her own flat, because she couldn’t bear to be in his penthouse where she’d been so incredibly happy, then suffered such devastating loss.
Greer hadn’t been able to face questions and explanations, or the sympathy he’d feel obliged to show.
Instead, like a coward, she’d turned up for work on a day she knew he had back-to-back meetings and there’d be little time for private conversation. She’d told herself if she could get through the first day, they could go on from there.
