‘It was. I don’t think anyone understands how devastating it is to lose a child you’re nurturing in your own body unless it happens to them. But my husband was wonderful. It drew us closer. Talking to him kept me sane.’ She paused, reaching for the baby whose babbles grew louder. ‘I hope you have someone to talk with.’
Another sharp breath. ‘My…husband. But we haven’t really talked. I was too upset.’
‘Really?’ She saw and heard the other woman’s shock.
Slowly Greer nodded. Conall and she had barely talked about losing their child. He’d been stymied by her amnesia. Before that, and after, she hadn’t wanted to watch him pretend to feel regret about the baby when the chances were he was relieved. His concern forherwas real, but for the baby? She’d convinced herself he’d be a terrific dad once it was born but she’d never know now. For him the baby had only been an obligation to plan for.
Do you know that for sure?
He didn’t want the baby initially but maybe his feelings changed. You never gave him a chance to say.
The idea slammed into Greer like a fist.
Sheknewhe hadn’t wanted the baby. Yet hadn’t he deserved better from her?
You didn’t give him a chance.
How many times did you cut him off from talking about it? You pushed him away, actually ran away.
You convinced yourself you knew what he was thinking without even asking. How much did you assume?
Her lungs seized as a monstrous idea hit her.
She’d grown up knowing her father was dangerous, a man incapable of loving either his wife or child. Had that translated into an instinctive mistrust of men? A readiness to believe no man would ever love her or want to create a family with her? Had her mother’s experience stunted her own relationships?
From her peripheral vision she saw the woman reach out as if to touch Greer’s arm then stop and pull her arm back. It jerked her from her whirling thoughts. She swallowed a tight tangle of emotion.
‘Thank you for your kindness. It was…good to talk about it a little.’
Which stunned her. There was pain of course, but also relief, a feeling of pressure releasing.
She closed her eyes for a moment and drew a grounding breath. When she opened them it was to see the other woman holding out her baby to her.
Startled, Greer turned to find those kind eyes smiling at her. ‘Please. Sometimes a cuddle helps.’
The woman trusted her with her baby? Did Greer even want to hold it? Inexplicable fear rose.
Then the baby’s babble drew her attention and innocent eyes met hers. Gingerly, Greer took her, drawn by a force greater than any she’d known. She cradled the bub so carefully she hardly dared move, feeling the warm weight against her breast.
The little girl said something incomprehensible and waved her arm.
Greer carefully lifted one hand to stroke the soft skin of the child’s hand. Instantly those splayed fingers curled around one of hers in a surprisingly strong grip. The baby gurgled then smiled, and Greer felt something shift inside, like a knot tugging loose.
Greer decided against putting her hair up for tonight’s party. She gave it a final brush, then surveyed herself in her bedroom’s full-length mirror.
She’d found the dress unworn and still in its plastic sheath amongst the other clothes in the dressing room of Conall’s Sydney mansion. She didn’t remember buying it—there were still some gaps in her memory—but one look had told her it would be perfect for a billionaire’s party.
A vivid scarlet, it shaped to her body before flaring a little around her knees, flirting around her legs as she walked. The bodice was cut straight across the top of her breasts with a wide, square neckline and narrow shoulder straps. Tiny scarlet beads sewn all across the fabric scintillated under the lights when she moved.
She almost hadn’t packed it. It was the sort of dress that drew attention, and back in Sydney that was the last thing she’d wanted. Yet impulsively she’d added it to her suitcase at the last minute.
Greer half turned and watched how the dress caressed her body. She looked confident and sexy.
The way she’d felt when she and Conall were simply lovers. Before her miscarriage. Before the accident that sapped her self-assurance. Before the doubts and second-guessing.
She pressed a hand to her stomach where butterflies the size of dragons swooped and dived. She might look ready to take on the world but she didn’t feel it. Not yet.
But she would, she assured herself.
