“I want to wait,” he says. “Until we’re married. That’s why I’m keeping my distance. I’m trying not to torture myself.”
My lips curve up slowly. “Okay.”
“Do you miss me?” he teases.
“Absolutely not.”
He chuckles again. Then he says, “By the way, I want you to choose a house for us.”
I blink. “Sorry?”
“Well, I figure you don’t want to live in my city apartment. It’s functional and convenient, but it’s not a family home. I think it makes sense to find somewhere on the North Shore, don’t you? My parents and your mother live there, and when we have a baby you’ll have trouble prying it out of my mother’s arms, so it’ll be more convenient to be nearby. Plus of course you work there, and I don’t want you to have to commute every morning. I’ve sourced half a dozen properties. I’m emailing them to you now. I’d like you to choose one.”
Stunned, I open my laptop and wait for the email to come through. When it does, I open up the links he’s sent in several tabs and flick through them.
“Mars…”
“I admit I quite like the property at Stanley Point. It’s not as close to your school as some of the others, but it’s only a twenty-minute drive. It’s got access to the ferries, and it’s close to the Harbour Bridge. And it might be nice to take the kids out on the boat.”
“Boat?”
“We have a family yacht.”
I blink. “Wait… kids, plural? You’re expecting twins?”
He chuckles. “No, I doubt we’ll stop at one. It’ll be too much fun when we get going. But yeah, I like the Stanley Point property. It looks… cozy. But the choice is yours, if you’d prefer something bigger. Look, I’ve got to go, Caesar’s here with me, and I need to run through some reports with him before our meeting. Let me know what you think. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say faintly.
“’Bye.” He ends the call.
I lower the phone to the table and stare at the pictures of the first house. It could safely be called a mansion. It has seven bedrooms. Seven! Even allowing for one bedroom for him and one for me, that still leaves five spare. Is he expecting us to have five children?
My heart bangs, and I feel a little faint. I thought I made it quite clear—I want one baby, and one baby only. I accept it’ll be his heir, and that his family will want to be involved in bringing it up, but the deal was not to churn out an Ashford rugby team while he swans around the world, no doubt sowing his oats in every port, or whatever the saying is.
I’m getting a little hysterical, so I order myself an iced chocolate and a piece of cake, and take them back to the table. Then I slowly check out the Stanley Point house.
The first notes on the property state there’s easy access to beaches and parks, museums and libraries, and weekend walks in the North Head and Mount Victoria hills. I scroll down tothe property, expecting to see something extravagant and worth fifty million, like something out of a sci-fi, with glass walls and bizarre architecture and tennis courts.
Instead, I discover a beautiful Edwardian villa. It’s up for just under five million dollars—a fortune to me, but actually not that expensive in Auckland terms. Built in 1915, the house has five bedrooms, and is a ‘testament to timeless elegance’. It has several living areas, an English-style kitchen, light wooden floors throughout, and a panoramic turret on the top that ‘would make a great playroom for children.’ Large lawns provide plenty of room for kids and dogs to run around. It looks like a stunning showpiece, and yet I can also picture it as a family home.
I love it.
I press my fingers to my lips, trying not to cry. Oh, what is this man doing to me? I can’t bear it. Is he going to give me everything my heart has ever desired, and then inevitably rip it away? Because I can’t believe there’s a happily ever after for me. Men don’t stay in my life. They try to take what they want and then leave when they realize I can’t provide it.
Marcus Ashford isn’t the type of guy who settles for hearth and home, and who wants forever. He’s a man used to getting what he wants, and at the moment he’s fixated on me because I turned him down years ago, and he doesn’t want to lose the company, and he thinks he can kill two Birdies with one baby.
But I’ll never be able to keep him. I don’t know how long it will take—one week, one month, a year at most—but eventually his gaze will roam, and some younger, sexier, more beautiful, more adventurous girl will draw him away, and that will be it. I’ll be alone again, and my heart will just be dust, blowing away in the wind.
“Wren?”
My head snaps up, and I hastily wipe away the tear that had tipped over my lashes. A man stands before me. He’s inhis late fifties or early sixties, tall, with thinning gray hair. He has piercing blue eyes that dart nervously around before settling back on me.
“Can I help you?” I ask. He looks vaguely familiar.
To my surprise, he pulls out the chair on the other side of the table and sits. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure you can.”
I stiffen, closing my laptop as I glance around. I’m in public, but that doesn’t always stop crazy men from doing mad things. A couple of women are chatting in the far corner, paying no attention to me. Two teens are waiting for their drinks at the counter, laughing at something one of them has seen on their phone. A lone guy sitting a few tables away in a plain black tee and jeans glances at me briefly before looking out of the window. Would any of them come to my aid if I asked for help?
