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“Right now, I’m leaning towards saying yes. So if you have any regrets, any doubts, or if there’s anything you’re hiding from me, you’d better get it out in the open. I don’t like surprises.”

His eyes sparked with intensity. “Nor do I. This is the right decision—for both of us.”

“For all of us.” And even though a pregnancy was just a spectre on the horizon, at that point, she pressed a flat palm to her waist and closed her eyes, easily imagining their child swimming around in there. A delightful, bonny, healthy child; all theirs, for all time.

Hamish often reflected on the idea of place. For years, he’d told himself the title of Lord Ashcombe of Abington meant nothing to him, that the notion of the ancient family estate was a millstone around his neck, rather than a fate he wished for. He saw the place as an encumbrance—albeit a beautiful one. Ancient walls, overgrown hedges, fields that flooded with too much rain. But then, he’d always known it as an anchor too, and not in a bad way. No matter where he went—boarding school, study trips overseas, and then university, Abington was a weight in his mind, drawing him back.

With Ewan and Cressida’s betrayal, he’d lost that.

He’d left the UK with no real intention of returning. Not for a long time, anyway. The idea of Abington became impossible, and he’d started to miss it. To dream of it. This was his adopted city; he’d made a life here. But no matter how much he repeated that mantra to himself, it didn’t feel fully like home. Far from being an abstract concept, that four-lettered word had become a demon which haunted him, taunting him in his sleep, conjuring images of the rolling hills of Abington, the sheep grazing in the low fields, the lake in front of the house that was a pilgrimage point for every duck in the area. He even missed his mother’s rose gardens, and particularly the way she’d encouraged one enthusiastic climber to grow over the pergola, so in summer, it was heavy with the fragrance of blooms.

As for the ancient walls? He looked out on the modern, fascinating monoliths of Manhattan and felt his hand throb with a need to reach out and touch something old. The history of Abington went back centuries, those stones he’d once thought of only as things needing repair were suddenly whispering their secrets, and he wasn’t there to hear them.

He settled back into the leather seat of his car, eyes trained on the passing view, expression unchanging. But his mind was ticking over these feelings—which he knew most people might describe as ‘homesickness’. And perhaps it was that simple? Perhaps he simply longed to go home, even for a while. But his life was here, and now, with Tia—if she agreed. And that was that.

Chapter Five

“WHAT ABOUT YOUR PARENTS?”

Tia almost spluttered her coffee out at the question, which seemed to come out of nowhere. It wasn’t unreasonable. Of course he should ask. They were talking about having a child together.

“That’s just the kind of thing an anonymous sperm donor wouldn’t ask.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands cupping his takeaway coffee cup, eyes resting on her face. “Or anything else.”

“Right.”

“You don’t want to answer?”

She pressed her teeth into her lower lip, nibbled on it for a moment. “They’re not in my life,” she said, after a pause that was heavy with the past.

“But they’re still alive?”

“In a sense.”

“Are you being deliberately cryptic?”

She laughed, but it lacked humour. “Last I heard, they were in Arizona somewhere. That was over a year ago.”

He frowned. “They’re still on the road?”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” she said, lips twisting in a sardonic smile. “And yes. They still live in their trailer. It’s much nicer now, I saw to that. I’m not heartless. When I first started making proper money, I reached out, tried to help them. Rehab, a proper home, whatever they wanted.”

“And?”

“They told me to fuck off. They’ve smoked enough weed and burned enough brain cells with alcohol not to realise a good decision when it’s banging them over the head.” She hesitated. “My offers were conditional. I’d give them whatever they wanted if they straightened out, went to see a doctor, started looking after themselves.”

“And they didn’t want to?”

She swallowed, then sipped her coffee, just to moisten a suddenly dry mouth. “I thought they did. About two years after Roman and I moved here, I flew them out. I thought if they saw what I could offer, heard it from me, maybe they’d change their minds.”

There was something appraising in his eyes though, something that made her feel like a bug under a microscope. “And you wanted them to be impressed by you,” he guessed, probing the parts of her that felt soft and vulnerable and which she generally liked to keep well and truly covered up.

“I didn’t care what they thought,” she demurred, but it was obvious from his expression that he didn’t believe her. “I just didn’t want to think of them living like that when I had millions in the bank.”

“Okay,” he said, after a beat, letting it go. “And what? They decided they didn’t want this?” He gestured to her beautiful office and she shook her head.

“Oh, they wanted it, just without the strings I attached to my offer.”