Modern Romance August 2019 Books 1-4. Heidi Rice
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allowed this situation to continue, the harder it was going to be to ever give him up. Because that time would come, most definitely—as surely as the sun rose over Manhattan each morning. They’d already had their first serious row and they’d both said some pretty wounding things. Maybe she should be grateful for his honesty. At least he wasn’t encouraging her to build fanciful daydreams and maybe it was time she stopped trying to pretend that this relationship of theirs was going anywhere. Surely it would be better—for both of them—if they re-established the boundaries and negotiated a different kind of future. She swallowed, knowing that the only way to do that was to put distance between them.
For her to go home to Ireland. Back to where she belonged.
She cleared up the debris from the dinner party, then went into the en-suite wet room and stood beneath the cascading shower, trying to enjoy the moment, but the luxury products were wasted on her. She took extra time washing and drying her hair and even more time selecting what to wear. Which clothes to take and which to leave behind. She stared a little wistfully at the chiffon skirt and lace insert shoes; the silky dresses and impossibly fine cashmere sweaters. She loved those clothes—loved the way they made her feel—but they had no place in the life she was about to resume. So she took the shiny anorak, the jeans, the darker of the sweaters, the warmest dresses-as well as all of the underwear. Then she called a cab and checked she had money and her passport. It was only as she was leaving that she realised she couldn’t just go—not without saying something. So she went slowly into the library where she picked up a pen and, with a heavy heart, began to write.
* * *
Lucas stared down at the note and a flare of something which felt close to pain clenched at his heart. But it wasn’t pain, he told himself furiously. It was disappointment. Yes, that was it. Disappointment that Tara Fitzpatrick had just done a runner like some thief in the night. And after everything he’d done for her...
He tugged his cell-phone from his pocket and jabbed his finger against her number. It rang for so long that he thought it was going to voicemail, but then she picked it up and he heard that sweetly soft Irish brogue.
‘Hello?’
‘You’re at the airport, I assume?’ he clipped out.
‘I am. I’ve managed to get the last seat on a flight which is leaving for Dublin in...’ there was a rustle as, presumably, she lifted her arm to look at her watch ‘...twenty minutes’ time.’
‘So you’re running out on me,’ he said coldly. ‘Without even bothering to tell me you were going. Now who’s the coward, Tara?’
‘No, Lucas,’ she corrected. ‘The cowardly thing to have done would be not to have picked up this call.’
He could feel control slipping away from him and he didn’t like it, because hadn’t his legendary control allowed him to make his world manageable? Hadn’t taking command enabled him to rise, phoenix-like, from the ashes of his upbringing and forge himself a successful life? ‘Why didn’t you at least wait around until I was back from my meeting when we could have discussed this calmly, like grown-ups?’ he demanded.
He heard a fractured sound, as if she was having difficulty slowing down her suddenly rapid breathing. But when she spoke she sounded calm and distant. Very distant. He frowned. And not like Tara at all.
‘You once left me a note when you couldn’t face having an important conversation with me. Do you remember that, Lucas? Well, it’s my turn now—and I’m doing it for exactly the same reasons. I didn’t want a protracted goodbye, nor to have to offer explanations, or listen to any more accusations. I don’t want bitter words to rattle around in my brain and imprint themselves on my memory, when we need to keep this civilised. So I’ll be in touch when I’m settled and you can see as much or as little of our baby as you want. That’s all.’ She drew in a deep breath before letting it out in a husky sigh. ‘Don’t you understand? I’m setting you free, Lucas.’
Something swelled up inside him like a growing wave—something dark and unwanted. How dared she offer him his freedom, when it was not hers to give? Did she consider him as some kind of puppet whose strings she could tug whenever the mood took her—just because she carried a part of him deep inside her? The dark feeling grew but deliberately he quashed it, because he needed to think clearly—his mind unobstructed by neither anger nor regret. Because maybe she was right. Maybe it was better this way. Better she left when things were tolerably amicable between them. Time and space would do the rest and once the dust had settled on their impetuous affair, they would be able to work out some kind of long-term plan. He would be good to her. That was a given. He would provide her with the finest home money could buy and all the childcare she needed. And he would...
He swallowed, wondering why his throat felt as if it had been lined with barbed wire which had been left out in the rain. Even if fatherhood was an unknown and an unwanted concept—that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to step up to the plate and be dutiful, did it? To be there for his child as his own father had never been there for him.
And if he found that impossible?
Why wouldn’t he find it impossible, when he had no real template for family life? And wouldn’t it then follow that he was probably going to let her and the baby down, somewhere along the line?
He swallowed as Tara’s accusations came back to ring with silent reproach in his ears.
‘Don’t you want to know why your mother sold you? To find out who your real father is and whether either of them are alive? To discover whether she had any more children?’
His mouth hardened. No, he didn’t want to know any of those things. Why should he? In an ideal world he would have gone back to the life he’d had before. The one with no surprises. No analysis. No whip-slim woman challenging him with those sleepy amber eyes. But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.
He cleared his throat. ‘Just let me know when you get back to Dalkey,’ he said coolly. ‘And please keep me up to speed with your plans. I will return to Ireland in time for the birth.’
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