CHAPTER TWELVE

      LIVING in fear, Emma realised as she stepped out of the lawyer’s office and onto the pavement, was harder than facing it.

      Melbourne was delicious this morning, the trees that lined Collins Street giving off a bosky green haze, the heat from the pavement rising through her flimsy sandals, and Emma dipped into a side street café, ordering a large iced chocolate drink and sitting to sip on it, enjoying the simple moment.

      Enjoying, for just a little while, the feel in her chest of the absence of fear.

      She was doing the right thing.

      Oh, any lawyer worth his salt would tell her that, but Emma knew she had been hearing the truth. Knew that, as hard as it might be to execute, the path she had chosen now to follow was the right one.

      The only one.

      She rolled her eyes at her bleeping phone—Zarios, who hadn’t contacted her since he’d left, reminding her that her plane took off at two. As if she didn’t already know!

      In a few hours she’d see him again.

      Only this time with honest eyes.

      She would tell him her truth and listen as hopefully he told her his.

      ‘Would you like to see the menu?’ a smiling waiter offered, but Emma declined, glancing at her watch and realising she’d better get a move on.

      These coming days were without a doubt going to be the biggest, scariest days of her life, but she’d prepared for it. Taking a deep breath, she doused the butterflies that were starting to dance.

      It was time to get on with it!

      Sydney was much the same as she remembered. The breathtaking view of what was surely the most beautiful harbour in the world matched her mood as the plane glided in.

      The roads were as busy, the buildings as big, and the people in as much of a hurry.

      And the luxury hotel Zarios was staying in, and where the ball would be held tonight, was as bland and as soulless as his Melbourne home.

      She was sick of white bathrobes, Emma thought as she hauled herself out of another sunken bath.

      She wanted red, Venetian Red, or Manganese pur-ple—wanted to wrap herself in beach towels that still smelt of the beach and sunscreen, no matter how many times they were laundered!

      And for the first time in the longest time she wanted to capture those colours. Wanted to dip her brush in bold primaries—wanted to squeeze out the oiled pigment and craft it into images that breathed and danced into life beneath her fingers.

      And she would.

      Drying herself with the safe white towel, smiling as her spray tan smeared the bleached cotton, she caught sight of her naked reflection in the vast mirror, for the first time seeing the very real changes that were taking place within her body.

      Her breasts were swollen, and the areolae seemed to have doubled in size, and…She frowned down at her stomach. Oh, it was way too early for her to be showing, but there was a softness there, a sort of roundness, that reminded her that this wasn’t her secret to keep, that a baby really was growing inside her and that Zarios had every right to know. And somehow, before this weekend was over, she had to find the words to tell him.

      Her hands cradled her stomach as she imaged the little life growing in there—filled with love and wonder for the tiny miracle inside her. The fear and grief that had been her companions for so long now were replaced instead by hope—and not just for her baby, but for its parents, too!

      She took for ever to get ready. The beautician and hairdresser the hotel had supplied to prepare her did a wondrous job. Tonight she wore her hair piled high on her head, her blue eyes shining bluer thanks to the glittery silver-kissed eyelids that matched her shimmering dress and shoes, while her throat and wrists gleamed with the jewels the sponsor had insisted she wore tonight.

      But even when the beautician had gone, even when she stood more groomed and poised than she could ever have imagined, still there was work to be done!

      Her shaking hands lit candles, hoping the dimmed lighting would hide her blush, hoping that Zarios wouldn’t roll his eyes at her pathetic attempt at romance and seduction.

      She placed a hand low on her stomach for reassur-ance—they had made a baby; there was at least one very good reason for trying to make this work.

      Except as the minutes turned into hours, as the candles hissed their farewell and drowned in molten wax, Emma felt more angry than foolish. It had never entered her head that he mightn’t come. Over and over he had reiterated how important this night was, but as the hands of the clock crept towards 8:00 p.m., Emma realised that Zarios’s idea of important differed widely from hers.

      She was tempted not to answer the phone when it rang.

      ‘My flight was delayed.’

      ‘I checked on the Internet.’ Emma refused to be lied to. ‘You landed over an hour ago.’

      ‘We did,’ Zarios agreed. ‘And then unfortunately not one but two passengers chose to be taken ill, in their wisdom, and the plane was quarantined until a medical officer could verify that the cases wasn’t related.’

      ‘Oh!’

      ‘Was that a sorry?’ Zarios asked.

      ‘No,’ Emma said tartly. ‘That was a “you could at least have rung!”’

      ‘I was on another call, trying to appease Tania, the charity’s president…’ He grimaced into the phone. ‘For the first time in my life I have a genuine reason for being late, and no one believes me.’

      ‘That’s what an appalling reputation does, I’m afraid.’

      He smiled at her tartness. ‘Can I ask a favour?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Can you go ahead without me? I will get changed at the airport as soon as my bags come through…’

      ‘You are kidding?’

      ‘No.’ Zarios winced. ‘There are pre-dinner drinks—Tania said that if you at least can put in an appearance the guests will accept that I am just delayed. I’ll be there in half an hour—forty-five minutes at the most.’ Pulling out his passport in preparation for Customs,