Christmas Brides And Babies Collection. Rebecca Winters
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He pulled on his underpants and padded to the bathroom.
When he returned from his shower, with the towel still wrapped round his waist, she’d changed into a pair of pyjamas. Totally unsexy striped flannel pyjamas that buttoned right up to the neck.
And how bad was it that he wanted to unbutton them and slide the material off her skin again? To kiss every centimetre of skin he uncovered and lose himself in her warmth?
Then again, those pyjamas were also a statement. She was dressed—and he was wearing only her bath towel. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked.
‘I think it would be best,’ she said.
He knew she was right, and that leaving would be the sensible thing to do, but he still felt bad. As if he should’ve stayed a bit longer, and at least held her until she fell asleep. Going now felt as if he was deserting her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘I’m not.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We did nothing to be ashamed of.’
He had. He’d taken her virginity without a second thought. But if he pressed the issue, he had a feeling she’d take it the wrong way and think he was ashamed about sleeping with her—that she was the problem, not him. Which wasn’t true.
‘Uh-huh,’ he said awkwardly. Normally he was good with words, but tonight that ability had completely deserted him. ‘Ella—we’ve worked together well for eighteen months. I don’t want that to change.’
‘It won’t. Nobody at the hospital needs to know anything about what just happened.’
She didn’t meet his eye, he noticed. So that comment about not being ashamed had obviously been sheer bravado.
‘I’m not a good bet when it comes to relationships, Ella,’ he said softly. Though he didn’t want to tell her why. How stupid was he not to have realised that Justine had been seeing someone else, and that he was her golden ticket to the good life for her and the baby that wasn’t his? He knew that Ella wasn’t a gold-digger, the way Justine had been; but he still couldn’t face taking a risk with a relationship again. Making another mistake. Having his heart trampled on again. So it was better to stay exactly as he was, where everyone knew the score and that all his relationships were just for fun.
Not a good bet when it comes to relationships.
Neither am I, Ella thought ruefully.
What did she have to offer anyone? Thanks to the endometriosis that had dogged her for years and caused the ovarian cyst to grow and rupture, Ella couldn’t have children. It was one of the reasons why she’d avoided relationships; what was the point of starting anything when you knew you were taking someone’s future choices away? Who would want a wife who couldn’t give him a family? She’d seen first-hand from her own best friend’s experience how the pressure of infertility could cause even the strongest marriage to crack.
So she knew she was better off as she was. She’d come to terms with the situation over the last few years; now she had the chance to concentrate on her job and prove that she was better than her grades at university suggested—that she was worthy of her job. And her job would be enough for her.
‘I don’t want a relationship with you, Oliver,’ she said. It wasn’t strictly true, but she wasn’t stupid enough to long for something she knew she couldn’t have. ‘Except a working one.’
The relief in his expression was so dazzling, it almost blinded her.
Well, she could be just as bright and chirpy. She wasn’t going to let him see how much his relief had hurt her. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea while you’re getting dressed?’
‘No, it’s fine, thank you. I’d probably better go.’
‘I’ll, um, let you get changed,’ she said, and headed for the kitchen to give him some space.
The two mugs of instant coffee—never made—sat accusingly in front of the kettle. She tipped the coffee granules in the bin, rinsed out the mugs and made herself a strong cup of tea. Mam’s solution to everything, she thought wryly. Though she had a feeling that it would take an awful lot more than a cup of tea to sort this out.
She’d just have to pretend that tonight had never happened. And hopefully things wouldn’t be awkward between Oliver and her at work.
Saturday 3rd December
‘EXCUSE ME, PLEASE. I’ll be back in a second.’ Ella held her breath and made a dash for the door. This was hardly professional behaviour, but it would be better than throwing up in front of the poor mum-to-be and her partner.
She made it to the staff toilet with seconds to spare. And then, weirdly, as she leaned over the bowl, she stopped feeling sick.
Huh?
If she was coming down with the sickness bug that was sweeping its way through the hospital and leaving all the departments short-staffed, she should’ve been throwing up right now. Big time. But the queasiness that had left her feeling hot and sweaty in the consulting room seemed to have vanished.
She frowned. The last thing she’d been aware of was how strong the dad-to-be’s aftershave had been.
Sensitive to smells and feeling sick…
Had any other woman listed those symptoms, Ella would’ve suspected early pregnancy. But she knew that she couldn’t possibly be pregnant. Her doctor had given her the bad news more than five years ago, after her ovarian cyst had ruptured. Between the cyst and the endometriosis that had dogged Ella and caused her to fall behind in her studies, her Fallopian tubes were in a bad way and she’d been told she’d never have children of her own.
How ironic that she’d specialised in midwifery. Cuddles with a baby she’d just delivered, or with a friend’s or cousin’s child, were all she would ever have. But after a lot of heartache and tears she’d come to terms with the situation. She loved her job. Trying to find a Mr Right who wouldn’t mind that she couldn’t ever give him a baby of his own—well, that was just being greedy and expecting too much.
She splashed water on her face, took a deep breath and returned to the consulting room to finish the antenatal appointment with her parents-to-be.
But when exactly the same thing happened at her next antenatal appointment, Ella began to wonder quite what was going on.
She and Oliver hadn’t used protection, the night of the Hallowe’en masked ball. But she’d thought it wouldn’t matter.
Of course she wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be.
As for the fact that her bra felt a bit too tight and her breasts felt slightly sore… That was purely psychological. Her imagination was simply running riot and coming up with other pregnancy symptoms. There was no way this could be a miracle baby. No way at all.
But, now she thought about it, her period was late. A quick mental count told her that it was two and a half weeks late. She hadn’t had time to notice because they’d been so short-staffed and busy in the department lately. Actually, that was probably the reason why her period was late in the first place; she’d been rushed off her feet and working crazy hours, so it wasn’t surprising that her menstrual cycle was protesting.
‘Ella O’Brien, you’re being a numpty,’ she told herself crossly. ‘Of course you’re not pregnant.’ All the same, during her break she took one of the pregnancy test kits from the cupboard. Just to prove to herself once and for all that she was being ridiculous, and then she could get on with the rest of her life.
She peed on the stick, then