One Kiss in... London. Carol Marinelli
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just concentrate on getting you out of here. Are you managing to save?’ Always practical, he tried to steer her to a solution. Perhaps if he could help her get a flat, arrange some child care, at least get on her feet, then, maybe then, they could talk, but his question went unanswered and a frown formed as he saw her swallow. ‘What are you paid?’ He did not care if the question was rude.
‘I have accommodation, and I have food,’ Connie said, not revealing that she ate the same as Henry did, that the disgusting porridge and mince and potato was all that was available. ‘In return I look after his home …’
‘He doesn’t pay you?’
‘A little.’ Constantine revealed the paltry sum that hardly covered the nappies, that gave her no option but to breastfeed, and her milk was already starting to dry up.
Nico closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment, and it was game over.
He could not treat her as a client.
‘It’s the twenty-first century …’ His voice rose and she begged him quiet, but he lowered it only slightly. ‘You cannot be treated like a slave. There are people who deal with single mothers, with wages …’
‘And I have qualifications and a wealthy family back home in Greece,’ Connie retorted, for she had looked into that. ‘I’m hardly a priority. There are people far worse off than me.’ It was hard at times to remember that. ‘I’m getting things sorted.’ She was, she meant it. She was doing everything in her power to ensure a better future for her child, to lift herself out of the hole she was in. ‘I went to the doctor today, he gave me vitamins and some tablets. Once they kick in …’
‘Tablets?’
‘He says I have postnatal depression.’ She watched his eyes narrow. ‘I didn’t want to take anything while I was feeding, but he said they were safe.’
‘I’d have postnatal depression if I lived here.’ He wasn’t being derisive, absolutely he wasn’t. ‘You are not depressed, Constantine, you are miserable because you are exhausted. Tablets won’t help that.’
‘Oh.’ She gave a tired laugh, absolutely devoid of humour. ‘I’ll take what I can get.’
A banging on the ceiling had Nico’s jaw clamp down, and it ground tighter as he saw the baby murmur a tired protest as she moved him from her breast.
‘He’s still feeding,’ Nico said as she stood. Breastfeeding did not embarrass him, it was that she might interrupt this time to tend to the demands of the greedy man upstairs that caused the gruffness to his voice.
‘He’s asleep,’ Connie said, but even though he was, she knew she had stolen some precious food from her son. Henry was still banging, so she sorted out her clothing and without a word headed upstairs.
‘What’s all the noise?’ Henry demanded. ‘Who’s down there?’
‘No one. I’m sorry,’ Connie attempted. ‘I had the television too loud. Can I get you a drink?’
‘Just my pillows.’
She hated sorting his pillows most, and it was the thing he most often asked. How she hated leaning him forward and arranging the pillows, knowing where his eyes were, where his cheeks were.
Had Nico been able to see the smile on Henry’s face at that moment, instead of Connie laying the old man back down, he’d have been laying him out, but for now he sat in the quiet kitchen, trying to work out how best to handle things.
He had not stopped to think since he’d heard the news—after finding where she was he had pretty much stepped on a plane and now he had to sort something out.
Thankfully the baby was sleeping. Nico did not go over and look. It was almost as if he did not want to see, to know, to have it confirmed.
Deal with the issue.
It was his mantra and it never failed him.
In crises at work, he simply silenced the voices, cut through the tape and dealt with what was, not what might be, not what had been, but what was.
Constantine, for now, was the issue.
If it was not his son … He looked around the kitchen, heard her footsteps walking above and knew that even if the baby were not his, he couldn’t simply walk away.
And if it was … Nico sat still for a long moment, wrestled with indignation, with the betrayal at not being told, which led to more anger against a woman who wanted to go alone, so he clamped his mind closed on those issues and fought to get to the vital point. If this was his child, what then?
She did not want him in her life.
His mind raced for an instant solution.
Declare her unfit?
Take the child?
To what?
For what?
Raw was his honesty.
His lifestyle was lavish, he ate out most nights, hopped on planes, and the only thing he had to think about changing was the time on his watch.
He looked at the dark hair on the back of the child’s head, to the white sheet over his shoulders, and it was a relief not to see his face, safer by far not to love him.
Love did not last. Something deep inside told him that.
‘You must go.’ Constantine was at the door.
He should, Nico realised. He should get up now and let her continue her miserable life and get on with his—except he could not leave it there.
‘Come with me.’
She gave a tired smile, but Nico wasn’t joking.
‘I mean it,’ Nico said. ‘Come back to my hotel.’ He saw her eyes shutter, no doubt thinking he was about to add to her exhaustion. ‘Separate rooms,’ he added.
Which just made her feel worse. Oh, she wasn’t up for a sexual marathon, but for him to so quickly discount her …
‘I’m not your problem.’
The baby might be, but he did not want to broach that, so he tried another approach. ‘I feel that I engineered this, that you would be married to Stavros if it were not for me.’
‘And I’d no doubt be feeling exactly the same,’ Connie pointed out, ‘with my little IVF baby and a husband that couldn’t stand to touch me—a little less tired perhaps, but still on the happy pills!’ She hated this, hated to be seen like this. Pride was her downfall, because she could beg and weep to her family, could go online tomorrow and tell the world how she was living and shame would move her family to bring her home, but she would not force charity. ‘It would be just as bad …’
‘It could not be as bad,’ Nico refuted. ‘It could not be worse.’
There were unexpected prices for pride, and she paid one now—because here was the man who had seen her so beautiful. Here was the man she escaped to in weary snatched dreams, looking more beautiful than she had dared ever remember, yet she had seen the shock in his eyes when she had opened the door, the bewildered start as he’d realised the swan had reverted, and now he was seeing her at her very worst.
‘If I had led you back to your room instead of mine, if I had not said those things about choices …’
‘I’m glad that you did.’ Her admission surprised even her, but now she thought about it, now she looked at how her life would have been without Nico’s intervention that night, despite all her problems, it was still here that she would rather be. She felt better for him being there, better for their talk, better now that she could see more clearly, and spirit rose within her. ‘Things aren’t great now,’ she admitted. ‘I know there will be struggles ahead, but I will get there.’
And there was still a glimmer of fire in her tired, dull eyes, and