Red-Hot Honeymoon: The Honeymoon Arrangement / Marriage in Name Only? / The Honeymoon That Wasn't. Debbi Rawlins
make sure they didn’t lose her too.
It had taken a while for that statement to make sense, and when it had pain had ricocheted through his body and stopped at his heart. Their baby was gone. He also remembered their final conversation as he’d perched on a chair next to her bed, knowing that she was awake but not wanting to talk to him.
‘I lost the baby,’ she’d said eventually.
‘Yeah. I’m so sorry.’
Liz had shrugged, her eyes sunken in her face. ‘I feel … empty.’ She’d turned her head to look at the flowers he’d bought for her in the hospital gift shop. ‘I want to go home, Finn.’
‘The doctors say in a day or two. They want to keep an eye on you. You lost a lot of blood. Then I’ll take you home.’
Liz shook her head. ‘I want to go home—back to Durban, to my folks. We didn’t tell anyone I was pregnant so I don’t need to explain.’
She fiddled with the tape holding a drip into her vein. When she wouldn’t look at him—at all—he knew what she was about to say.
‘I don’t want to get married any more. We’ve lost the reason we were both prepared to risk it. We loved the baby but we don’t love each other—not enough to get married.’
He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘God, Liz. Why don’t we take some time to think about that?’
‘We don’t have time, Finn. And you know that I’m right. If I hadn’t fallen pregnant we would’ve split. You know it and I know it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too.’ Liz looked at him then, finally, with pain and sadness and, yes, relief vying for control of her expression. ‘Can you cancel the wedding? Sort out the house?’
‘Sure.’ It was the least he could do.
‘And, Finn? I don’t want anyone to know that I lost the baby. Just say that we called it quits, okay?’
Now, four days later, he was sad and confused and, to add hydrochloric acid to an open wound, stuck with all the bills for a wedding that wouldn’t happen.
Finn wrestled with the dodgy lock of the door that led out to the balcony and stepped out onto the huge outdoor area. He loved this house—mostly for the tremendous view. From most rooms he had endless views of False Bay, the wildness of the Peninsular, the rocking, rolling Atlantic Ocean. Out here on the balcony he felt he could breathe.
Liz loved the house too, and because she’d spent more time here than he had it seemed as if it was more hers than his. His name might be on the mortgage agreement, but she’d furnished and decorated the place—filled it with the things that made it a home. He supposed that he’d have to go through the place and pack up her stuff—which was pretty much everything. The house would be empty. But to him it felt mostly empty anyway.
They’d tried so hard to play the part of a happy family, but innate honesty had him admitting that, while he was devastated at the loss of their child, he wasn’t heartbroken about the wedding being called off. Losing Liz didn’t feel like something that had derailed his world, and shouldn’t it? Shouldn’t he be feeling—more? More pain? More confusion? More broken-hearted?
Instead of mourning the loss of his lover he was mourning not being able to hold his child, not being a dad. Although most of his and Liz’s conversations lately had revolved around the wedding, they had obviously talked about the birth. They’d been excited—well, he’d been excited, Liz had been less so. They’d talked about what type of birth she wanted, had tossed a couple of names around, and he’d been in the process of moving his gym equipment from the third bedroom to the garage so that they could use the room as a nursery.
He felt lousy—as if his world had been tipped upside down. Was it crazy to feel so crap over losing a half-formed, half-baked person to whom he’d contributed DNA but whom he’d never met? Was this normal? Was his grief reasonable? God, he just didn’t know.
And how much of his grief was over the baby and how much of it was the residue of the pain he felt about losing James? It felt as if his heart was wrapped in a dull, grey, icy, soggy blanket. The only time he’d felt as if it had lifted—even a little bit—was earlier this evening, when he’d been talking to Callie. For some reason that crazy flirt had managed to lift his spirits. It had been a brief respite and one he’d badly needed.
Finn drank again, leaned his forearms on the railing and stared hard at his feet. He knew that most people thought that because he was a travel journalist that he was a free spirit—that he was a laid-back type of individual—but nothing could be further from the truth. He was a Third Dan black belt in Taekwondo, held a black belt in Jiu-jitsu and, like the other two, his Krav Maga also demanded immense amounts of control and discipline.
But no amount of control, self-discipline or philosophising could rationalise this pain away. Because he’d tried. He really had.
He needed time, he decided—a lot of it—to sort out his head and his heart. Time to think through all he’d recently lost. His baby, his dreams of a family, even his stepdad. He needed time to get back on his feet, to make solid decisions, to work through the emotion of the last couple of weeks, months, years.
And even though he’d been so tempted to ask Callie to come home with him—sleeping with her would have been the perfect way to step out of his head—he knew that he needed to be alone for a while, to keep women at a distance, to work through what had gone wrong with Liz and how.
Ten days, he told himself, and he would be on a plane to Kruger National Park for the first leg of his Southern Africa trip. Ten days and he could get some distance from this house, from the memory of the blood, Liz’s ashen face, from the craziness of cancelling the wedding. Ten days and he would have an excuse to avoid all the calls from his friends and family. He wouldn’t have to open the door to any of his three brothers who were taking turns to check up on him, making sure that he was okay.
Finn sighed. Ten more days. A part of him wished he was hiring a kitted-out Land Rover with rooftop tents and heading out into wild, crazy Africa. But visiting upmarket honeymoon destinations wouldn’t be a kick in the pants either.
As Callie had said, there was something to be said for licking his wounds in luxury.
If he actually got to keep the job.
The travel magazine had forked out a shedload of cash, and some of the hotels had sponsored his stay in exchange for an honest review of their honeymoon experience. He would be writing the story but he was supposed to take his wife’s opinions into consideration as he did so … except now he didn’t have a wife to take.
He had to talk to Mike, his editor—and sooner rather than later.
Tomorrow Rowan would send out a blanket email to the wedding guests on his behalf and Mike, as a guest, would receive said email and soon put two and two together. Finn scrunched up his face, annoyed that he hadn’t contacted Mike sooner. Cape Town was a small city and he might even have heard already.
Finn glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. A bit late to call, but that couldn’t be helped. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked up Mike’s number, sighing as he pushed the green button.
‘I wondered when you’d get around to calling me,’ Mike answered without any preamble.
Finn rubbed his forehead. ‘Yeah, it’s been a bit mad. I presume you’ve heard that the wedding is off?’
‘Yeah. Sorry.’
Finn heard Mike clearing his throat and jumped in before he could speak again.
‘I’d still like to do the assignment.’
‘It’s a bit pointless without a wife,’ Mike said.
‘Can’t I leave the honeymoon bit out and just write on the lodges themselves?’
‘It’s scheduled to be part of the