St Piran’s: The Wedding of The Year. Caroline Anderson
gave his heart another little wrench. ‘What about him? He’ll be fine. He doesn’t know you’re his father, it hasn’t done him any harm not to know, so it won’t in the future. I’ll tell him when he’s eighteen. I can’t stay here so you can ignore him at close range. Anyway, you don’t see him now—why would this make any difference?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous—of course I see him,’ he denied. ‘I see him a lot.’
‘Only if you can’t avoid it. Seeing him reminds you of your human frailty, and you don’t like that.’
He didn’t. He hated the constant reminder of what they’d done that night, of how he’d betrayed Annabel, tarnished the memory of James. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to watch the child grow up, make sure he was all right—
‘How the hell am I going to explain it to my children? They won’t understand.’
‘You could tell them you’re human?’ she suggested softly, her eyes so wise, so—so damn knowing.
He gave a quiet snort. ‘Oh, they know that.’
‘And this is about what they think of you?’ she said, her voice heavy with reproach. ‘What about what Jem will think of you when he finds out that he doesn’t matter as much as your other children—your proper children, all respectably born in wedlock? They’re no different, Nick’ she reminded him, her words still soft and yet flaying his skin off with their accuracy. ‘Conceived in haste, every single one of them. Story of your life. Well, I don’t want to be a part of it any more, of the carefully constructed illusion of reality you fool yourself with every day,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ll work my notice, once Jem’s better, but then I’m off, Nick, and you won’t hear from me again. It’s better that way.’
Was it? He wasn’t sure. He was suddenly filled with a cold, nameless fear for the future—a future without Kate, and without the boy, this last, unacknowledged and yet still infinitely precious child who, it seemed, he’d managed to love in spite of everything.
He sat beside her, the chairs so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her body, feel the air move with every shallow breath as her chest rose and fell.
‘I thought you wanted me to be in his life?’
‘I do—but not like this, giving him fragments of yourself from time to time. He deserves more from you.’ Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘I can’t do this any more, Nick. I’m leaving, and that’s an end to it. Please. Just let me go.’
Let me go…
He held her eyes, watched the threatening tears well, watched in despair as one slipped down her cheek and fell to the floor. She never cried. Before today, the last time he’d seen her cry had been the night he’d taken her into his arms and held her. The night Jeremiah had been conceived.
Swallowing the bitter taste of regret, he stood up and turned away.
How could he let her go?
He couldn’t—but how could he make her stay?
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