Page 29 of The Tycoon's Shock Heir

‘Is there a reason why not?’

Her mother’s face swam into view—frowning, angry, tearstained. Ruby was sitting beside her on a park bench as a little girl, putting her hand on her mother’s leg to comfort her—she had long, slim legs, like hers. She jerked away, stood up.

‘Are you OK, Mummy?’

‘No, Ruby—I’m not. I’m not OK. I hate this life! It’s so unfair...’

She’d never said what fair would be, but Ruby knew it wasn’t this. She’d never smiled when it was just them. But she’d been happy when someone else was there—she would light up, laugh and sparkle. And then she would like it when Ruby would dance.

‘Come and dance for us, Ruby.’

They’d all smile and everyone would be happy, and the coldness and fear would slide away because Mummy liked it that she could do this for them. Mummy loved her then.

And that was all she’d wanted—to see her mother smile, to make her happy. But the music would end, the people would go, and they’d be left alone again. That aching, empty sadness would fall around them.

She’d lie in her bedroom, listening to the sounds of her mother, knowing that Mummy wanted to be out with her friends, praying that she wouldn’t leave her alone again. The house was so dark, so quiet, so empty... She’d hear her own heart beating, hear the fear creeping through her, hear every single sound in the house.

The ping of the kettle was good, and the striking of a match to light a candle, the lights being turned off and Mummy’s feet on the stairs. But sometimes she’d hear other sounds—the slide of the cupboard door, the rustle of a raincoat, the drag of keys along the shelf, the pause, the whoosh of the world outside, the silent click...

No, she couldn’t have a baby because she couldn’t have that world again. She couldn’t look after a baby and give it everything it needed. She couldn’t cause that pain. She could only keep her own pain at bay by dancing and rehearsing over and over and over. She couldn’t be responsible for another living soul.

‘I understand it’s a shock. There’s help available... I wasn’t sure if you knew already. I can arrange for someone from the ballet company to speak to you—your mentor? Or there are services here. Is there no one close at hand? The father?’

The father. Matteo Rossini. What on earth had she been thinking? His face. His smile. His body. His never-ending stream of women.

This is what happens when feelings are given space. This disaster!

He was the worst possible person she could have let her guard down with. The very worst. She’d thought he might, just might get in touch with her—but, no. There had been nothing. He’d have had another whole troupe of women in his bed since then.

Would he even acknowledge that this had happened? He had been extremely careful with contraception. She had been reassured when he’d taken care of it so well because she knew she couldn’t afford to get pregnant. She couldn’t be a mother...

She put her hand out into the space that swam around her. Seconds, days, years suddenly spun ahead of her, showing her a different world that she could never in her worst nightmare have imagined would be hers.

‘Let me get you some leaflets. We can talk about options.’

She couldn’t talk about options. There were no options. He would have to take responsibility and let her get on with her life. There was only that. She couldn’t mother anyone. She couldn’t and wouldn’t do that.

She breathed in, filling her lungs with air, willing her legs to be still, praying for the strength to stay calm and cope. Focus.

She stood up. ‘So, just to be clear,’ she said slowly. ‘I am ready to go back to work. The ligaments are fully repaired and I won’t be risking doing any damage. You’re sure of that?’

‘Your body will start to change during pregnancy, but you’ll get all the help and advice you need.’

Her body would change? Her body was her only weapon in this world. She needed it to work.

Her throat closed over a new wave of fear.

Focus. Focus, she told herself, refusing to let it wash her away. You’ve come so far. You’re nearly there. It’s just like those early calls to Mum. Focus on the good parts—ignore the rest or it’ll pull you down.

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