Page 61 of Forever Mr Black

“How do I know you’re not going to try and wear me down and get me to change my mind about having kids sooner?”

Irritation dances in his eyes. “Fucking hell, Sophie. I wouldn’t do that.”

The hurt tone to his voice makes me waver.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m not going to pressurise you into having kids. I’ll wait until you’re ready. As long as it takes.” He interlaces his fingers with mine. “I’ve fucked up, and I’m sorry.”

My anger from earlier begins to wane. “Why did you choose the twenty-third of December as the date?”

He glances around the room and draws in a deep breath before looking at me. “I thought it would be romantic, getting married that close to Christmas, with the place all dressed up, and … it would have been Dad’s seventieth birthday.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I was wrong to do it.”

The hotel does look magical when it’s decorated for Christmas, but I’m not telling him that yet. I’m still annoyed with him.

He lifts his eyebrows, and a smile plays on his lips. “Is my bollocking over with?”

Not quite.

“How did you get on with Aisling?”

His smile fades. “Fine.”

“I didn’t know you were seeing her today.”

“We talked about it yesterday.”

I stare down at our hands, still interlinked, and try hard not to sound as though I’m giving him the third degree. “I knew you’d agreed to help her. I didn’t realise it was today. You could have mentioned it.”

“And miss this whole load of awkwardness, you mean? You’re right; I can’t imagine why I didn’t tell you.”

“That’s not a reason to avoid telling me,” I snap.

He loops his arms around my waist and pulls me to his chest. “Okay. I’m sorry. It was fine. I was gone an hour and a half. We talked about cars.” He flashes a playful smile as he recounts his afternoon, anticipating my questions.

I straighten the white collar of his shirt, trying to act nonchalant. “And did she buy a car?”

“Yes, a Merc.”

I raise my eyebrows. “She’s doing all right out of the divorce then, is she?”

“Apparently, but her therapy practice has done well over the last few years.” He tightens his grip on my waist, and that hesitant look is back in his eye. I know he’s about to say something I won’t like. “She’s picking her new car up at the weekend and has asked if I can give her a lift to the garage.”

I suppress the desire to roll my eyes. “Can’t she drive herself to the garage?”

“She hasn’t got a car. They all belonged to her husband.”

I bite back the barbed comment on the edge of my lips. “And I suppose she’s got no one else to ask, like you’ve already told me.”

“She hasn’t,” he insists.

My patience is paper-thin where this woman is concerned. “What did you say to her?”

“About what?”

“You said you were going to speak to her about some of the stuff she said last night.”

“I did.”

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