Page 81 of Accidental Groom
I told myself I was going to Switzerland to handle the construction delays, and although it was technically true, that’s not all I was doing. Yes, there were issues with permits, issues with subcontractors dragging their feet, last-minute complications with the VIP wing. But part of it was me wanting to speak to a few members of the board about bringing Elena into the events section, and part of it was me trying to work out the mess I am in the center of when it comes to her and my son.
The door clicks open, and I drop my bag by the table, my eyes already searching the foyer for any sign of her — a laugh down the hall, the rustle of a sundress, the low hum of her voice as she chats on the phone to her sister. But there’s nothing.
Just silence, and the unmistakable heaviness that I’ve messed up.
I didn’t even manage to get sleep on the flight. I’d tried for an earlier one, tried to get back in time for the scan, but shit had hit the fan and I’d been stuck. But every second on the plane had been torture — George’s voice wouldn’t leave my head, bouncing around, stabbing into my skull.Ask her who Ross is.I hate that I’d let it sink its teeth into me, hate that it even matters.
It shouldn’t. But it does.
I find her in the sitting room, curled against the fogged window, tucked into a cushion with a book in her lap. There’s a blanket around her shoulders, even though the fire’s lit. Her profile is soft against the faint light through the glass, her hair loose, falling in blonde waves down her back and over her shoulders, one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
She looks like a painting.
The moment she turns her head to look at me, the temperature in the room seems to drop by ten degrees.
“You’re back,” she says, her voice quiet. But there’s no warmth in it.
I take a step into the room. “Yeah,” I sigh. “I am.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t smile, just nods once and returns her gaze to her lap, like the conversation’s already over.
“I should’ve called,” I offer, though the words feel limp and too late as they leave my mouth. “I should’ve been here. I know that.”
“You should have.”
I don’t expect forgiveness, not really, but I’d hoped for something more than this…brittlesilence. A conversation,maybe. An argument. Something. Instead, it feels like a cold space is yawning between us wider than the Atlantic. “Was everything okay?”
“Hmm?”
“The scan, Elena.”
She shifts, just slightly, her gaze flicking briefly to me. And oddly, there’s no anger or hurt behind her eyes — it’s something closer to resignation. “She’s healthy,” she says.
It takes me a beat too long to process the pronoun along with the news. The air leaves my lungs, and the heel of my palm digs into my sternum, trying to will oxygen back in. “She?”
Elena nods. “We’re having a girl. Surprise.”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest, far heavier than I expect. Agirl. Tiny dresses, soft hair, fierce and stubborn eyes — I think of Elena, how she’d hold her daughter like she was something sacred instead of the way her parents look at her now.
I want to feel joy. I do. But it comes with something else, something darker, a sharp, quiet fear I can’t shake.
“I can’t…fuck, I’m sorry, I’m trying to wrap my head around all of this,” I say, pushing my hair back from my face.
Her gaze meets mine and holds it. “Would probably have been easier to do that if you’d been there.”
I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “I know.”
“I didn’t know if she was okay,” she says, the last word cracking. She blinks too fast, her gaze rising to the ceiling. “If something had gone wrong, I would’ve beenalone.”
“I know,” I repeat, taking a step toward her, around the sofa. “But you had Mary?—”
“Mary isn’t my husband.”
I don’t have a response for that. She’s right. The silence stretches between us, swelling until it becomes its own kind of tension. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself and looks away again.
I take the opportunity to move.
My feet don’t feel like my own as I step toward her, around the coffee table, around the wingback, and sink to the floor in front of the reading nook. My hands rest on either side of her thighs, my thumbs dragging over her knees, and I look up at her, hoping at least a fraction of my regret comes through.
