Page 51 of Her New Year Baby Secret

‘Mr Kowaski, have you forgotten your keys again? It’s okay, I... Oh.’ The door was fully open and Sophie stood there, shock mingling with something Marco couldn’t define but hoped might be pleasure. ‘How did you get in?’

‘A neighbour.’

‘They’re not supposed to just let people... Not that it matters. Come on in.’

She stepped back and Marco entered her flat. There wasn’t much of it, a small attic room, a large dormer window to the right the only natural light. A sofa ran along the wall to his left, opposite him a narrow counter defined the small kitchen, a high table barely big enough for two by the window. He’d been on larger boats.

The furniture was old and battered, but the room was scrupulously clean, the cream walls covered in bright prints and swathes of material, the sofa heaped with inviting throws and cushions. Along the wall adjoining the window a clothing rail lined up, dresses hanging on it in a neat row and drawings and patterns were pinned up on a huge easel.

There was no door between the living space and her bedroom, just a narrow archway. Through it he could see a single bed and two more rails bulging with brightly patterned dresses and skirts.

He walked over to the nearest rail and pulled out the first dress. Just like the outfit she’d worn to Bianca’s wedding—just like everything he’d seen her in—it was deceptively simple. She obviously took her inspiration from the past, each outfit having a vintage vibe, but the detailing and cut gave it a modern twist.

‘So this is what you do.’ She’d said she wanted to be a designer, he’d seen her work first-hand, but he hadn’t appreciated just how talented—just how motivated—she was, not until he stood in the tiny flat, more workspace than home. He’d met so many Chelsea girls over the last few years, women with family money who pottered around playing at being designers or artists or jewellers. He’d assumed Sophie belonged to their tribe, although looking back the signs were there: how careful she was with money, how little she spoke about her family. It was painfully clear how much he’d misjudged her, how little he knew about her.

‘This is what I do. It’s taken me a long time to get even this far. I don’t make a living from it yet. In fact...’ she took a deep breath ‘...I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to mislead you...’

‘About what?’

‘When we met, that first night. I was at the party but not as a guest. You didn’t see me because I was invisible—I was waitressing there. I was supposed to be waitressing at the Snowflake Ball as well. Only, my friends played fairy godmother and bought me a ticket. That’s how I make ends meet, have done since I moved to London. I work for Maids in Chelsea, cleaning, shopping, bar work—whatever is needed.’

Her blue eyes were defiant, her chin tilted, hands bunched on her hips. ‘You worked and produced all this? When did you find time to sleep? To eat?’

The defiance dimmed, replaced with relief. ‘Sleep’s overrated.’

‘You didn’t lie. You told me you were a designer. Looking at all this, I’d say that’s exactly what you are. These are incredible.’

‘Thank you.’ She twisted her hands together. ‘But you didn’t come here to pay me compliments. I know we need to talk, but it’s late and I’m really tired. Could we meet tomorrow and do this then?’

She did look exhausted, he realised with a pang of guilt. Purple shadows darkened her eyes, her hair, twisted up into a loose ponytail was duller than usual, her lips pale. She looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her and he ached for the right to take care of her. She was carrying his child. His. It was almost impossible to imagine, her body still slender, seemingly unchanged, and yet his blood thrilled at the realisation. He’d been running from this commitment for so long yet now he was confronted with the actuality he was filled with a primal joy. A determination to do better, be a better father than he had been a son, to not make the same mistakes his own father had made but to love his child no matter what their aspirations, who they wanted to be.

‘We can, but I just need to say one thing. I’m sorry for how I reacted, when you told me about the pregnancy. It was such a shock, so unexpected. I needed to fix it, solve it. That’s what I do.’

‘I understand.’

‘I made assumptions about you, about us. That was wrong. But I’ve missed you, Sophie. All this week I keep turning to speak to you, to see your reaction, and you’re not there. That’s my fault, I know, and it’s up to me to make things right.’ It was his turn to take a deep breath. He had never thought he would ever reach this point, but now he was here it made sense as nothing had ever made sense before. Maybe this was destined, the meeting in the snow, the baby, bringing him to this point.

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