Page 46 of A Nine-Month Deal With Her Husband

Later, she’d try to eat tea and toast. Tomorrow she’d eat something more substantial. The day after tomorrow her heart would feel a tiny bit better and it would start to heal in minuscule increments. Because, even though it didn’t feel like that right now, Millie was mature enough to know her heart would, in some way, heal. She would smile again. Not today or tomorrow, possibly not next week or next year, but at some point, she’d learn to live again. She hoped.

And in the New Year, she would force herself to choose a sperm donor from the website, she would go to the clinic and be artificially inseminated. Hopefully, she’d fall pregnant straight away, but if she didn’t she would try again. She would continue with her pre-Ben plans—they were good plans and made sense. Married or divorced or separated, Ben or no Ben, she wasn’t putting her dreams on hold any longer. Not for any man.

She needed a family, someone to love. She wanted a child, she wanted children. It was a pity that Ben couldn’t get past his fear to share her life, and her his, and share children with her. But she wouldn’t let him derail her plans.

She would be okay. Not today, but at some point.

Millie rested her head against the window, noticing the low dark clouds. They were predicting snow in London, just a few flakes, but after experiencing an Icelandic blizzard, she wasn’t even marginally concerned or impressed. A black London taxi turned down her street, moving slowly along the road, before pulling up next to her flat. Some lucky person in her building, or maybe in the one next door, was home for Christmas...

Millie watched as the door opened and she placed a trembling hand on the cold pane when she saw a big foot, covered in a trendy trainer, hit the pavement. Ben had a pair of trainers just like those. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the glass. She had to stop thinking about him...she was driving herself mad.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw flat, fluffy snowflakes cascading past her window and a tall man stood next to the taxi, a small overnight bag in his hand. Her eyes travelled up his body—jeans, a navy pullover, a black scarf and a camel-coloured coat and, taking in his messy hair and tired, oh-so-familiar face, her heart started to gallop.

Ben stood below her window and he was looking up at her, his face pale in the fading afternoon light. She stared down at him, wondering if she was hallucinating, possibly caused by her lack of food, sleep and extreme sadness.

But then he lifted his hand and pointed to her door, silently asking if he could come up. Millie nodded and a few seconds later her intercom buzzed. Was this really happening? Ben’s deep voice sounded a little strained. ‘Can I come up? We need to talk.’

‘The last time you said that ended in you walking out of my life,’ Millie told him, cursing her shaky voice.

‘Mils, I’m cold and tired. Let me in, dammit.’

Millie hit the button to unlock the downstairs door and went to her front door and opened it. She heard the sound of Ben’s feet as he jogged up the wooden stairs and she swallowed, wondering why he was here and what he would say.

Leaning against the door frame of her front door, she waited until he reached her landing, her heart pounding at a million beats per second.

Ben stopped in front of her and used his free hand to rake back his hair, dislodging a melting snowflake. He looked as though he hadn’t slept any more than she had.

She gestured for him to follow her into her flat and reminded herself she wasn’t looking her best either.

Ben closed the door behind him and she turned to look at him. He dropped his overnight bag to the floor and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

‘Coffee? Tea? A drink?’ she asked.

He took a long time to answer her and when he finally spoke, he only uttered one word. ‘You.’

Ben kept his eyes on Millie’s face, taking in the various emotions skittering across her face. With Millie, even if it was on a second-to-second basis, you could always tell how she was feeling if you looked quickly enough. Hope flared first, then delight, then worry and resignation.

Shaking her head, she walked out of her bright and happy sitting room—cream couches with bright cushions, lots of plants and colourful Persian carpets on the old wooden floors—and he followed her slim figure to her small, equally light kitchen. He stood in the doorway while she fiddled with her kettle and reached for two mugs. It looked as though he was getting coffee whether he wanted it or not.

He took in the tension in her slim back and noticed her shoulders were up around her ears. He’d hurt her, and, for that, he was truly sorry. He would make damn sure he never did it again.

If she gave him the chance.

‘I’ll give you a baby, Millie.’

He knew, as soon as the words left his mouth, he’d said the wrong thing. She whirled around, waving the mug around. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’

He moved over to where she stood and gently removed the mug from her hand. This small apartment was too small for what he wanted to say—he needed more space for the big, important words he intended to say—so he took her hand and pulled her out of the kitchen and back into her much bigger lounge. Knowing he couldn’t make her sit, he stood in front of her and looked down into her lovely, much-loved face.

‘I’d like to give you a baby, Millie. But I’d like to love you more, share your life, be your lover and husband, be the father of your kids.’

She looked up at him and he saw the disbelief in her eyes.

‘You told me that you couldn’t, that you’d never allow yourself to become emotionally involved,’ Millie said, pulling her hands out of his and walking over to the window. She sat on the narrow window ledge. When he looked up earlier and saw her standing in the window, his heart settled down from a galloping rush into a steady beat. She was what he needed. Having her in his life, whether that life was in Iceland or England, or anywhere else, was all that mattered.

He could only say the words and hope she believed them. He’d keep saying them, badly and over and over again, until he got them right. ‘I love you, Millicent.’

Millie heard the three simple words, felt them settle on her skin and hauled in a deep breath. She fought the urge to fly to him, to wind her arms around his waist and bury her face in his neck. She couldn’t allow him to walk back into her life after creating a tornado that had upended her psyche and torn through her heart. He had to work a little harder than that.

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