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  She stopped, took a deep breath. “So, yeah. You left. And you left me holding the bag. And I’m still holding it.”

  “So what do we do?” Nic asked after a long silence. “Now?”

  “What do you mean, what do we do? I do what I’ve always done. Raise my son.”

  “Are you working, though?” He wasn’t sure what to ask, what to say.

  “Of course I’m working. What do you think?”

  “Doing . . . the art? Something with that?”

  She laughed, a quick sound, the bitterness coming through again. “Not exactly. I’m a CAD operator at Morrow & Associates. The engineers.”

  “OK. Uh . . . I guess we need a DNA test, right? And a court order?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m his dad. And I want him to know it, and to do what’s right.”

  “No,” she said immediately. “No. You’re not telling him. Not now.”

  “I have a right, Emma,” he insisted. “A right to support him, and to be there. To have him with me.”

  “A right you haven’t exercised for more than six years,” she flashed back.

  “Because I didn’t know. And now I do. A DNA test. Means all three of us need to be tested, I reckon. And then we go to court. I’ll do it whether you cooperate or not,” he threatened, his tone flat, eyes intense. “Better to do it this way. I won’t tell him now, if you really think better not. But I want to get to know him, and for him to know me. And to pay what’s right, so he doesn’t have to live here.” His quick glance took in the scarred tabletop, the faded old lino.

  “This is Northcote,” she said angrily. “He’s going to a Tier 9 primary school. I’m spending half my salary for this place that you’re looking at as if . . . as if you’re seeing a cockroach.”

  He moved his hand impatiently as if he were literally brushing her objection aside. “We can do this the easy way. Or we can do it the hard way. I don’t want to get into a custody battle with you. I don’t want to make Zack’s life harder, or yours either. But I’ll do that, if I have to. If you make me.”

  She leaned back, face going pale. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “I don’t want to,” he said, shame overcoming the anger. “Come on, Emma. We’ll do the DNA testing. I’ll find out what I have to do to establish . . . establish paternity, I guess it is. And then we’ll go from there.”

  “But you won’t tell Zack,” she said, searching his face. “When it’s time, it needs to come from me.”

  “What does he think now?”

  “I told him that his dad had to go away. He’s young. He hasn’t asked more than that yet. I hadn’t decided what to say when he did start asking the tough questions.”

  “Now you don’t have to decide,” he said firmly. “I won’t tell him, for now. But I want to get started with this. I’ll be in Cape Town this week, back quite late Sunday night. I could come Monday after school, my day off. Take him out and do a bit of practice.”

  “School holidays, still,” Emma said slowly. “A couple hours. That’s it.”

  “And the DNA test,” he reminded her. “I’m off with the squad tomorrow. Bugger. We can do it next week, though. I’ll set it up.”

  “I work all day,” she protested. “I can’t just take off.”

  “After five,” he suggested. “I’ll have training as well. I’ll let you know.”

  “All right,” she said reluctantly. “But, Nic. Don’t start this unless you’re sure. He’s not something you can . . . try out, and see if you like it or not. If you get involved, you have to mean it. Kids aren’t temporary. They’re forever. We’ve got along without you so far, and we can keep doing it.”

  “I’m committing to it,” he promised. “I already did, or I wouldn’t be here now.”

  No warmth, only stern resolution in the face that looked up at his own. “If you desert him now, Nic. If you decide it doesn’t fit into your image, or your lifestyle, or something. If you let him down, I’ll make you sorry. I’ll find a way, and I’ll do it.”

  “What d’you take me for?” he asked, flushing with anger.

  “I take you for somebody who’s got a pretty sweet deal right now. A lot going for him. And who may not want to risk jeopardizing it.”

  He got up abruptly. “No point in this. I’ll text you about the DNA testing, and about Monday. The footy. You can tell me where and when to collect Zack.”

  “Fine.” She got up too, walked him to the front door. He heard it close behind him as he jogged up the concrete steps and left the two of them behind.

  Chapter 4

  Nic eased himself into the low-slung car in one quick movement and slammed the door. He took the turns automatically that would lead him back to the opulent house in Narrow Neck. His new house, that he’d been so proud of until tonight. So different from the dodgy little flat he’d just left. Emma’s flat.

  Emma. How could she look the same, but seem so different? He could still remember the feel of her when she’d landed in his lap, that first time.

  He’d been leaning back in his aisle seat in the small jet, headphones on and eyes closed, when he felt the lurch and sickening drop as the aircraft hit the air pocket. His eyes had snapped open and his hands gone up automatically to catch the girl who landed hard against him at the jolt, then lost her footing and fell, sprawling, across his lap.

  “Oh! Sorry,” she squeaked, struggling to sit upright. He had his arms around her now as the plane lurched again. The “Fasten Seatbelt” sign came on with a ding, then the pilot’s voice over the intercom, asking passengers to return to their seats “just till we’ve got through these few bumps.”

  Nic grabbed the girl close again and tugged his headphones off as the plane took another lurch. He couldn’t help but notice how good she felt against him, the soft curves of her under the thin white cotton sundress. Or the faintly floral scent of her honey-colored hair, the curls streaked with blonde. Or that she’d been crying.

  “Think you’d better stay here a minute,” he said, reluctantly lifting her off his lap and sliding into the empty window seat as the aircraft continued to bounce. “Till we’re out of this.” He saw her grab unsteadily for the armrest and reached out to fasten her seatbelt. “There,” he said as he snapped the belt together around her, pulled it tight around the narrow waist. “Good as gold.”

  She reached with both hands to wipe the tears away. Turned to him, big blue eyes still swimming with tears. Her soft little mouth, with its strongly defined cupid’s bow, trembled as she looked up at him.

  “I’ve lost my shoe,” she told him tragically.

  He looked down, saw one slender foot in its high-heeled, slip-on sandal, the other bare. Leaned over to check under her seat, fish out the other shoe. He slid it onto her foot, noticing while he was down there how slim her ankles were, and how smooth and firm her bare legs looked in the short sundress.

  “Bad flight?” he asked her after he’d reluctantly returned to his upright position and resecured his seatbelt. “Scared of the bumps?”

  “No.” She shook her head decisively, then kept shaking it. She was more than a bit drunk, he realized, as well as whatever else was wrong. And there was an accent. Something, he couldn’t tell quite what. “But this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. And I have to stay for a week.” The round blue eyes were looking more tragic than ever, and her mouth drooped. She looked like a kitten who’d just got some very bad news.

  “A week in Fiji, eh. That is sad. Wrong partner? Is that it?”

  That started the tears again. “I’m on my honeymoon,” she got out. “My honeymoon. Can you believe that? I’m on my honeymoon?”

  “Uh . . .nah.” Figured. “Hubby back there?”

  “No. He’s not here. He’s not coming. We didn’t get married. Because he wants Karen Fuchs instead,” she said fiercely, her tears drying up at the thought. “But I’m prettier than Karen Fuchs. Don’t you think I am?”

  “Never met Karen,” he pointed out. “But I�
��ll bet you’re prettier.” She was prettier than just about anyone, he reckoned, even in her current state.

  She nodded with certainty. “I don’t have a pig nose, either.”

  “You’ve got a beautiful nose,” he agreed solemnly. “Running a bit now, though.” He fished in his seatback pocket for the serviette he’d stuck in there earlier. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She wiped her nose, sniffed, then turned those eyes on him again. “He says Karen understands his work, because she’s getting her masters in engineering. That she can help him. They can sit around and solve equations together before bed,” she said, her mouth getting firmer and losing the tremble. “In their matching pajamas.”

  “What are you? Eighteen, nineteen? Too young to get married anyway, aren’t you?”

  “I am not,” she said indignantly. “I’m twenty-one. And I have a degree.”

  “But not in engineering? Not up to Karen’s standard, eh.”

  “In Fine Arts. Which isn’t easy.” She glared at him. “Just because it’s not engineering, doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

  “No worries,” he said hastily. “I’m not judging. Didn’t finish Uni myself, so I’d be the last.”

  “Anyway,” she said glumly. “I’m supposed to be married now. He said I should go on the honeymoon. Because the bookings are nonrefundable. Because he got a deal.” She glared again. “Isn’t that romantic? Nonrefundable?”

  “Couldn’t find someone else to go with you?” Nic hazarded.

  “On my honeymoon?” she asked incredulously. “I was supposed to be with my husband. Look at my hair,” she demanded. “Look!”

  “Uh . . . something wrong with it? Looks good to me.”

  “It’s highlighted. It took hours. Do you know what I’ve done this week? I had a facial, and a body scrub, and a wrap.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “And my hair. I had my brows and lashes done, and I had a manicure and a pedicure, and I had everything waxed. I got a Brazilian wax. And it hurt. For nothing.”

  That got his attention. Every part of him. He’d bet it looked choice. And he’d like to see it.

  “And Karen Fuchs doesn’t shave her legs. Would you want to go to bed with somebody who didn’t shave her legs? Or her armpits? Instead of me?”

  “Nah,” he answered honestly.

  “You’d choose me, right?”

  “Yeh. Yeh. I’d choose you,” he agreed. In a heartbeat. Well, as long as she wasn’t crying. Maybe. He wasn’t sure even that would matter.

  She gave a satisfied nod.

  “So this bloke wasn’t any real loss, then,” Nic said. “Seeing as he was blind, and had no taste. And he’s, what, an engineer?”

  “An Assistant Professor of Sanitary Engineering,” she said gloomily.

  He had to laugh. “Sounds dead sexy. Too old for you, too.”

  “How old are you?” she demanded.

  “Twenty-two,” he grinned. “How old was—whoever he was?”

  “David. Twenty-eight. That seemed like a good idea. I thought, OK, he’s boring, maybe. But he’s older, settled. Responsible. Good for me. And he’s safe. Ha. What a joke that turned out to be.”

  “Why d’you want to be safe?” he asked with real surprise.

  She looked surprised in her turn. “Doesn’t everybody want to be safe?”

  “I don’t. I want to have every adventure there is. The more unsafe, the better.”

  “Then you’re not an engineer,” she said firmly.

  He laughed again at that. “About as far from it as you could get, I reckon. I’m a rugby player.”

  “Are you really?” She stared at him in fascination. “How come you’re going to Fiji? For a game?”

  “Nah. Holiday. Off to England to play, in a week or so. Decided at the last minute to have a bit of a holiday in the Islands before I turn into a bloody Pom in the frozen north. No booking, refundable or otherwise. Just turning up and taking my chance.”

  “Better than me,” she said glumly. “You might even find somebody to hang out with. What am I going to do, at a honeymoon resort by myself? Not that I know what I’d have been doing with David,” she added in another burst of candor. “You’re supposed to be getting shagged up, down, and sideways on your honeymoon, right?”

  He choked a bit at that. “I’ve heard,” he managed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve heard too. Oh, well.” She sighed. “I brought books. It was never going to be that kind of honeymoon anyway.”

  “The more I hear,” Nic offered, “the more I think you got off easy.”

  “You think?”

  “Would he have packed books too?” he demanded.

  “Yeah. He did. And some work. I saw. Before he told me, I mean. That I was going alone.”

  “Maybe you should take me with you instead,” he suggested with a grin. “We could have a non-honeymoon, put some of that waxing to use. Because I didn’t bring any work, or any books. And I’m fairly sure I could deliver on the up, down, and sideways bit. Give you everything you want.”

  That had been a hell of a week. Up, down, sideways, and then some. He felt a surge of heat at the memories that rushed back, still strong after all this time. No wonder, the way they’d played out in his head for years. His mind insisted on going there again for a few pleasurable minutes before he snapped it back to the present, took the final turn onto Seabreeze Road and up the sloping drive that led to the big house, sitting well back from the street. The lights were on, he saw. Claudia was home, then. He punched the button on the visor for the automatic garage door, pulled the car in and punched again to shut the door behind him. Then sat for a minute, gathering his wits.

  Claudia was in the lounge, working on her laptop. “Hi,” he said, leaning over and giving her a kiss. “Long day?”

  “Yeh.” She frowned lightly. “Chinese food? Ugh, Nic. Awful.”

  “Sorry. What about you? Did you eat?”

  “At the office. I’m assisting at that Fonterra meeting tomorrow. Heaps to do before that. How are you getting to the airport in the morning? I could give you a lift, but it’d have to be early.”

  “Nah. I’ll drive, save you collecting me Sunday. It’ll be late. Midnight.”

  She nodded, her attention already drifting back to the computer. He sat on the couch next to her. “Mind if I watch Top Gear?”

  “Do you have to? It’s not like you need a new car.”

  “It’s not about a new car,” he tried to explain. “I just want to relax for a bit. And they’re funny.”

  “More like silly,” she complained.

  “Want me to watch upstairs, then?”

  “Would you mind? I could move to the office, if you’d rather.”

  “Nah.” He got up again. “I’ll go.”

  “Before you do, we really do need to schedule a time to sit with my mum and go over the guest list.”

  “Do I need to be there for that? I gave you my list. Whatever you decide is good. Anyway, does it have to happen now? More than six months away.”

  “And we need to send Save the Date cards,” she said in exasperation. “I told you. I’m not asking you to help decide on flowers, or the band, or anything else. You’ve hardly had to do a thing. All I’m asking for is one afternoon.”

  “Have to be Saturday week, and in the morning. I need the afternoon, before the game.”

  “Fine.” She clicked again, typed in the appointment with her usual brisk efficiency. “I’ll make that work. And send you a reminder, so you can calendar it.”

  He sat down again. “D’you ever want to chuck all this?” he asked her suddenly, causing her to look up from the laptop in surprise. “All the planning? The arrangements? I don’t mean not get married,” he said hurriedly at her shocked expression. “But maybe we should just . . . run off. Between the work, and doing this place up, and the wedding, don’t you get a bit fed up?”

  She stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t run off. We have a deal, remember? Woman’s World mig
ht have something to say about that.”

  “Still sure you want to do that, though? Doesn’t it feel a bit intrusive?”

  “They’re paying well for that intrusion,” she reminded him. “It’ll cover the cost of the wedding, and the honeymoon.”

  “We can afford it, though,” he argued. “Do we really need this?”

  “We discussed it. We agreed. Why not get it, since we can? It’s just a few photos, for heaven’s sake. You’re on TV every week. What’s the difference?”

  “You don’t think there’s a difference? That’s work. This should be the most private thing there is.”

  “Which we’re sharing with four hundred people,” she said. “It’s not that private.”

  “OK,” he said reluctantly. “Just wondered if you’d had any second thoughts.”

  “No. None.”

  “Well, it’s your day. If this is what you want.”

  “It is,” she said. “And no, I don’t feel like running off. That’s pretty impractical, Nic. We both have way too much on our plates to be thinking that way.”

  “I know we can’t. Just wondering if you ever wanted to, that’s all. Just talking, I guess.”

  Her eyes strayed back to the screen again. “Well, if that’s all, I’m sorry, but I really do need to get this done before tomorrow. Maybe you could ring me from the hotel tomorrow night, once you get in. I’ll be able to give you my full attention once I have this meeting behind me.”

  He considered telling her about Zack, but was overwhelmed with unaccustomed fatigue at the thought of the explanations, the discussion. She was right. It was late, she had a meeting tomorrow, and he was leaving in the morning. This wasn’t the time.

  He sat up in bed a half hour later, muted the advert interrupting Top Gear. Not that he was really watching anyway. He needed to go to sleep. Twelve hours on the plane tomorrow. He wished Claudia would come to bed. He would’ve liked the security of her body next to his. Even if she were still working on that bloody laptop.

  He switched the TV off, turned out the bedside lamp. Punched the pillow and tried to get comfortable. South Africa would be a relief, he decided. Time to focus on the footy for a bit, get his mind back on its usual disciplined track. Keep it from straying off to thoughts of Zack. And Emma.