chapter 3

“Don’t act like you’re not pleased.”

“I’m thrilled. And a tad embarrassed.”

“No you’re not,” I scoff.

“Well, it’s better than hearing you’re all laughing because it’s so small, but yeah, it’s a little mortifying.”

“Well, then, maybe you need to keep it in your pants a bit more, and we wouldn’t have so much to talk about.”

He drops his gaze to his glass and swirls the whisky over the ice. “I probably deserved that,” he says before taking a sip.

I close my eyes for a moment before turning toward him a little. The last thing I meant to do was hurt his feelings. He’s still my best friend when it comes to it.

“No, I apologize. That came out sharper than I meant. You’re a gorgeous guy. Good looking, funny, and warm-hearted. Women are going to clamber over each other to get you. And why shouldn’t you make the most of that?”

He holds my gaze for a long while. I lean my head on a hand and study his light-gray eyes. I’ve been in love with this guy since the moment I met him. It was at a party, halfway through our first year at university. He turned up with Mack, who I’d met through some extra-curricular computer science lecture I’d attended. Mack introduced us, and as I felt as if I’d been hit between the eyes with a cricket ball. Even back then, Huxley was tall and gorgeous, but it was his manner that won me over—he was funny, warm, and attentive, and right from the start I knew he liked me. We went on a couple of dates—the first to the cinema, and for the second he took me to dinner. Both times we parted with a long, passionate kiss. I wanted to ask him to come up to my room, but I was still a virgin, and shy, and not quite ready for that final step. But the third date, I told myself, that was when it would happen. And I already knew it was going to be amazing.

Unfortunately, though, the third date never materialized. Huxley mysteriously disappeared for two weeks, and I didn’t hear from him. Even Mack and Victoria didn’t know where he was.

And then one day he reappeared. I was in the library, studying, and I looked up from my laptop to see him standing there, leaning against one of the bookcases, his hands in his pockets, watching me. I felt my face light up, but he didn’t smile back.

Heart racing, I packed up my stuff, and we walked over to the coffee shop. He bought me a latte and sat me down, and then he told me what had happened. A girl he’d slept with a few months ago, Brandy Rowland, had told him she was two months pregnant, and he was the father.

It had happened before we’d started dating, which was something, I guess. But even so, it shocked me deeply.

I sat there stiffly, my heart banging on my ribs. “You fucking idiot. Why didn’t you use a condom?”

“I did. No contraception is one hundred percent perfect. Shit happens, unfortunately.” He seemed very calm about it. But then he’d had a couple of weeks to work off his frustration.

“Are you getting back with her?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It was a one-night stand. Neither of us wants a relationship. But obviously I have to take responsibility.”

Of course he did. I’d never met a more honorable guy. There was no alternate universe in which he refused to accept he was the father.

But it still stung. Maybe because they’d had a one-night stand, and I’d held out for the third date. Surely it was better that I hadn’t slept with him? But as I sat there, looking into his gorgeous eyes, I’d felt my heart splintering like a log split with an ax.

“Right,” I said.

“Things are going to be difficult,” he said. “Her parents are very strict, and she’s absolutely terrified of telling them. So we’re going to say we’re an item for now. I’ll have to see a lot more of her, and I want to be there when she has the baby. I don’t want her to have to go through it on her own. I fucked up, and I have to pay the price for that.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

I knew then that he was saying we were over. We hadn’t even got off the starting blocks, and we were done.

“One day,” he said, “when the baby’s born, and things have settled down, I’ll ask you out again. But I don’t expect you to wait for me.”

“That’s good of you.” Disappointed and hurt, I got to my feet.

“Elizabeth.” He got up too. “I don’t blame you for being angry. I know I’ve blown it with you. And I’m absolutely gutted. But I hope we can still be friends.”

“I don’t know.” I shoved my chair under the table. “I don’t think I’m that big a person, Hux.” And I turned and walked out.

I went back to my flat and cried for two days straight, then pulled myself together and realized the sky wasn’t falling down. I’d been on two dates with the guy. It wasn’t as if we were engaged or anything. I was nineteen years old, and I wasn’t going to let this destroy me. It wasn’t his fault. Well, technically it was, but he was right—shit happened, and he’d been big enough to come and tell me about it himself. We’d be mixing in the same circles, and I liked him, and I didn’t want to shut him out of my life.

And so, in the end, on the surface, not much changed. He wasn’t around so much, but when he was, we remained friends. When his daughter was born, I went out with all our mates and celebrated with him. I attended the christening, held the baby, and told Brandy how beautiful her daughter was.

I tried to be the bigger person. I really did. But inside, the fractures in my poor heart refused to heal. Watching him with Brandy, putting his arm around her, being sweet to her, taking care of her, broke me every time. He’d told me it was all pretend, an act for her parents, and I was glad for the baby’s sake that he was such a sweetheart toward her, but it still crushed me.

Then, six months to the day after Joanna was born, he asked me out.

I told him I’d think about it. And I did. I thought about nothing else for several days. But, in the end, I said no.

It was too complicated, and I was too young. I didn’t want to date a guy who had ties to another woman. He must have had feelings for Brandy to have slept with her, and every time I saw them together, he was gentle and affectionate toward her. Deep down I couldn’t shake the notion that they had feelings for each other, and I couldn’t have coped with that if we’d been dating. It made me a small person. I knew that. But at least I was honest with myself. I didn’t want to date him and ruin it by being jealous. I liked him too much.

And so instead, we stayed good friends.

I began dating someone else shortly afterward—Tim Fanshaw, another chemistry student. I was four months into that relationship before Huxley also finally started dating someone else. His relationship was more short-lived than mine. When I eventually broke up with Tim, Huxley asked me out the day after. And then every month after that, unless I was going out with someone else.

We’ve continued like that over the last ten years. I know it’s just a joke now. We’re the best of friends, and there’s far too much water under the bridge for us to make a go of things. I’ve had three failed—no, let’s be honest and call them what they are: disastrous—relationships. And Huxley’s friendship means far too much to me for me to blow it now just because I’m curious about what he’s like in bed.

It’s because we’re such good friends that I came here tonight to ask him something very special. I didn’t think I was going to get a chance. But it’s late, and quiet. Ian the bartender has just gone out with a crate of empty glasses, and there are only the two of us in the bar. And I guess there’s no better time to ask than when you’ve both been drinking whisky all evening.

I gather my courage with both hands and take a deep breath. “I wonder if I could ask you something.”

He swirls his whisky over the ice. “Of course.” I nibble my bottom lip, and he gives me a curious look. “What?”

“I’m nervous,” I admit.

“Why?” He looks puzzled.

I blow out a breath. “Okay. Here goes. I’ll be twenty-nine soon. And I’m done with men.” I watch his eyes flicker with pity. “And that’s all right, I’ve come to terms with that. I don’t want another relationship. I have my work, and my dog, and a great social life. But there is one thing missing. I want a baby.”

His eyebrows rise. He hadn’t expected that.

“I’ve been to a fertility clinic,” I explain, speeding up a little now I’ve finally got the words out. “And I’ve talked to them about having a sperm donor. But there’s a three-year wait for clinic-recruited donors for single women. Three years!”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So… they suggested I find a personal donor. And so… um… I wanted to ask you. Would you help me out?”