Melanie Milburne - A Ring For The Greek's Baby

‘We should marry as soon as possible.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Emily said. ‘No one has to get married because of pregnancy these days. Even couples in love don’t always get married when they have a child together.’

‘I want to be a part of my child’s life,’ Loukas said. ‘I want him or her to have my name.’

‘They can still have your name. But I’d only like you to be involved if that’s what you want. A child can tell if its parent wants to be around them or not.’

Loukas wondered about the dynamic between Emily and her mother. There seemed a subtext to her words that hinted at some tension. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to support you, Emily. You can trust me on that.’

Her gaze met his. ‘Will you publically acknowledge the baby as yours when it’s born? Or would you prefer me to keep it a secret to protect your privacy?’

Loukas frowned. There was no way he was going to disown his own flesh and blood. Not like his father, who had insisted on a paternity test and then, when it had come out positive, still insisted the poor woman get rid of his baby. ‘Of course I’ll acknowledge it. This is my mistake, not the child’s. I accept full responsibility for it.’

‘Then please don’t insult me by asking me to marry you,’ she said with a look hard enough to crack a nut.

Loukas wondered what had happened to the girl who couldn’t wait to get married and have babies. Four kids and an Irish Retriever, if his memory served him correctly. Why then wasn’t she grasping at this chance to land herself a rich husband? Though he hadn’t taken her for a gold-digger. That was what had most appealed to him about her the day of the wedding. She had a guileless innocence about her. She reminded him of a friendly puppy who wanted to be loved by everyone.

But what was insulting about his proposal of marriage? He could think of hundreds, possibly thousands, of women who would jump at the chance of a proposal from him. The more he thought about it, the more he felt that marriage was the best option all round. It would give him the best chance of supporting her and the baby. It wasn’t as if it would have any of the toxic elements of his parents’ marriage. Emily and he were not in love with each other, so the marriage could be drawn up as a parenting contract. A formalised parenting contract that gave them the benefits of marriage without the emotional baggage of a normal relationship.

He would broach the topic again once she was feeling a little better, but this time he would lay out what was going to happen: a convenient mid-term marriage to parent their child. Perfect solution. ‘Do you need anything now? Some money to buy baby stuff or—’

‘No, I haven’t needed to buy anything yet...’ The colour drained out of her face again and she wobbled on her feet as if the floor was uneven. She put a hand to her forehead. ‘I—I think I might have to give dinner a miss. I’m going to lie down for a bit...’

Loukas lunged forward and caught her before she hit the floor. Emily folded like a rag doll in his arms, her chalk-white face lolling to rest against the wall of his chest. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Feeling a bit faint...’

He reached for his phone with his free hand, the other keeping her close. ‘I’m going to call an ambulance.’

She pushed back against him, her eyes troubled. ‘No, please don’t do that. I’ll be fine in a minute or two.’

What about in half an hour? Later that night? The following morning? Who was going to take care of her, to watch over her, to make sure she didn’t faint and hurt herself? He couldn’t leave her like this. What if she had a fall? She could end up with a brain injury or worse. She was his responsibility now. The knowledge cemented his decision to marry her. How else could he keep a close eye on her if he lived in another country, or even a few streets away? No. This was the only way forward. ‘Do you want to lie down? Here, I’ll carry you.’

He scooped her up and carried her to her bedroom. It looked like someone had ransacked the room or got dressed for a night out in the middle of a hurricane. The wardrobe was open and a variety of clothes strewn about, some on the end of the bed, others draped over a chair and more on the floor. The dressing table was scattered with make-up detritus: brushes, pots, hair products and a hair straightener. He laid her slight figure on the bed.

She lay back, folded her bandaged hand over her forehead and closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry about this.’

Loukas took her good hand and stroked her slender nail-bitten fingers. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.’

It’s mine.

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