Suddenly Expecting (12 page)

Except that would soon end, and in spectacular fashion. His network had already fielded a handful of calls about his whereabouts during the cyclone, and he knew Kat had hired a publicist to issue a statement. Plus there was that thing with Grace, who was still on her case about an exclusive. After she announced her pregnancy, the press would start to piece things together, and then the nightmare would really start.

He suppressed a groan, remembering what it had been like the last time for her. All that stress, all that anxiety. Outwardly she’d handled it with aplomb, but he knew firsthand how much damage it had caused on the inside to her confidence, her self-esteem.

Not good for the baby.

They walked into the parking station, paid for the ticket and then made their way to his car, both wrapped up in their own thoughts until he glanced at his watch. Three hours before their flight.

With a frown he turned to face her, leaning against the door.

“Kat.”

“Marco,” she said in the same serious tone. God, he’d missed her humor. These past few days had drained him to the point that he wondered if things would ever get back to normal again.

He just wanted to see her smile again. Was that too much to ask?

“You don’t have to do this, you know. You could just issue a statement then move into my place for a few weeks, until it blows over.”

She stared at him for a moment and then slowly shook her head. “I have a job, Marco.”

“One that Grace is making very difficult, so you said.”

“She’s angry. I understand that.”

He let out a breath. “So if you’re not going to take my suggestion or give Grace her exclusive, then tell me again why getting married would be a bad thing?”

Her expression twisted, telling him it was precisely the wrong thing to say. “Marco, please...”

He sighed. “Look, I’m trying to wrap my head around this and work out the best way to deal with everything.”

“And you think I’m not?” She scowled. “My head is a mess. My life is...crazy. And my past, everything I just assumed was real? Gone. All thirty-three years of it.” She slashed her eyes away from him, her frustration palpable. “Asking me to marry you is—”

An audible gasp interrupted her, and they both whirled to find two girls, shopping bags forgotten at their feet, busily clicking away with their cell phones.

One of them jiggled on the spot, a wide grin on her face. “Ohmygod, are you guys getting
married?
That is so awesome!”

Click, click, click.

Marco flushed, his hand instinctively going up to shield his face as he glanced to Kat, but she’d already moved and was yanking open the car door. She scrambled inside a moment later, and after he quickly joined her, he fired up the engine and they pulled out of the car park.

Her soft curse in the still air said it all, as did her glare in the rearview mirror. “That was—”

“Probably nothing,” he said, taking the next turn to get them onto the highway. “A couple of fans.”

“A couple of fans with cell phones and social media at their disposal,” she muttered, glaring out the window, her face tight with emotion. Just as during the times before, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Here we go again.

The phone calls, the questions, the borderline stalking. Her family getting hassled. Photographers camped on her doorstep, at work, at the gym. TV and radio dissecting and analyzing their every move, offering expert damage control.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“Kat...” he said now, but she quickly held up a hand and made a call.

“The press statement will be out today, for whatever good that’ll do me,” she said when she hung up.

“Maybe it’s not that bad.”

She gave him an “Oh, really?” look. “Trust me, something will show up.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

They drove another twenty minutes in silence, until they finally pulled into the airport parking station and Marco turned to her.

“I have to be in Darwin tomorrow,” he said.

She glanced from the window to meet his eyes. “Oh?”

He nodded. “One of the remote coaching clinics I set up. We’re doing a grand opening with the mayor.”

“When are you back?”

“In a few days. I fly in Monday.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Listen, Kat, I don’t want to leave you in the middle of this, but I also have a thing in Melbourne, then Sydney. I won’t be back until the day before the FFA awards.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Her cavalier attitude irritated him—as if she expected his absence.

“I have an appointment for an ultrasound next week,” she added.

Damn.
He scowled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

He frowned. “I could’ve rescheduled.”

She gave him a look. “Not when you’re booked months in advance. And anyway, it’s only an ultrasound.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not abandoning you, Kat.”

“I know. But until I make a public announcement, I think we should keep you out of it, don’t you?”

He gritted his teeth and grabbed the handle, swinging the door wide. “No, I bloody well don’t. Honestly, this is getting ridiculous. There comes a time when you just have to say, ‘What the hell,’ ignore what everyone says about you and live your life.”

He got out of the car, slammed the door and, with long-legged strides, headed into the airport terminal, Kat following. And thanks to that little encounter earlier, he spent the whole time surreptitiously glancing around at the crowd, wondering if someone somewhere was taking photos, eavesdropping on their conversation. It was bloody unnerving.

Finally they made it through departures, past the check-in counter and into Qantas’s private VIP lounge, which consisted of a bar, dining area, plush lounges and a communications center. They settled in and ordered drinks and food, but otherwise the silence stretched out between them. Marco checked his phone. Kat opened her iPad for her mail. Still not a word.

Was this how a friendship ended? he thought as he stared at his phone screen. Not with a spectacular all-out screaming match, but in a forced silence so uncomfortable she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

It wasn’t an argument. They didn’t hate each other. He just... She just...

She didn’t want to marry him. And he wanted her to.

He scowled at his phone. They had nineteen years between them, and he was damned if he’d let her push him out of her life. Once they dealt with this current situation, they’d have a serious talk about everything—including marriage.

* * *

It must’ve been some kind of record. Barely a day later, their “marriage proposal” hit social media, then the national papers, spreading out what could have just been a one-off article into a planned series on celebrity weddings and divorces, which were advertised with annoying regularity on TV. Marco and Kat were, of course, given plenty of airtime through the media, and, with the tabloid press, including the TV networks, setting up camp at her home, she’d had to hire a driver to take her to and from work.

Some photos still managed to leak out—one of her getting out of the car at the station. One when she’d not quite closed her curtains all the way. And some old cringe-worthy celebrity shots of her in full party mode.

That last one had been published two days ago, and she hadn’t heard from Marco since. A dozen times she’d picked up the phone, ready to call, but stopped herself every time. It was something they needed to talk about face-to-face, not get into over the phone.

Of course, Grace had been mega-pissed about the attention, and the pressure at work had been high, compounding her stress about her family issues. After each day of her Job from Hell, she’d come home and collapsed on the sofa, finally allowing herself to think about the whole adoption thing, not to mention where to start finding out if her biological mother had had family, which in turn would be
her
family.

How did you tell someone you were his sister? Granted, it was Connor, one of her closest friends, but still. She wanted to do it right.

Armed with a laptop and a bowl of cereal, she crawled into bed and started on some research. Thanks to a bunch of online forums and chat rooms, she’d gathered heaps of information, read about people in similar situations and how they’d gone about connecting with their biological family.

That evening, after she’d bookmarked the last site and closed down the laptop for the night, her mind swung back to the physical part of her reality. In less than seven months, she’d be having a baby. The appointment she’d scheduled for next week loomed on the horizon, and suddenly her body went prickly with nervous tension.

She curled up in the bed, gently sweeping a hand over her belly. An official appointment. In writing. Out there.

It was really happening.

And Marco would be away for it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let the guilt get to her. There was nothing she could do, right? He couldn’t reschedule everything for her. It was as she’d said—just an ultrasound. There’d be plenty more opportunities for him to be involved.

Except she’d told him she didn’t want him to be.

Did she even know what she wanted anymore?

Unable to answer that question, Kat buried herself in her work the next day, in the frantic energy of detailing Cyclone Rory’s tragic path and sourcing stories that were all too depressingly bountiful now. Yet during their regular staff meeting when they argued the merits of each story and rearranged and reworked them for maximum viewer impact, she couldn’t help but refocus on Marco’s suggestion to follow her own dream.

A charity. A foundation where she would be in control, raise money and see each case through to completion from beginning to end.

So she began drafting a list, slowly filling in more details until she had two pages of handwritten notes. That night, during her usual hour on the treadmill, she reorganized it all in her head, until she finally had a semblance of a game plan. And the more she thought about it, the more excited she became. She’d even reached for her phone, eager to discuss it with Marco, but ended up balking at the last minute.

He was obviously busy, which was why he hadn’t called.

She pressed the end button on the treadmill and grabbed her bottle, downing half the water as she cooled down. As amazing as it had been, the stupid sex thing had ruined it. She was thinking like a woman in a relationship, not as a best friend. Best friends didn’t care who called whom first—they just
called.
They didn’t stress about how many days, hours, minutes had passed since they’d spoken. And they certainly didn’t let the other person get away with such a lengthy silence.

Just as she finally stepped off the treadmill and picked up her phone, it rang.

It was Connor. “Hey, stranger,” she answered, way too cheerfully, as she grabbed her towel and walked into the kitchen.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.

“Saturday?” She jammed her phone under her chin then flicked on the hot water jug. “Oh, the usual. Watching TV. Eating by myself. Hiding from the hundreds of paparazzi camped on my doorstep.”

“Where’s Marco?”

“Swanning around in Darwin, I believe.”

There was a pause as he picked up on her tone. “Did you guys have a fight?”

Kat sighed. “No, we are having...a difference of opinion.”

“Anything to do with this engagement thing the press is going crazy with?”

She walked slowly back to her lounge room, clicked on the TV and muted the sound. “Partly. I just...” She sighed. “It’s complicated. The baby. This press thing. Work. And I feel guilty that his appearances have been overshadowed by the media craving a sound bite. Did you know someone actually asked him about us during a ribbon cutting yesterday?”

“The press is full of idiots. Which is why I’m coming to see you.”

She perched on the edge of her lounge. “If that were the real reason, you’d have come to see me way earlier than this.”

His chuckle brightened her mood. “We’ll lounge around and ignore the press together, eat pizza and watch
The X-Files.
”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds divine.”

“Or, you know, we could just go to Marco’s island. Plenty of privacy there.”

“God, don’t you start. Next they’ll be hooking you and me up instead of Marco.”

He laughed again. “I dunno—I do like the sound of ‘Kitco.’ Much better than ‘Markat.’”

“Shut up.” When he laughed, she reluctantly joined him. “You’re an idiot, Connor.”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

She was still grinning when she hung up. Yes, her emotions were all over the place, and she had too many questions to ask and no idea how to approach Stephen...if she even wanted to. Frankly, the man scared the hell out of her and always had. But the one thing she had no issue with was accepting Connor as her brother. She loved him like a brother. More, actually, because she’d had years to appreciate him as a friend without any pressure or family obligation. As she walked down the corridor to the bathroom, she had to admit that she was looking forward to telling him. She had no idea how he’d react, but hopefully he’d feel the same way.

* * *

The next night, barely thirty minutes after she made it through her door with a relieved sigh, her intercom beeped.

“Chez Jackson?”

“I heard someone’s having a pizza party.”

She grinned at Connor’s commanding voice. “Yep. With beer and juggling monkeys.”

“I’m so there.”

She buzzed him up and then unlocked the door. He stepped through the door five minutes later with an overnight bag, a steaming-hot Crust pizza and a huge grin.

“You are my savior.” She hugged him then took the pizza and stepped back to allow him entry. He strode in with his usual lanky gait, his broad frame filling her space.

He dumped his bag near the couch. “Midnight must be a bit late for the paparazzi. I didn’t see anyone about.”

She shoved the pizza on the coffee table. “Oh, they’re there—you just can’t see them. Like cockroaches.”