She stood up and walked to the Christmas tree, touching one of the golden baubles and making it spin.
‘It was a selfish act and I’m feeling guilty, that’s all.’
Dara turned back to her husband. He sat completely nude on the sofa, watching her with a look so concerned it melted her heart. If she told him any more she would only regret it in the morning. It wasn’t that she feared his judgement. In fact it was completely the opposite. She feared his pity.
Leo had taken the news of her infertility in his stride from the moment she’d revealed her secret to him. He had been understanding, and he had helped her to realize that her condition did not define her.
To bring up all those old insecurities now would only belittle how far they had come as a couple.
That was the thing, though—she wasn’t quite so confident that she had ever rid herself of them at all. Rather, she had just chosen to focus on being the beautiful woman that Leo made her feel she was and ignored the sad and broken woman of her past.
She bit her lip. Leo was looking at her intensely, waiting for her to speak. She couldn’t tell him the truth, not tonight anyway.
‘I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve ruined this wonderful night with my own silly ramblings.’ She shook her head, banishing the dark thoughts from her mind.
She walked to him and straddled his lap.
‘Dara, we’re having quite a serious conversation here, and I will find it very difficult to concentrate with you in this position.’
He shifted, but she moulded her body even closer to him.
‘I’ve had enough talking for tonight.’ She leaned over him, nipping his earlobe just hard enough to make him groan. ‘You said we have twenty-two days to make up for, and I plan on obeying my husband’s wishes.’
She smiled wickedly, banishing all other thoughts from their minds as their bodies instinctively moved against each other.
* * *
Leo sat on the terrace, looking out at the midday winter sun shining on the choppy waves of the bay. Most of their morning had been spent in bed, making up for lost time. But some time after brunch Dara had found herself taking a call from Mia about something vitally important. Rather than being annoyed at the interruption, Leo had once again been impressed at how much his wife’s company relied on her.
She ran Devlin Events like a well-oiled machine—just as he would expect. But still her staff looked to her for guidance, and felt comfortable in doing so. This was one of the main reasons for her skyrocketing success. Her employees were satisfied, and therefore so were her clients. Add that to the fact that she was unbelievably talented and passionate, and it could only be a recipe for success.
He watched her through the terrace doors as she booted up her tablet computer and wielded it like a clipboard. She was tense, even after a night of being thoroughly made love to.
Her revelation about her trips to the orphanage had confused him. Dara had never shown any interest in children. He had never even seen her speak to a child, not to mention drive out of her way to go and visit one. But recently he had begun to feel a distance between them. They both had busy careers, but they usually made sure to keep time for each other.
Leo stood, suddenly needing to walk. He took the path down along the cliff-face—the same path he’d used to take as a boy. He stopped on the flight of steps that led down to the old boathouse, remembering his childhood self rushing down the stone steps, furiously trying to hold in the tears and escape his nightmarish life. Living with a mentally ill mother had forced him to live in silence. His formative years had been spent in isolation, and in fear of upsetting her with his mere presence.
Those memories no longer held the same dark power over him—not since Dara had come into his life. Now every time he walked down here he was reminded that he was happier than either of his parents had ever been.
Right now, he was impressed that the little boathouse was still standing. He pushed the door open with a creak and ducked his head inside.
A row of plastic boxes lined the floor—he had insulated the place last year, once they had decided to use it for storage rather than leave it to rot. Flipping the lid of the box nearest the window, Leo idly surveyed the contents. A collection of coloured yo-yos lay inside, once his favourite boyhood hobby. He picked up a red one and spun the yarn tightly between the circular wooden discs.
He had spent many days inside these four walls, practising his skills and hoping for someone to show them to. He held the yo-yo tight in his hand before letting it fall to the ground and bouncing it back up easily. His tricks had been numerous, all learned from a book he had got as a gift from his father. He knew now that his father’s secretary had probably chosen it, but at the time he had taken it as a challenge to impress the old man. And, as he did with most tasks, he’d poured his heart and soul into it.