She tilted her chin upwards defiantly. Maybe this was all for the best. The end for the two of them was inevitable. It had just happened sooner than she’d expected. She’d been too trusting. She’d had her head in the clouds.
She’d lived the Cinderella fairy tale for too long.
And everyone knew that fairy tales weren’t real.
CHAPTER TEN
HARRY WOKE EARLY—even though he’d had very little sleep.
Penelope had managed to gather herself by the time he’d taken her home. She was starting to get angry, and he didn’t blame her.
He was glad she’d called. Glad he’d been able to help her out. He knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.
But coming home to an empty bed made him feel odd. He’d gotten so used to having Esther here that now it seemed off when she wasn’t. He loved the heat from her body and the way her skin seemed to mould against his.
Waking up now made the town house just feel...empty.
He froze.
Empty had been pretty much how his life had felt for a long time. It wasn’t just that he didn’t form relationships with other people; it was just that he had been brought up that way. It wasn’t the norm for him.
He’d never opened up to another person the way he had with Esther. He’d never shared with someone else the way he had with Esther. Of course he had friends, colleagues and a scattered extended family.
But who was really there to think about him? To consider him?
He thought back to the night he’d received the call about his father. Regret swamped him. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t almost hated his father. But, as an adult, he regretted the opportunity that he’d missed to have one final talk. His father had collapsed and died quickly. He hadn’t had some painful disease. There had been no suffering. Harry had thought the old man might actually have lived until he was a hundred.
But the last few weeks, seeing the strong relationship Esther had with her mother filled him with regret. His father might have always remained an opinionated, self-centred, hateful man. Or maybe, if he’d been ill or sick, there might have been some regrets.
And that’s what left Harry with a hole in his heart. There was no sense of closure. He wished he’d driven down to the country estate at least one time in the five years before his father had died. Even if it had resulted in yet another fight, it might have made him feel a little more sure about his complete avoidance of his father in the last few years of his life.
Maybe it was just his own idea of a fairy tale—that his father would have lived to regret the wasted years between them. The way he’d treated Harry, the way he’d ignored him. That there could have been some last-minute kind of reconciliation. He’d spent his life feeling so isolated. So alone.
Being around Esther had broken down a whole host of barriers he’d spent his life reinforcing. She challenged him. She excited him. She celebrated and commiserated with him. When he sat on the sofa at night now, he didn’t feel comfortable unless she was perched alongside him.
It hadn’t even been that long, and maybe he was crazy, but it felt like his life had changed immeasurably.
She was helping him fill out the little parts of himself that had always felt as if they were missing. The parts that his parents had stolen from him, and he’d never had a chance to steal back.
Seeing her relationship with her mother had taught him it was all right to have regrets about how things had turned out with his father. There had never been a good relationship between him and his father in the first place. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t secretly wished for it. He would have loved to have the kind of relationship with his dad that Esther had with her mum. The love, the mutual respect—even the genuine interest in each other—was something he’d spent most of life yearning for, just not letting himself admit to. He’d never allowed himself to feel that way before. He could now wish things had been different—even if it was much too late. It didn’t make him weak. It just made him human.
She would be finishing at work soon. If he got ready and left now, he could meet her with her favourite coffee before she left for home—his home.
Their home.
He swallowed. He hadn’t asked her yet.
He’d been letting the idea float around his brain for a few days while he got comfortable with it.
No, actually, that was a lie. He was comfortable with it as soon as it first got there. But what he didn’t want to do was scare her off and send her running for the hills.
Was it normal to ask someone if they wanted to move in permanently after a few short weeks?
For the first time in his life Harry had found something he wanted to keep hold of. Found something he wanted to build and nurture. Last thing he wanted to do was ask the question and watch her squirm as she struggled to find a way to say no.
He also had a secret to tell her that could help their budding relationship.
His brain played with the thoughts all the way to the Queen Victoria. He noticed his hand was trembling as he paid for the coffee and it made him smile.
He liked these nerves. They felt like good nerves. Maybe asking Esther to move in with him after a night shift wasn’t the best idea on the planet—he could probably time it better, arrange a more romantic setting than the hospital entrance—but all he knew was he didn’t want to wait.
He wanted to ask her now. Ask her while things felt so good between them, so right.
He glanced at his watch. The shift handover was taking longer than normal. He’d just go on up to NICU. He had patients to check on anyway.
He swung the doors open with a cheery ‘Good morning,’ only to be met by silence.
He strode across the entrance way and sat the coffee cups down on the desk. ‘Where’s Esther?’ he asked. He knew who she’d been working with last night and the rest of the staff was still there.
One of the older midwives closest to him sucked in her breath through her teeth. Another midwife shot him a dagger-like glare. Two others just pointedly ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
He turned to the woman beside him. ‘Caroline, what’s going on—is Esther okay?’
Caroline pressed her lips together for a few seconds as panic started to grip at his chest. He could tell she was considering what to tell him. She kept her voice low. ‘She got a call last night from her mother. It was an emergency. There was a fire at her mother’s house and she had to go back to Scotland.’
‘What?’ He nearly dropped the coffee that he’d picked back up. He yanked his phone from his pocket. ‘But she would have called, she would have texted.’ He stared at the blank screen.
Another voice cut in behind him. ‘Hey, you, Mr Flighty, my office, now.’ The thick Irish accent was curt.
He turned around to face Oona, shaking his head. ‘No, I can’t. I need to talk to Esther.’
The small, burly woman stepped closer, barely an inch from his face. ‘It wasn’t a request.’
Harry was taken aback, his fingers already pressing the buttons on his phone to dial Esther, but he followed her into her office, watching in bewilderme
nt as she closed the door with a kick.
Oona folded her arms across her chest. ‘Don’t bet on Esther answering your calls.’
‘What?’ He looked up from his phone screen.
‘After your shenanigans last night, I doubt she’ll talk to you again.’
He frowned as a text beeped on his phone. Penelope. He could see the first line of the text. Oh no.
He shook his head as he tried to work out what on earth was going on. ‘What...shenanigans?’ He didn’t even like saying the word. Harry and shenanigans had never been in the same sentence before.
Oona waved one hand. ‘Had a good night, did you?’
He wrinkled his brow. ‘What?’
She gave him a hard stare. ‘You’re looking remarkably fresh for someone who was out until two in the morning.’
Something prickled at the back of his brain—and it wasn’t good.
‘How do you know that?’
She gave him a look of disgust. ‘The whole world knows that, Harry. If you’re going to play away, have the decency not to be so public about it.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ He resisted the temptation to pull up the rest of Penelope’s message.
Oona’s look of disgust stayed firmly in place. ‘I’d like to use words that would be deemed “unprofessional,” so I won’t. But this is my unit, my NICU, Harry, and I expect my staff to be treated with respect. Maybe no one warned you about mixing business with pleasure, but when things get messy like this, the atmosphere can affect everyone who is in here. Staff, patients and relatives. Humiliating a member of my staff in public is hardly going to result in an atmosphere for babies that’s conducive to healing, is it?’
He was beginning to get mad. Esther’s phone was just ringing out. Perhaps she was on the plane?
‘Why don’t you explain exactly what you think I’ve done, Oona, and stop speaking in riddles.’