The Magnate's Baby Promise / Having The Billionaire's Baby. Sandra Hyatt

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      Ava couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s misty-eyed reminiscence. “He swept you off your feet.”

      “And he didn’t take no for an answer—not that I didn’t make him jump through a few hoops first.” She arched a brow in a woman-to-woman look before taking a sip of her wine.

      Ava nodded with a smile and finished the rest of her water. It surprised her that this warm, intelligent woman was married to a man like Victor Prescott. Yet there’d been a few times she’d spotted the cracks in the man’s ice-hard facade: When Isabelle had reached out to squeeze his hand and he’d returned the grip firmly. Her animated retelling of a story that relaxed his craggy face, softening the controlled lines. Yet in the next moment, the mask returned and he was back to studying Ava like she was a particularly fascinating bug under his microscope.

      Isabelle tapped her hand on the table, bringing Ava’s attention to the sparkling wedding set on her ring finger. “Ava, I know it’s short notice, but would you like to go shopping with me tomorrow?”

      Shopping? She glanced over to where Cal and Victor were still talking in hushed animation, then returned to Isabelle.

      “We can buy heaps of shoes, drink cappuccino and people-watch,” Isabelle teased, with a gleam in her eye. “Uh!” She gestured with mock severity when Ava opened her mouth. “Don’t tell me. You’re a handbag girl instead.”

      Ava laughed then. She wanted to know more about Cal, so what better way to get a handle on him than through his mother? “Sure. Shopping it is.”

      “Excellent!” Isabelle beamed. “Do you have any preferences?”

      “Somewhere…inexpensive?”

      Isabelle laughed and laid a hand on Ava’s. “Think of it as Cal’s treat. He can afford to indulge his fiancée, after all. And I promise we’ll find something you love.”

      “Are you ready to go?” Cal said suddenly. Startled, she glanced up, only to find his expression shuttered down tight. She nodded and rose to her feet.

      “No coffee?” Isabelle asked, surprised.

      “Can’t—early start tomorrow. I’ll see you later, Mum.” Cal placed a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek then nodded curtly at Victor.

      “I’ll send a car for you at eight,” Isabelle said as Cal placedAva’s wrap around her shoulders. “Retail therapy,” she added at her son’s questioning look. And then Cal was gently but firmly guiding her from the room.

      The ride back to Cal’s apartment was heavy with expectancy. Ava waited for Cal to reveal what he and Victor had discussed in muted anger at the restaurant, but she was still waiting by the time they’d entered the apartment elevator.

      “Are you going to tell me what Victor said?”

      As the elevator doors slid closed Cal swung his loaded gaze to her, holding it in silent analysis. Despite the awkward, drawn-out moment, she refused to back down.

      He jammed a finger on the top-floor button again. “Victor had doubts about our marriage, our…” his gaze lingered on her mouth, “compatibility. I rebutted them.”

      Ava felt the sudden urge to lick her lips but instead nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “It looked pretty heated.”

      He shrugged and went back to staring at the blinking numbers as they ascended. “That’s Victor—can’t stand people disagreeing with him.” He crossed his arms, still focused on the floors. “I suppose you’ll need some money.”

      Ava frowned. “For what?”

      “Tomorrow. For shopping.”

      “If that’s your way of offering, then no, thank you.”

      “I can afford it.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. “Here.”

      When she remained still, he impatiently waved the card under her nose.

      She blinked then drew in a sharp breath. “Platinum Amex?”

      He shoved the card into her hand as the doors slid open.

      “Don’t get too excited.” He indicated she go first. “There’s a limit.”

      “I don’t need an allowance,” she said tightly. “I’m not some kept woman.”

      “I didn’t say you were.”

      She slapped the card to his chest as she walked past him, but he snared her arm, forcing her to stop. “Let me make this clear to you, Ava. After tomorrow, the public will know you’re my bride-to-be. And the first thing you’ll be judged on is your wardrobe.”

      She frowned and pulled free. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

      “I’m releasing our engagement announcement to the press. What?” he asked calmly as panic flushed the blood from her face. “The sooner we announce it, the less chance of a leak.”

      A soft melodic jangle permeated the warm apartment and with a shaking hand, Ava reached into her purse. Pulling out her mobile phone, she turned to the kitchen.

      “Hi, Jillian.” She tried for nonchalance but after she hung up from her aunt’s “just checking to see if you’re okay” call, she knew she hadn’t fooled either of them.

      From the sound of it, Cal was also engaged in a call in the living room. He may have given her privacy but he’d pointedly placed the offending credit card in the center of the breakfast bench. It sat there, glinting in the subtle mood lighting, teasing her with its shiny newness.

      She reached out, fingering the bumpy numbers. It wouldn’t just be small-town gossip this time—Cal’s announcement was sure to make national news. People would be talking, and not just about how she and Cal had met and who “the real Ava Reilly” was. They’d focus on her clothes, her hair, her figure.

      She rolled her eyes. Following fashionable trends wasn’t an option when she had a business to keep afloat. The clothes and makeup she did have were at least three years old. Sunscreen was about as close as she got to moisturiser.

      But now…the sudden and inexplicable desire to indulge, to splurge on something impractical and feminine, made her insides ache with longing. Many years ago—a lifetime ago—she’d given in to the frivolous call. When Grace was alive.

      “So you’ve changed your mind?”

      As if the card had bitten back, Ava snatched her hand away. Cal stood in the kitchen doorway, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, muscular arms. The glow from the track lighting barely brushed him, illuminating the golden hairs on his forearms, glinting across the angular face, throwing him half in shadow, half in light. With a sharp movement, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, patiently awaiting her answer as she stood there like a gawky teenager.

      The man was beautiful. Her mind emptied, tongue suddenly dry. As if sensing the small war waging in her head, his mouth tweaked.

      “Should I alert the media?” Cal said with deliberate СКАЧАТЬ