Page 40 of Pregnancy Clause in Their Paper Marriage
He shook his head. ‘My family doesn’t forgive me.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ Lana replied. ‘But I know you don’t forgive yourself.’
‘And you think I should?’ He couldn’t keep from sounding incredulous.
‘What benefit is there in raking yourself over the coals for it, again and again?’ she challenged quietly. ‘After a certain point, regret isn’t helpful. It just festers like a wound, like a poison. Torturing yourself with guilt doesn’t help you. It doesn’t help your family. And it won’t help our family.’ She took his hand and pressed it to her middle. ‘Our baby needs a father who isn’t wracked with guilt, determined to be distant in case he messes up. He or she needs a dad who is there, who is involved and invested and fully present. You can be that father, Christos. I know you can.’
He stared at her, desperately wanting to believe her, and yet also so afraid to. He’d already failed too many times. Even if he could forgive himself for that—and with Lana’s help, maybe he could—he knew he would not be able to forgive himself if he let down Lana and their child. Never.
And with his track record, it felt as if it was only a matter of time.
‘Christos?’ Lana prompted softly, and because he couldn’t tell her all that, he simply took her in his arms. She came willingly, wrapping herself around him, her cheek tucked into his chest, and Christos closed his eyes, letting himself savour the moment, because heaven only knew what the future held.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘IFEELLIKEa monkey in dressing-up clothes.’
Jack Philips was staring at Lana, dressed in his narrow-legged royal-blue silk suit, looking dapper and handsome and very unhappy.
Lana rested one hand on her burgeoning baby bump. It was November, the ochre and russet leaves fluttering from the trees in Central Park, the air holding a decided crisp chilliness. She was twenty-six weeks along and she wasfinallyblooming. After the morning sickness had abated and her bump had begun to show, she’d felt an unequivocal excitement for this next stage of life.
That, she acknowledged wryly, had maybe less to do with her burgeoning bump and more to do with her relationship with Christos. Since that night on the terrace, when he’d shared so much of his story, his heart, their relationship had grown both stronger and deeper. They hadn’t said it in words, but Lana had felt it. The emotion. Thelove. Admittedly, those three little words hadn’t crossed either of their lips, and Lana tried not to wonder or worry about why not. She wanted to be content with what they had, reminding herself of what Michelle had said—‘That sounds a lot like love to me.’
Did it really matter if they hadn’t said the words? If they never did, even? Lana knew she felt them every day, and she hoped, shehopedChristos did, too.
But right now, she needed to think of Jack. His interview had been bumped several times, but the photographer and journalist were now coming to her office in just fifteen minutes, and Jack looked great...but also not so great.
Lana was well used to last-minutes jitters from her clients, whether they were about to give an interview, or a speech or host a party. Part of her job was talking them down, building them up. Giving them that shot in the arm of confidence that helped them step into the image she’d created for them.
But right now, she realised she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. If Jack was unhappy with his look, the lacquer of sophistication she’d painted on him with smart clothes and styled hair, chunky glasses, and a practised script, why bother with it at all? For ten years she’d been all about the gloss, but in the last few months it had started to flake away, and she hadn’t even minded.
She’d started wearing her hair in its natural waves rather than straightened to a gleaming sheet, and she’d worn less make-up, too. Power suits didn’t go well with pregnancy and so she’d had to make do with tailored maternity dresses. All in all, her look was softer, and she felt softer, as well as more approachable, more herself. Her real self, the self she’d hidden when she’d walked away from a broken relationship, determined to be different, because that had to be what people wanted, since Anthony certainly hadn’t wanted the real her.
But Christos seemed to.
If she could trust it and not question anything. Live in the moment and not worry about the future...
‘If you really don’t like the suit, Jack,’ she told him, ‘then change back into your old clothes.’
His eyes widened as he stared at her uncertainly. ‘But I came here in a ripped T-shirt and dirty jeans.’
‘I know.’ She smiled conspiratorially at him. ‘But so what? These journalists and photographers see slick, sophisticated people all day, every day. They are all about the curated image, the so-called authentic self that is absolutely anything but. Maybe you need to give them the real deal—who you truly are, warts and all.’
‘Thankfully, I don’t have any warts, but I take your meaning,’ Jack replied, and she laughed.
‘Well, phew, I guess.’
‘Albert told me you’d give me a whole new image,’ he told her thoughtfully. ‘And you did, but now you’re saying to scrap it?’
‘Essentially, yes. I’m not trying to talk myself out of a job, but what’s the point of being fake?’
‘Well, it’s a form of self-protection, I suppose,’ Jack replied seriously. ‘If you’re fake, you can’t be truly rejected, because the real you is never seen.’
‘Exactly,’Lana answered, heartened that he got it—and, amazingly, finally, so did she. ‘And what’s the point of that? If you can’t be real, what are you?’
‘You are not,’ Jack told her, ‘sounding like a PR person.’
‘I know.’ Lana couldn’t keep from laughing again. ‘Maybe I need a rebranding. “Authentic PR” or something.’