her arms and faced him. “Turn the boat around. It’s not safe to be out.”
“I checked with the coast guard. We’re fine for at least another hour, enough time to get to the island.” He shook his head. “And we have things to discuss.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
A dark scowl bloomed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re pregnant, Kat. It’s not just about you. It’s about me, too.”
She knew that. But the bubbling frustration inside forced the words from her mouth. “My body, my decision.”
He stilled, his expression a mix of shock and seriousness. “Are you saying you want an abortion?”
She blinked, shaking her head as her stomach pitched in time with the waves. “Marco, you know what I went through with my mother. She was dead within two years of diagnosis. I could be a carrier.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “So get tested. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“I did. Plus, I do not have one single mothering bone in my body. Babies hate me and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up.” He frowned and held up a hand. “You actually went and got tested?”
“Yes. Last week.”
“After all these years of ‘I don’t want to know’ and ‘I don’t want that hanging over my head, directing my choices in life’? All the times we argued when I tried to convince you otherwise?”
She nodded.
She’d shocked him, if his gaping expression was any indicator. “When were you going to tell me?” he finally bit out.
“I just did!” she snapped back, inwardly wincing at his thinly concealed hurt. “And speaking of not telling, what about you and Grace?”
“What about me and Grace?”
“So there is a you and Grace!”
He scowled, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You and her, having a baby together?”
From the look on his face, she’d stunned him. “Since when?”
“She told me you were back together.”
He sighed, hands going to his hips. “Well, it’s news to me. We’ve been over since before the Coup de France.”
“How long before?”
“Way before our night together, chérie,” he said softly.
She swallowed, refusing to allow herself a moment of remembrance. “So, you’re saying Grace is lying?”
He shrugged. “Wishful thinking?”
She snapped her mouth shut, taking a deep, steady breath before mumbling, “This is a bloody disaster.”
Was it her imagination, or did she see his mouth tighten? Then he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair and the moment was gone. “Kat, I can’t stop you from making the final decision about what you do. If it were me, I’d be having the baby, regardless of those test results. But it’s ultimately your choice.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me,” she said quietly. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what the disease did to my mother, every single day, for two years. I refuse to let that happen to my child.”
His soft murmur sounded more like a groan. “Kat...”
The boat went over another wave, and suddenly the day’s lunch didn’t seem so secure in her stomach. She swallowed thickly then took a deep breath before meeting his eyes.
“I’ll be here as much as you need me to be,” he said, his gaze soft. “You’re my best friend, chérie, and that’s what friends do.”
Friends. Her insides did another crazy swoop, just before the nausea surged again. This was no confession of love, no happily-ever-after, no I-can’t-live-without-you. This was Marco offering his friendship and support, just as he’d always done throughout the tragedies of her embarrassingly public private life.
She swallowed a weird swell of abject disappointment. “Marco.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.... I haven’t made any decision. Plus...” She took a breath. “I can’t—I won’t—have a baby just because you want it. And once this gets out—whatever my decision—there’s going to be a media frenzy. Your career is more important than front-page gossip.”
“Kat—”
“You know what the headlines were like last time. Do you honestly think I’d do that to you? I... Oh, God.” She clutched her stomach.
He grabbed her arm, his face creased with alarm. “What’s wrong? What—”
She turned to the railing but wasn’t quick enough. In the next second, she threw up all over the deck, right on top of Marco’s expensive Italian leather shoes.
Two
“Guess I should’ve seen that coming,” Marco said drily as she rushed to the railing and continued to throw up over the side.
When he placed a gentle hand on her back, she shrugged it off with a groan. “Oh, God, don’t.”
His gaze darted from her to briefly stare up into the dark storm clouds. It was about to rain and rain hard, and if his captain, Larry, hurried, the crew could make it safely back to the mainland before it all came down. What he needed to discuss with Kat was between them alone; he certainly didn’t need anyone else encroaching on their privacy.
He returned to Kat’s doubled-up figure and shifted uncomfortably on the deck. He should’ve thought about seasickness. She wasn’t a great sailor at the best of times, and with the added pregnancy, he wasn’t surprised she’d thrown up.
“Can I get you anything?” he said now, frowning as her thick breath rattled in her throat. It tore little pieces from him, listening to her force down the nausea, willing herself not to throw up. She hated being sick, and he’d held her hair back on more than one occasion, watching helplessly as she went through the motions while he’d soothingly rubbed her back and made the appropriate sympathetic noises.
She stayed like that, bent over the railing, unfazed by the wind and ocean spray on her face until they finally docked at Sunset Island’s small jetty twenty minutes later. As the boat edged slowly into position, Kat pulled herself upright, swiping at her mouth and swallowing thickly with a grimace.
“Bathroom,” she muttered, and he silently watched her head into the cabin.
Five minutes later, as he was going over his choices in a long lineup of conversation starters, she emerged, her face pale and grim, a swipe of lip gloss on her mouth.
When she walked out onto the deck, that weird, tumultuous, out-of-control feeling had receded, only to be replaced with trepidation. This crazy situation was totally out of his hands, and that thought freaked the hell out of him. Yet she...she looked so cool and blank as she strode toward him that he felt the sudden urge to kiss her, to dislodge that perfect composure and make her as frustrated and confused as he felt.
Stupid idea. Because Kat had made it clear she wanted to forget what they’d done all those weeks ago. And if he looked at this logically, that was the sensible thing to do. They were best friends. Throughout all their sucky personal relationships, her mother’s death, his one marriage and divorce, her two, plus the crazy media attention they always seemed to attract, their friendship endured. Sure, the papers always hinted at something more, but they’d both laughed and shrugged it off a long time ago.
Yet now, as his insides pitched with uncharacteristic uncertainty, she looked almost...calm. As if she’d already made a decision and was confident in making it.
She was