Found (24 page)

I burst through the door, and there he is. The man I married. The man I love.

‘Pony,’ I cry, as I rush towards him. I nearly knock him onto the four-poster bed as I fling myself at him.

This room is in keeping with the rest of the castle with heavy wood panelled walls and a rich green decor. A stag’s head on the wall stares blankly across towards the en-suite bathroom, and I almost feel like we could be in the forest, hunting boar with Henry VIII.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, stroking my cheek.

‘No,
I’m
sorry,’ I murmur. ‘Forgive me?’

‘Only if you forgive me.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive. I don’t know why I’ve been so vile. Why didn’t you come through for dinner?’

‘I didn’t want to cause a scene, I–’

I stop him with a fierce kiss.

‘There’s about to be one now,’ I mutter as we break apart. I quickly fill Piers in on Ob’s suspicions.

‘Crikey, poor man.’

I nod. ‘When did you get here?’

‘I came when the ceremony started. I had a weird morning, actually.’

‘Oh?’

‘I met up with Eve Rothchester.’

‘Oh! I meant to tell you that she was at the gallery last night and I gave her your number, but with everything...’ I shrug, not wanting to relive last night. ‘What did she want? That was the weirdest thing – her showing up like she did,’ I ramble. ‘One minute she was with me looking for Etta, the next minute I was thanking the caterers and she’d gone.’

‘She offered me a job,’ Piers laughs as he sits down on the bed and pats the space next to him. ‘I accepted it.’

‘What? But what about the gallery?’

I sit down on the bed and lean into Piers. Our reflection stares back at us from the mirror that’s opposite the bed. We look weary.

‘Eve is happy for me to start when Blythe returns. There’s a non-compete clause in my old contract that we need to get looked into, but since she was attached to the US firm, it should be OK.’

‘OK?’

My head is going a million miles an hour trying to work this out and I flop backwards so I’m staring up at the heavy green drapes. I notice a small hole in the material in the bottom left corner.

‘Arielle, we both know the gallery isn’t me. Sure, I’ll do it to help Blythe out, to help
you
out, but finance is my thing.’

‘Finance stresses you out,’ I point out. I’m scared that if Piers goes back into that world, he’ll be back in hospital before the year is out.

‘It’s managing a fund for one family,’ Piers retorts. ‘Managing several funds and juggling hundreds of millions is a bit more stressful than this will be.’

My eyes widen as I sit back up. ‘Is that how much money you dealt with?’

He gives me a look, and it’s such a Piers look that my heart melts. I remember when I first met him, lying on the pavement near the Barbican as I waited for an ambulance. It feels like only yesterday. I knew he was wealthy then, that he dealt with money like other people deal with stupid office emails and pissed-up colleagues on a Friday night, but handling
hundreds of millions of pounds
? No wonder Piers was always so stressed out.

‘It’s not going to be like that,’ he reassures me like he can read my thoughts. ‘No stress, no late nights. Just me managing the Rothchester’s assets to keep things ticking over. They have enough money for several generations of Rothchesters to do sweet nothing for the rest of their lives.’

Piers’ eyes are lit up, and I know that this is right for him. The gallery was never for him, just like it’s not for me and Etta.

‘Hardly healthy that though, is it?’ I joke, which gets me a smile from Piers. ‘How did she even know about you though?’

I’m really confused. Eve and Piers never met in New York, and I don’t think I ever told her where he worked – only that he was ill. How does she even know he’s capable of managing her money?

‘Twitter,’ Piers says pointedly. ‘Apparently my wife has discussed quite a bit about our lives on there.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I pull a face. ‘It seems I got a bit over-sharey. I’ll rein that in.’

‘Not that I’m complaining in this instance, but–’

‘Keep our private life, private?’

Piers nods.

‘So it’s asset management, you said?’

‘In a nutshell, yes. There will still be some travel, and we could even move to New York, if you want, but I suspect you might want to stay in the UK.’

‘Why would I want to stay here?’ I ask, but Piers ignores my question.

‘Am I forgiven then?’

I nod, even though there’s nothing to forgive.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I brought the past up,’ I admit, ‘but it was stupid. I think seeing Etta rattled me, and I took that out on you. Do you forgive
me
?’

‘It wasn’t stupid and, ditto, there’s nothing to forgive. I think it’s good that we cleared the air ahead of our next stage, though–’ Piers frowns, ‘–where are your rings? I don’t like seeing you without them.’

‘Next stage?’ I ask stupidly as I get off the bed. Picking up my handbag, I grab my ring box and flip it open. Piers reaches over and takes them.

‘I think I know why you’ve been so off,’ he says as he slides my rings back on my finger with a tender smile.

I roll my eyes. A prolonged stint in hospital and various trips to consultants suddenly makes my husband a bloody doctor, does it? Anyway, does there have to be a reason for my mood? Can’t I just be a moody cow if I want to be?

‘I–’ I begin to snap, but Piers interrupts me, thank goodness, as I realise that I’ve let myself get riled up over nothing.
Again
.

‘Pony, please. Will you listen to me? I can’t bear to lose you.’

This gets my attention. Has Piers been thinking of ending things with me? What does he mean by losing me?
I’m
not going anywhere...
is he
?

‘Lose me?’ I whisper.

‘You’re self-destructing a little bit, you have to admit. Just like Etta, but in a very different way. Why didn’t you tell me she’d overdosed, by the way?’

I shrug. ‘I have no idea. I felt like I’d let Felicity down when that happened on my watch, and then with Ob’s wedding today...’

It’s no excuse, but it’s the only excuse I have.

‘Felicity didn’t make you partners so you’d look after Etta,’ Piers remarks sadly. ‘Admittedly, I have no idea why she flung the two of you together, but it wasn’t for that reason.’

‘How did you know about Etta anyway?’

‘It was all over the papers.’

Of course. That’s how I found out she’d been rushed to hospital in the first place.

‘And since my number is now listed as the gallery’s contact number,’ he continues, ‘I’ve had a dozen journalists call me for a quote.’

I groan.

‘Don’t worry, I said no comment.’

‘I should message Matt, see how she is.’

‘I spoke to him earlier. She’s OK. Going to rehab,’ Piers adds anticipating my next question. ‘She woke up this afternoon, and her album is on course to reach number one this Sunday. I got the impression that the album’s success matters more to Etta than her health, but Matt says she’ll always be like this. Fighting herself and fighting her addiction.’

He shrugs but he has a sympathetic smile on his face.

‘Speaking of health though,’ he continues, ‘we need to talk about yours. I said that I think I know why you’ve been all over the place, and I think that everything will make sense in a minute. Wait there.’

Piers walks over to his bag, and I admire my handsome husband who, oddly, seems nervous now. He pulls out a rectangular box from his bag, but I can’t make out the label.

‘What’s that?’ I ask, walking over to him.

He hands me the box and my face drops in surprise. I count back quickly in my head, and I nod as I open the box. My hands are shaking.

‘I think you might be right,’ I say in a tiny voice, trying to get my head around this. This is something we wanted one day, but
now
? Are we ready now? Then again, is anyone ever ready? It would explain so much though.

I stand up.

‘Do you want me to come in with you?’

I know if Piers is right that he will be seeing worse scenes than me peeing but, for now, I shake my head and spare him. I need a moment to process this on my own. This is life changing.

A few minutes later, Piers sticks his head around the en-suite door. ‘Can I come in? What does it say?’

My eyes are screwed tightly shut, so I have no idea what I’m holding in my hand. I’ve been sitting on the side of the bathtub ever since I took the test.

Finally, the silence gets too much, and I open my eyes. I look straight at Piers. I don’t need to look down at my hand to know the result – his face says it all. He looks ecstatic, and I know that we are, but I still glance down at the pregnancy test to confirm. It’s positive:
I’m pregnant
.

All the anger that has been bubbling up inside me over the past few months disappears in an instant. I understand now why I’ve been so up and down with my emotions, why I’ve not wanted to touch alcohol. I understand everything now as I spring up, dropping the stick in the sink as I start laughing hysterically. All the stress and tension I’ve been feeling vanishes.

‘Arielle, we’re going to be parents!’ Piers joyfully says with a laugh of his own, placing his hand on my belly and leaning in to kiss me.

I grin back at Piers. Happy tears start to fall down my face as I hug my husband, the father of my child. Right now I feel every emotion going but, for once, I know the reason behind this unexpected flood – it’s our baby growing inside me.

‘I’ve been so silly,’ I cry, choking back a bubble of laughter because I feel ecstatic, relieved and happy, but also a little bit stupid. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t twig this. My moodiness! Putting on weight! It all makes perfect sense now.’

‘You are happy we’re having a baby?’ Piers asks, touching my belly again.

‘I couldn’t be happier.’ I place my hand on his. Bump. Piers. Me.
My family
.

I let my worries about Etta’s overdose, Ob’s wedding drama, Piers’ new job and the future of my fashion career swim out of my head. None of that matters right now. What matters in this moment is the three of us. I know everything will turn out OK as long as the three of us are happy and healthy. All of the other stuff, it all seems trivial now. Everything will work out how it’s supposed to, and I should concentrate on looking after me. Looking after our baby. That’s the most important thing.

I grin up at Piers. As our lips meet to kiss, our hands are still placed protectively on my belly – on
our
baby. I know Piers feels the same way as I do.

Parenthood, eh? Let’s do this.

Elle Field writes romantic comedies, and is the author of the Arielle Lockley series and
Geli Voyante’s Hot or Not
. She grew up in Yorkshire, then moved to Scotland to study International Relations and Social Anthropology at the University of St Andrews.

Elle now lives in London with her boyfriend and their cat. She’s a massive fan of sunshine, giraffes, Audrey Hepburn movies, playing Scrabble, musicals and drinking tea. Oh, and reading, of course!

Find out more about Elle by reading her blog,
http://www.ellefield.co.uk
, following her on Twitter
@ellefie
or on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/ellefieldauthor