Pleased that his father had the insight to recognize what a big deal it was for him to speak in front of a camera, Rory nodded. “I’ve been receiving dialect coaching to land the role. It’s helped a lot. Most of it will be reading off a cue, with minimal ad-libbing, so I should be all right.”
Admiration glinted in his father’s eyes. “You’ve never let anything stop you. Now tell me about this Samira.”
Rory didn’t want to tell his father anything, because he was too used to him tearing down his dreams, so he settled for a pared-down version of his relationship.
“She’s Melbourne-born but lives in LA, has for the last decade. Runs a thriving physical therapy practice, is working here for six months in a state-of-the-art facility her cousin runs in South Wharf. Her mom’s Indian, her dad’s American, and she’s beautiful.”
Rory glimpsed respect in his father’s steady stare. “I hope I get to meet her sometime soon.”
Try never, but Rory kept that gem to himself. He didn’t want anything tainting his fledgling relationship with Samira, let alone a cynical father who didn’t have a paternal bone in his body. But his father’s revelations today had given him hope that maybe they stood a chance at some kind of father-son relationship after all.
“I have to go, Dad.” Rory stood and held out his hand. “I’m glad we had this chat, but I don’t think either of us expects a miracle to happen overnight. We’re not close, but who knows, with time and effort, things may change?”
His father rose and shook his hand. “I think we should make that effort, if not for our sakes, for the sake of my grandchild.”
A flicker of disappointment had him releasing his father’s hand quickly. Of course Garth Radcliffe would be interested in his grandchild; yet another pawn to mold and conform into his version of the ideal progeny. Rory would do anything to curtail his father’s influence in his child’s life, no matter how much Garth seemed to have opened up in the last ten minutes.
“I’ll be in touch, Dad.”
Rory had made it to the door when his father cleared his throat and said, “I truly am sorry for everything, Son.”
Emotion tightened Rory’s chest as he glanced over his shoulder and gave his father a terse nod. He would forgive him eventually, because hanging on to grudges wasn’t his style.
But for now, he had a job to focus on and a woman he would miss terribly while he did it.
Thirty-Eight
Mom, you are killing me with kindness,” Samira said, as she sat at her dining table at the end of another long day while Kushi served her a plate piled high with mutton biryani and a side serving of raita. “And I love you for it.”
“You are eating for two,” Kushi said, sitting next to her. “I must look after my girls.”
Samira smiled at her mom’s conviction she was having a girl. She’d performed some silly old wives’ trick involving a gold wedding ring on a chain held over her belly, and the direction it swayed convinced Kushi her baby was female. Samira would rather rely on science at her twenty-week scan.
It seemed a lifetime away, considering she hadn’t had her twelve- week scan yet, but with each passing day she felt more “pregnant.” The nausea persisted, and her ankles ached at the end of a workday. Her heart ached too, considering this was the end of Rory’s fifth week away and he’d just had his time extended in the outback for another three weeks.
She’d told herself it was for the best. Getting used to being apart, especially if she divided her time between LA and Melbourne. But considering she’d been spending almost every evening being fussed over by her mom, either in Dandenong at her childhood home or here in her Southbank apartment, Samira knew the chances of returning to LA to live were slim.
She enjoyed bonding with her mom, making up for the years of lost time. And by the smile perpetually on Kushi’s face, the feeling was mutual.
Her unmarried status was still a sticking point between them, but every time Kushi hinted at the proof children were happier with two parents under the same roof, Samira would change the subject: any baby talk was guaranteed to send Kushi into a grandmotherly swoon, and Samira played it up to her full advantage.
“Shall we watch a Bollywood movie after dinner?” Kushi poured water into a glass and placed it in front of Samira. “The latest Shah Rukh Khan blockbuster has just started streaming.”
“Sounds good, Mom . . .” Samira bit back a cry as a sharp pain jagged low in her belly.
She stilled, trying to clamp down on the irrational fear making her palms sweat. It could be nothing, a momentary cramping of her uterus, but she laid down her spoon just the same and eased her chair back from the table.
“I need the ladies, Mom. Back in a sec.”
How she managed to walk to the toilet at a sedate pace, she’d never know, because the moment she stood, another pain, harsher than the first, ripped through her and she bit back a cry.
Fear, strong and potent, gripped her as she closed the bathroom door and tugged her panties down to sit on the toilet.
The spots of blood on her underwear had terror coursing through her.
Tears filled her eyes, but she gritted her teeth. She shouldn’t jump to the worst conclusion, but it was pretty hard not to, considering her age.
She had to get to the hospital.
Now.
The last thing she wanted to do was send her mom into a panic—Kushi was an expert at immediately jumping to the worst conclusion. But as she changed her underwear and added a sanitary napkin, something she hadn’t needed in many months, she’d never been more grateful to have Kushi around.
When she opened the bedroom door, she found her mom on the other side, worry accentuating the lines creasing her face.
“What is wrong, betee?”
Samira managed a wan smile. “How do you do that?”
“You are my child.” Kushi laid a comforting hand on her cheek. “I know you better than I know myself.”
Samira burst into tears, and Kushi bundled her into her arms. If she could be half the mother Kushi was, she’d be doing okay.
If she had a baby to mother.
The thought instantly sobered her, and she eased away, dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Mom, I need to get to the hospital.”
The color drained from Kushi’s face, but to her credit, she didn’t fly into a panic as Samira had expected.
“Do you need an ambulance?”
Samira shook her head. “The cramping has stopped, but I’m spotting.”
“Let’s go.” Kushi slid an arm around her waist, and Samira had never been more grateful to lean against her mom even though she could walk perfectly well.