A man so not for her.
She pushed away the feeling of wretchedness that threatened to overcome her. Snap out of it. Not now, not today. Today was meant for happiness and she intended to enjoy every moment of it.
They came to a shooting gallery and Edoardo tried his luck. He missed the target frequently.
“Weren’t you ever in the army cadets?” She gave his arm a tug. “Give me a go.”
He looked down at her. “Good God, why?”
“I may do better.”
“Yes, and you may do murder,” he shot back.
She reached for the rifle. “Give it to me,” she insisted.
Edoardo blew out a breath. “Back off,” he said, raising the rifle out of her reach. He leaned over the counter, tucked the rifle butt into his shoulder, and took careful, deliberate aim. He missed. “Damn thing,” he muttered. “The sights must be off.”
“Your sight is off. Let me show you how it’s done.”
“Okay, smarty-pants, go for broke.” He handed her the rifle. “Show me how it’s done.” He crossed his arms across his massive chest, glaring down at her, challenging her. She took up the challenge eagerly.
She leaned over the counter, aimed and fired, managing to win a rather odd-shaped teddy bear. She handed the rifle to the man behind the counter and the teddy bear to Edoardo. “Annie Oakley has nothing on me.” She gave him a told-you-so grin.
He chuckled, and then laughed loudly and when he spoke, his voice was filled with admiration. “Now I’m totally impressed. You’re in the wrong profession, Glory; you should’ve joined the police force.”
“Hmm, I did consider that at one time. G.I. Jane with Demi Moore in camouflage and toting a rifle over one shoulder decided the army was for me.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“All that marching. I’ve got delicate feet.”
His laughter. His smiling eyes. “How did you learn to shoot so well?”
“My dad took me rifle range shooting when I was a kid,” she explained.
He handed the teddy-bear to a small child in a pusher. The mother smiled her thanks. “Want to go on the roller coaster?”
He looked different, younger, if possible more handsome, and she was different too, light-hearted and joyful, as if she were expecting something wonderful to happen. “I’m game if you are.”
He took her hand and they crossed the fairgrounds to the roller coaster. She’d never been on a roller coaster, wasn’t a person who liked scary rides, and her heart looped in her chest.
He insisted they sit in the front seat although she pleaded with him to sit in the middle seat. “Chicken,” he said and at his dare, she huddled miserably, into the seat beside him.
It was terrifying; it was horrendous, it was breathtaking — Glory, now devoid of thought as to what she should or shouldn’t do, wrapped herself around him and burying herself into his bulk, screamed at every dip and turn.
“Want to go again?” he asked her, rather out of breath himself.
She was out of the car before she answered him, her legs quivering like jelly and her head spinning like a toy top. “If I ever get the urge to go on a roller coaster again,” she said drily, “please take me to the nearest analyst.”
His eyes glinted with tomfoolery. “Where’s your sense of adventure? For an Annie Oakley, you sure crack under pressure.”
“Undue pressure.” She gave him, what she hoped was a quelling look. “And my adventurous spirit vanished somewhere between the death loop and the loop of perpetual terror.”
He laughed and threaded her arm through his leading her away from the roller coaster. “Feeling any better?” Edoardo’s gaze didn’t shift from her face. “You’re face is still washed-out.”
“Washed-out,” she exclaimed. “Couldn’t you have found a nicer word?”
He feigned concentration. “There’s sickly or colourless. Hmm, maybe it’s a light green.”
Tilting her head back, she peered at his face. “I’ll stick with washed-out, thanks.”
His fingers were warm and strong as he grasped hers. “Are you really okay?”
She promptly disengaged her hands. Warm and wonderful, she said, “Yes, my hair’s stopped standing on end.”
He laughed again and she suffered a sense of extreme excitement. Almost as if she knew something amazing was going to happen between them — but that was only her vivid imagination, her desperate hope that Edoardo would change and love her the way she loved him. Give her what she so wanted with him, a home and babies.
Master Plan, Master Plan, she reminded herself. I will meet Prince Charming, and he will whisk me off on his white steed to a home in the suburbs where, contented just to be together, we’ll have heaps of kids, a mangy old dog and a cat or two. She must never stray from the Master Plan.
She glanced at him. What about sex with this incomparable half of the dynamic duo? Could she go to bed with him and come out not panting for more? Maybe, maybe not. Was she resilient enough to have a brief affair, tip her hat and say, wham-bang-thank-you-man?
“Okay, let’s see what else is offering,” he said as they moved further into the fair grounds. “What’s over there? Hmmm, Madame Zelare’s. Want your fortune told?”
“It could be fun. Although I don’t believe anyone can foretell the future. It’s pure playacting.”
“What do you believe?”
“That the future is in your own hands.” She folded her arms and nodded slowly. “You can change it if you want to. Like if you come to a crossroads and you’re unsure which way to take. The decision must be to take the safest route, the one that will bring you out to where you want to be.”
He shook his head slightly. “You make it sound all so uncomplicated.” He cocked his head to one side. “I never knew you were such a realist.”
She shrugged. “I try to keep my feet firmly on the ground at all times.”
“So you don’t take chances?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Like on what?”
His eyes grew dark. “I don’t know; cards maybe or the lottery, or crossing the road against the lights.” He gazed down at her. “Or love.”
Her heart took up such an irregular beat and she briefly closed her eyes. “Do you take chances, Edoardo? Would you take a chance on love?”
“Typical lawyer tactics; answer a question with a question.” He gave her a tiny push. “In you go then,” he said shoving money into her hand and ushering her gently towards the large tent. “I’ll wait out here for you.”
“But — ” she protested.
“And don’t start in with cross-examining the poor woman. This is purely for fun only.” He reached out to lightly touch her cheek. “Go on,” he urged her, and half-heartedly, she entered the tent.
It was dark almost pitch black and Glory blinked her eyes, adjusting to the gloomy light. She turned around at the rustle of curtain beads and a tall, extremely thin woman appeared.
Her hair was long and stringy and jet-black, and she was dressed flamboyantly in swirling colours of purple, aquamarine, yellow, and green. Large silver hoop earrings adorned her earlobes and she was swathed in strings of multicoloured beads. Kate would kill for this outfit.
She took a seat and bid Glory to do the same. “You wish the tarot cards or palm reading?”
Oddly nervous, Glory said the first thing that came into her head. “I wish the palm reading. Thanks very much.”
Madame Zelare took Glory’s hand in her own, running a fingertip lightly across her palm. Glory trembled. “You are unhappy? You love but are not loved?”
Glory nodded, rather amazed at the fortune-teller’s ability to get to the truth so quickly. Maybe she was too hasty in her judgment and, as Edoardo put it, too down-to-earth.
Madame Zelare smiled
benevolently. “Unhappiness and happiness are interlocked, my dear, one cannot be without the other. Like day and night. Right and wrong. Love and hate,” she chanted as if she’d said the same thing a hundred times before.
Glory looked away from the fortune teller and inclined her face towards the slim strip of bright sunlight streaming through the tent opening. “I don’t understand. I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You will understand in time,” she intoned. “Follow your heart.”
Follow my heart? Dear God, if I did that where in the heck would I be? The only thing I’ll follow is my logic, and that’s telling me to keep my cool.
Glory was glad to be out in the bright sunlight, breathing the fresh air.
“How did it go?”
She shrugged. “All right, I guess. The usual prattle of a seasoned fortune-teller. It was an experience, if nothing else.”
He reached out to touch her hair. And, strangely unsettled, she moved back from his touch. “Anything you want to share with me?”
She shook her head slightly. “Nothing. It was textbook stuff.”
He laughed softly. “Did she say you’d meet a tall, dark handsome stranger?”
Glory’s eyes met Edoardo’s. “She said, beware of strangers. Only trust people you know.”
His eyes were dark, dangerous. “Like me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She took a deep breath letting it out slowly. “Like you.”
It wasn’t what they were saying, it was the way they said it. Her heart was beating way too fast.
A newborn wind stirred the restless trees, and blew dry leaves along the path upon which they were walking. The sun chose to play hide and seek with a cloud yet still the day was magic.
In the distance she could hear the shrill crassak-crassak of a king parrot in flight and a kookaburra laughing as though he’d heard the joke of the century. Was the joke on her?
They went into the fun house and she squealed when the floor beneath them came to life and turned into a revolving disc. He grabbed her hand as they managed to scramble onto solid wood.
Pushing through a rubber-stripped arch, they tumbled into a pitch-black tunnel. She grabbed his hand. He squeezed hers. If he kissed her, here in the darkness, utterly alone and so darn vulnerable, goodness knows what would happen between them.
She knew she’d kiss him back with all the pent-up emotions she had inside her. Dangerous ground. “Don’t even think about it,” she said.
She heard his chuckle. How much he was enjoying flirting with her with any woman that took his fancy. “Spoiled sport.”
“Just find me light.”
He tugged her though a slit of light into the hall of mirrors. She wandered away from him, but he grabbed her hand and dragged her back. “Look,” he said. The warped reflection showed two very rotund figures. “This is how we’ll look when we’re sixty.”
Sixty? They would be lucky to get through the mayoral campaign.
He moved her along. Their reflections were like beanpoles now. He made a face and she giggled. “You look like Stan Laurel. Another fine mess you’ve got me into, Stanley,” she mimicked.
He quickly looked down at her. His eyes a deep blue mist. “Have I?”
She swallowed harshly. “What?”
He gathered her close so that the side of her head pressed against his chest, his hand held firmly against her upper arm. She couldn’t have escaped from him had she wanted to. “Got you into a mess.”
His hold loosened and she wriggled out of his embrace, hesitated, and then said, “I’m used to messes.”
His brow was furrowed in concern. “Something you want to tell me?”
She shrugged and moved away from him. “After my father left, my mother fretted her life away,” she explained, wanting now to tell him about her parents, her life as a child. “She barely came out of her bedroom. She ate like a bird and she hardly talked at all. It was as if she’d taken a vow to punish herself for what my dad had done to her. As if it were her fault he’d left. I couldn’t do much to help her except care for her, be there for her.”
“Sounds tough going for both of you.”
“My teenage years were erratic and unpredictable. Made me strongly independent and more than a little crazy too, I think.”
He gave her a careful look. “Your mother couldn’t take her husband leaving her? Couldn’t get her life together?”
“She lost interest in everything. I had to take over the reins. Sometimes she didn’t know I was there. It was awful for her. Me too I guess.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
At her words, he went still. “My God, so young, and yet you managed to get through university and law school and pass with honours.” He paused, his blue eyes intense. “I knew you were special. How did you do it?”
“It’s the English in me,” she said sheepishly. “Makes me determined to achieve the unachievable.” She laughed a little self-consciously. “Actually, the truth was I had no other alternative.”
He looked down at her and smiled a contemplative little ghost of a smile. “No other relatives? Grandparents? An aunt maybe?”
“Just Mum and me.”
He arched a brow at her. “Has it made you anti-marriage?”
“Hey, I wouldn’t go that far,” she said backing off, raising her palm in a placatory gesture. “With the right man — ?”
“The settling down type of man? A man that offers marriage, the works?”
I want you, if only you were different. “I’ll find him one day.”
“Yes, I guess you will.” His voice was tinged with melancholy as if he regretted something he’d done or hadn’t yet done. “And you deserve nothing but the best, Glory.” He hesitated, and then added, “And I hope you find this Prince Charming of yours. He’s a lucky bloke.”
Glory blew out a breath before saying, “I believe in the — ”
“The institution of marriage?” he cut in.
“Who wants to live in an institution,” they both chorused and laughed gleefully.
He reached out and took her hand, walking with her from the fun house outside into the crisp air. The sun had disappeared and dark clouds gathered. Still the day was magic. Edoardo placed his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. Now that she liked. It seemed so natural and warm and totally safe.
“Are you getting cold feet?” he asked her. “About pretending to be my girl?”
“My feet are wrapped in ice.”
He raked a hand back through his hair and exhaled. “It’s only for a short time.”
“What if I blow it?”
“How can you do that?” he asked, seeming genuinely stunned by her answer.
“Oh, right, all I have to do is act the loving girlfriend.” I can do that. Anyone can do that. A fine chill threaded through her, sending icy fingers up and down her spine. Can’t I? Oh God, can’t I?
“Hey, Glory, look on it like an adventure,” he said with a ghost of a chuckle. “We can laugh our legs off once I get into office. A grand story to tell your grandchildren,” he ended.
She stared at Edoardo, disappointment humming inside like a bumble-bee. She’d known what was in store, that he’d viewed the whole deal as a game, and when it was over, he’d have a big chuckle about it all, and expect her to respond in kind.
Still, she’d made a deal with him … “It means that much to you?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Then no worries,” she said. “I made a deal and intend keeping to it.”
He stopped walking and stood directly in front of her. “So I guess we’re stuck with each other.”
Heat flared in his blue eyes, hot and dangerous. “I guess,” she muttered.
He stared over her s
houlder and she turned to see what he was looking at. The sign read, The original and only Love Boat — the most romantic trip in the world. He raised an eyebrow. “My treat.”
Her head jerked back involuntarily. “No way. You’re not getting me in that.”
He studied her shrewdly. She shifted her feet restlessly. “Why not?”
Why not? Because she couldn’t bear being alone in the dark with him, knowing he would touch her, knowing he would kiss her, knowing he would think it all some crazy, wonderful game, a game where he made up the rules.
A game of love where there was no chance for her to ever win.
She shrugged carelessly although her stomach churned. “I get seasick at the idea of boats.”
A few drops of rain splattered them. They glanced up. Storm clouds were rolling in. He moved in dangerously close. His eyes were so blue. Clear, open eyes. Wonderful eyes. Eyes she could stare into forever.
“You know what I think?”
“No, what do you think?”
“That you’re scared of me.”
“Me? Scared of you?” She gave a contemptuous chuckle, sounding very much like an evil goblin at the end of the garden. “You’re joking, of course,” she threw the remark away carelessly.
He remained quiet, studying her as intently as a prisoner in the dock; waiting for the right moment to strike out with the winning piece of evidence that would close the case. “Hmmm, I wonder.” Then he said, “Hungry?”
For you. “Starving.”
“How about a hamburger, chips, and a Coke?” he suggested. “I noticed there was a small cafe near the entrance to the grounds.”
“Sounds a plan.”
They passed an open field and a single wild Pink Fingers orchid fluttered in the cool breeze. A lush fringe of pale pink petals spread outward from the orchid’s dark centre. He leaned over a small wire fence and plucked the flower from the earth.
“To match your cheeks,” he said as he handed it to her.
Heart meltdown time. She brought the bloom to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Thanks.”
As she walked beside Edoardo, the wind flowed over her skin like the soft touch of velvet. She could hear the delicate orchestra of bird sounds, the rustling of leaves and the trees swaying, whispering some magical secret to each other.
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