by Jane Porter
There really must be something wrong with her, Ava thought, looking longingly towards the hall and the front door, when all she wanted to do was run away rather than give herself over to a proper massage. “This isn’t necessary. I’m really not used to much fuss.”
“Exactly. Which is why Mr. McKenzie wants you to be fussed over. He insists you be pampered and spoiled and treated like royalty, and that is just what I intend to do.”
“I’ve got scars.”
“My early training was at a rehabilitation hospital in Zurich. Many of those I worked with were paralyzed. I have seen it all, trust me.”
Ava wasn’t very good at trusting anyone anymore, but once on the massage table Ava had to admit that Genevieve was very good at what she did. Ava had forgotten the bliss of a good massage. There was power in touch, power in being treated gently, kindly, and Ava’s tension and anxiety melted as Genevieve kneaded, massaged, and applied fragrant oils, followed by cool soothing towels and lotions.
Several hours later, still bundled in the plush robe but with her skin glowing, hair shampooed and blow-dried, and nails freshly polished, Ava faced a huge walk-in closet filled with clothes she’d never seen before.
“Mr. McKenzie had them made for you,” Genevieve explained, flicking on the closet light. “They’re all top designers, and rather fun clothes, don’t you think?”
Fun? How about impractical? Silk pants, skimpy beaded tops, short skirts, long slim skirts, sheer chiffon blouses that showed far too much of everything.
“I think they’re a bit short on fabric,” Ava said, holding up a rich amethyst silk camisole that was also nearly backless and a narrow long skirt with a thigh-high slit.
“You’ve an amazing figure. Might as well show it off. Besides, there’s no one here to see but Mr. McKenzie.”
Ava’s stomach did a wild dive. Precisely her worry. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been before the accident. She didn’t have her old grace, lacked the fluid gestures and easy elegance that had come from years of dance training in Buenos Aires. She might not need the walker or cane, but she was far from sexy.
Ava returned the purple silk outfit to the hanger. “I think something more conservative. Black. High neck.”
Genevieve shook her head. “You won’t find anything like that here. Mr. McKenzie made sure of that. But this shade of purple will look fantastic on you. Let’s get you dressed.”
It was almost dusk when Genevieve led Ava back down the long, garden path, from one flagstone path to another. The garden was lit with dozens of colorful, Chinese lanterns, making the garden look like a little jewel box.
They reached a stone patio and in the center was a dark red gondola. Another member of Malcolm’s staff stood at attention. “Your carriage,” Geneieve said with a smile. “Mr. McKenzie is waiting for you down below.”
*
The gondola ride took several minutes. It was definitely not a fast trip down the hillside, but with the sun beginning to set, it was beautiful. As they neared the beach, she spotted a white cabana and dozens of candles and tiki torches providing flickering light.
Colm was indeed waiting for her at the bottom. She could see him as the gondola approached, his shadow stretching long on the sand, silhouetted by the setting of the red-gold sun.
Her stomach did a wild somersault and she pressed a hand to her belly, her nerves getting the better of her.
He opened the door to the gondola when it came to a stop and then lifted her onto the still warm sand. “You look amazing,” he said, leaving his hands on her waist.
She could feel the heat of his skin against hers through her thin, silk camisole. It was exciting and yet overwhelming. Being with Colm was overwhelming. Everything here in St. Barts was so new, and there were so many experiences and she couldn’t catalogue them and remember the details and she knew she wouldn’t remember everything tomorrow.
She’d remember Colm, of course. But she might not remember this…the gondola ride, the sunset, the seductive warmth of his hands against her waist.
“Don’t worry so much,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“I’m scared.”
“Why?”
“This is all so magical and you’ve gone to so much work to make it special but I might not remember any of it tomorrow. I won’t remember how hard you’ve worked to make me comfortable, to help me relax.”
“You don’t have to remember that.”
“But I do.”
“No. You don’t. You just have to enjoy yourself tonight. Live now. Be happy now. We’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”
Tears started to Ava’s eyes. She felt so much just then, so many intense emotions. She desperately wanted to be the woman Colm deserved. He was a good man, and so very good to her. Loyal, passionate, fiercely protective. “I just want to remember the happy things…the good things. You know how my memory is…you know how fleeting the present is.”
“Then we will become clever at capturing the good things. We will find ways to help you remember your life and all that which is hopeful and happy.”
“How?”
“We will look for sunsets every night. We will celebrate life and our blessings. We will take photos and write down the funny things and the happy moments and we will make sure to live, really live. We can do that.”
“The camera is probably a good idea. But I’m sorry you have to work so hard for me. I hate that you have to be clever just to help me remember. So much effort…so much trouble.”
“It’s not trouble. I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon and the wait was worth it. You look amazing.” And then he smiled, a very slow, sexy smile that made her knees knock and belly flip and for a split-second she felt absolutely gorgeous. “How do you feel? Good?”
“Very good. Genevieve was pretty sensational. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better massage.”
“I could give you a better one—”
“No. You’d get distracted by the girl bits and end up massaging the wrong parts.”
He laughed. “You would have enjoyed it, though.”
“Yes, but I don’t know how relaxing it would have been.”
“Well, you have would been relaxed after.”
“Hmm.” But she was smiling as she blushed. “We seem to discuss sex a lot.”
“That’s because we enjoyed sex a lot.” He shot her a swift glance as he took her arm to lead her across the sand to the cabana. “Or do you not remember?”
“No, I do remember that. Maybe that’s what makes me nervous. It seems as if we were just interested in the physical aspect of a relationship.” She was grateful for his arm as the thick, soft sand gave way beneath each foot, making it difficult to keep her balance. “Am I wrong?”
“Not wrong.” He walked her to a low couch, and made sure she was sitting comfortably before turning to open the champagne chilling on ice. “Does that bother you? That we were so physical?”
Ava blushed, her skin growing hot all over. She shifted one of the soft silk pillows, giving herself more room. “I just worry that it might not be enough. Or that it isn’t enough…and I don’t remember.”
He didn’t immediately reply, focusing instead on easing the cork from the green bottle. The cork popped and he filled one flute, and then the other.
“We were good together,” he said simply, handing her a flute. “We enjoyed each other. I’m not sure either of us analyzed it.” He faced her, big, imposing. So very self-assured.
Truly they were a study in opposites, she thought. He had everything and she…well, it was probably better to leave that alone.
“At least, I never did,” he added. “It was enough that I liked you, and wanted you, and wanted to be with you whenever our schedules permitted.”
She listened to what he was saying, and yet something rang false and she couldn’t figure out what wasn’t right. What wasn’t true.
He was here before her—tall, handsome, successful. Ridiculously successful. If he bought
an island estate for twenty-four million dollars, he could probably buy and sell small kingdoms if he wanted.
And he said he wanted her. Her.
It didn’t make sense. And no, her memory wasn’t what it used to be, but she still had logic, and logic made her question a relationship where she had never once heard him mention the word love.
If he didn’t love her, then why was he so loyal?
If he didn’t love her, why hadn’t he moved on?
Was it because of Jack? Was it Jack he loved so much?
“What are you thinking?” he asked, brow creasing.
“Am I so transparent?”
“You don’t hide your emotions like you used to.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
He sat down next to her on the couch. “You used to keep your emotions under lock and key. You didn’t like to show any weakness.”
“And yes, emotions were a weakness.”
“If you thought they’d be used against you.” He hesitated. “You were that way from the time I met you. That wasn’t a you and me thing, but an Ava thing. I always wondered if that came from dance, or maybe before that. If it was something you learned at home, as a girl in Argentina.”
She looked down into her glass and watched the bubbles rise and fizz. “I think that is a Galvan thing,” she murmured. “My father was not as easy man. The only way to survive was to protect yourself.”
“I can relate.”
Ava curled her legs under her. “I think our fathers were similar. Didn’t they both divorce our mothers and marry younger women and have more children?”
He touched the edge of his goblet to hers. “Here’s to remembering the good stuff.”
She laughed at his sardonic humor. “I think you used to make me laugh, too.”
“A lot. Even though I’ve been told I don’t have a good sense of humor. Fortunately, you liked mine.”
“I think it’s because I liked you,” she said softly, feeling the past, and the intensity of her love.
She’d adored him. She’d been crazy about him. He was the one with reservations. He was the one who hadn’t wanted her…
Ava frowned and took a quick drink from her glass. The champagne was cold and crisp and it warmed as it went down.
He hadn’t wanted her.
He hadn’t wanted the baby, either.
That was the reason they’d had that fight. That was the fight on that last night, the one when she’d been hurt.
Or did she have it wrong?
It wasn’t something she’d put in her notebook. It wasn’t something she could read there. It wasn’t something anyone had told her, either. But it whispered through her, and the whisper had shape and weight. Truth.
“I can see the wheels turning,” he said, reaching out to lift one of her long strands of hair, and curling the ends around his finger. “What are you worrying about now?”
“Facts.” She struggled to smile but couldn’t. A lump was forming in her throat making it hard to swallow. “Details. Things like that.”
“Those must be very distressing facts because you look very sad now. Can you share those facts and details with me?”
But she couldn’t. She was afraid to hear what he had to say. Afraid that everything about this evening would change. And it was—or it had been—magical. The gondola ride. The tent on the beach. The candles and flickering torches.
“It’s nothing.” She sipped her champagne, swallowing a mouthful because she needed the fizz and burn. He didn’t love her. He’d never loved her.
He was raising Jack out of guilt.
And that was why he wanted her back. Not because he wanted her, but because he was driven by guilt.
It felt like a fireball exploded in her chest. Her heart burned. Her throat ached. Pain rushed through her.
She turned her head and looked at him, unable to keep the words to herself. “You never loved me.” She said the words brokenly, bluntly. “You didn’t want Jack, either. I did.”
His hand fell from her hair. He leaned back against the couch cushion, his jaw tightening, hardening. “It’s not that black and white. It never was.”
“We fought the night of the accident. We fought about the baby.”
“Yes.” Colm’s voice was clipped.
She studied his hard features. His expression was shuttered. There was no more light or easy warmth in his eyes.
“If it’s not black and white, then tell me what happened.” She couldn’t look away from his face, wanting to understand, needing to make sense of a past that constantly slipped away.
“Will it matter tomorrow?” he retorted, looking at her. “Will you remember? You don’t have your notebook to write down the truth.”
She flinched. “That was a low blow.”
“It’s not—” He broke off, and in one smooth motion, rose to his feet.
He stalked to the edge of the flat Turkish carpet that had been rolled across the sand and for a long minute he stood, facing the sea, his shoulders rigid, posture stiff.
She could feel his anger and frustration. This was the Colm she knew. The warrior. The raider. The one victor who took no prisoners.
The silence added to the tension until her insides churned.
Finally he turned around to face her. “You never remember the good, Ava. You never remember what I did right. You only remember what I did wrong. And you’re right. We did fight that night, and I put you into the cab after our fight and I let you leave in tears. I watched you go after we exchanged harsh words and our world has never been the same. We have never been the same. And I blame myself, every single day. Every day. Especially when I’m with our boy and he looks up at me with dark brown eyes that are your eyes, and he asks me about you with this grave expression that is so you, and he wonders where you are. Where his mama is. And it slays me, every single day, Ava. Every day, I ask God to forgive me for being caught off guard that night, for not celebrating your pregnancy the way I should have celebrated the life we made. I am sorry. And I’ve told you I am sorry so many times but you never remember.”
He dragged a hand across his face, rubbing across his eyes and then down to his jaw. “And I’ve tried, I’ve tried to make it right and I can’t. And I don’t know how else to make it better but I do love him. And I love you—”
“Now,” she whispered faintly. “You love me now.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t love me then.”
His jaw worked, tightening, then easing. “I must have because I have fought for you every day since.”
“But that night…the night of the accident…you didn’t love me. Did you?”
“Does it matter?”
She set the champagne down. “I loved you.”
He stared at her and she could tell he didn’t know what to say. Which was maybe a good thing. She didn’t know what to say, either.
“This is why we’re not together,” she murmured, speaking more to herself then him. “This is the reason. Not Jack. I love Jack.” She looked up at him, her gaze searching his. “I have always loved Jack. I have always wanted to protect him. But you…you wanted me to get rid of him. You wanted me to end the pregnancy.”
“That night, that fight, is three and a half years ago. I have been a father every night since then, at your side when you were in a coma, there the night they delivered Jack. I cut his umbilical cord. I walked with him every night when he was a five pound newborn. I fed him every two hours for three months until he could manage to sleep in four hour stretches. I do regret my words, but its time you focused on my actions. I do love Jack, and I do love you. But you don’t remember any of that, either.”
She struggled to her feet. “You speak with so much scorn.”
“You’re not the only one who is tired, Ava. I’m tired, too. This is hard. Making this work, it’s not always easy. I’ve waited months to try again with you, but it’s tough when you fling a past that is three and a half years old in my face.”
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Her thoughts raced so fast it was impossible to pick the right words. Instead, she clenched and unclenched her hands. If she could run, she’d run. She’d run far away from here. But her body didn’t run anymore and her mind wasn’t what it used to be. She didn’t know how to be clever or evasive. She was just who she was.
Damaged. Broken. Flawed.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said, heart thudding so hard she felt like throwing up.
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t remember, and I’m sorry I’m stuck in the past. I wish I had more memories, newer memories, but there’s that break…the before, and after. I remember mostly the before.”
“Please don’t apologize.”
“I have to. I’m ashamed—”
“Christ, Ava, please, please don’t say that.” He went to her, swiftly closing the distance and he pulled her against him. “Say anything but that.”
She closed her eyes as his arms went around her. He felt familiar but unfamiliar and this time she knew why.
She loved him.
She hated him.
She needed him.
She couldn’t bear to be with him.
He made her hurt. He made her ache. He made her wish she’d never met him…
Chapter Eight
‡
Colm went to the table and picked up her flute and handed it back to her. “Come, sit down. There’s no point in fighting. It’s not going to accomplish anything.”
Her chin jerked up and she stared at him defiantly. “Don’t be condescending.”
“I’m not. I’m trying to salvage the evening. It was supposed to be a nice evening. I was hoping to create some good memories for you.”
She drew a quick breath and then exhaled slowly. “With any luck, I won’t remember tonight.” And then she made a face. “That was a joke.”
He smiled crookedly. “I know. And it was a good one.”
“But knowing my luck, I won’t forget.”
“Another joke.”