Max Banks the food critic was renowned for his meltdowns, and I could see he was playing to that, winding Tug up. It was clearly all an act.
Silence followed, and when my mind had stopped rambling, I realized that Max was very tense beside me, and a quick glance at Rosie showed her frowning in concern. I didn’t want to be part of some television drama, so I forced myself to smile at Tug and say, “Seriously, is that all you’ve got? I had a long term relationship with a man who was two years older than me. And since then I’ve dated a few men who were younger. Doesn’t make me the whore of the century.”
“Or at all,” Max added, glaring at Tug for a moment before turning a smile on me that was so sweet, my heart ached. I wanted so much to believe that he cared, but the fixed quality of his stare made it all look like theatre.
“So…” Tug said, clearly trying to regain ground. “Tell us about the wedding. What do you two have planned?”
He’d directed the question at me, but I wasn’t ready for anything beyond an engagement.
Luckily, Max cut in smoothly, “This morning I applied for a special license so we’ll be married next week in fact…” What the fuck? “…and my mother is flying over for the ceremony. But the Caribbean honeymoon will have to wait.” He smiled at me in a patronizing I’m doing the talking way and that was fine by me. I had no clue what was going on.
His mother was flying over?
My heart started pounding in earnest then, because I wanted so badly for this to be real—a genuine love story, a real wedding—but what if the whole thing was fake? For the second time, that emotional abyss opened up in my chest, but I didn’t have time to be weak, so I forced myself to listen to what they were saying which was a helpful distraction from pain.
“…because my new Colonial Kitchens series starts filming straight after the wedding, and our first stop is Fritha’s restaurant Bohemian Brew in Belandera. I’m sure your audience will be keen to see that episode because we’re ‘Beauty and the Beast’ when we’re cooking together, and it will be ten times worse if we’re on our honeymoon. There’ll be no escaping the cameras.”
Very clever promo.
He kissed my cheek, and it took every ounce of fortitude I had to keep smiling. But through gritted teeth I said, “It will be interesting.” Then to Tug I added, “I’m particularly beastly to him when he’s making pancakes. But if he can get that maple syrup at the right temperature…” I shook my head in mock admiration. “…it’s orgasmic.”
Tug was back into the conversation full-force, adding a foxy purr of delight before he said, “Sounds like you two are making sparks in the kitchen and the bedroom.”
I held up a hand. “We won’t be discussing that in the series. Will we, pumpkin?” I turned to Max and flapped my eyelashes.
He shook his head. “We can’t give away all our secrets.” Then he winked at the camera and my stomach lurched alarmingly. If I’d needed confirmation that this was all fake, that was it, and I suddenly couldn’t do it anymore.
“So,” I said over-brightly. “I’m about to go wedding dress shopping, and there are shoes to buy, Tug. Lots of shoes.”
He laughed delightedly. “Well, we can’t stand between a woman and her new high heels, especially when she has legs like yours.” He leered at me then and I could feel Max’s hand tighten on mine so much my fingers hurt.
I couldn’t stop myself uncrossing my legs and tugging my skirt down, smiling sheepishly, but Tug only laughed.
Then Rosie said, “Enough. That’s it Tug.” She walked over to the cameraman and said, “Is it off?”
He nodded but she checked his camera anyway, then she said to me, “You’re done.” She must have noticed my shakiness, and I was grateful for that.
I let Max’s hand go immediately and lurched to my feet on those teetering heels, but my legs were shaking—belated nerves— and I rocked backward, almost falling into him until he grasped my butt to steady me.
When I’d straightened, heart pounding, I forced myself to turn and say, “Thank you.” Simply because that was good manners. Not because I loved him and my heart was breaking over the pretense of it all.
“You’re welcome,” he said softly, and in that moment his dark eyes looked tragic. His hands had fallen back into his lap, and he was gazing up at me as if he felt the same sad yearning that I did.
I’d been about to turn away when he said, “Rosie will give you the paperwork. I’ll see you at our wedding next week.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Four days later I was back in Rosie’s office, with Traci—my constant companion—standing behind me. We were watching Angela negotiate her interview with Tug who must have had a lobotomy, because he was behaving like a caring human being. It sounded like listening to a different man as he sensitively led Angela through her deep longing for a child, the bliss of her pregnancy—finally, at thirty-five—and then her deep sorrow at losing her child at five months.
A huge outpouring of sympathy from her fans had prompted the interview which Angela had requested as a way to say thank you, and lay to rest the rumors which had only grown, despite my attempt to distract attention from her.
Jack sat quietly at her side with an arm around her shoulders, and she leant into him, fragile, and yet completely confident in his protection and love. I had to press my lips together as I watched to stop any stupid tears—whether of happiness for Angela or sadness for myself, I wasn’t sure.
Because I wasn’t confident about anything.
Every day I woke alone in the penthouse where I’d last made love to Max. He’d asked me to stay there to ensure my father couldn’t find me, and Traci’s presence wherever I went ensured there could be no accidental meetings if my parents had seen the publicity for my wedding and come looking for me. That level of protection gave me a feeling of security I’d never experienced before, and it also gave me hope that despite my fears about the future, Max cared about me now.
Unfortunately, my only contact from my fiancé was a handwritten letter that arrived in the penthouse each morning with breakfast. In it, he’d detail the wedding arrangements that had been sorted the day before, and any items that needed my approval. The letter always ended with, I want this and I love you.
I wanted to believe him, because he was perfect for me. I’d seen that in the first twenty-four hours of meeting him. But logic kept telling me it was far more realistic that he didn’t know what he wanted, and at some point he’d realize what a crazy mistake this all was, at which point I’d be tossed to the curb.
It was so confusing, my heart literally ached. But I was going through with the wedding. Even if our marriage only lasted a day, that would be better than walking away now and never seeing him again.
Luckily, I’d been distracted by fittings and girlfriend-time, although the downside of that was them seeing right through me. It didn’t matter how many times I said I love Max and I’m really looking forward to marrying him. They knew something was wrong.
Even now, when the interview finished, Angela walked straight up to me and gave me a hug, whispering against my ear. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve met Max. He really loves you,” which was so typical of Angela. Always worrying about everyone else.
I smiled and said, “Sure. It will be perfect.”
“Then stop frowning.” She rubbed a finger against my forehead.
But I couldn’t. I’d also frowned through the process of handing over management of Bohemian Brew to Desiree two days before, at Jill’s suggestion. I could always come back if things didn’t work out, but Jill wanted me free to travel with Max and enjoy married life. Ever the optimist.
Marika had been at the teahouse to apologize in person for outing me in the press and Desiree had re-hired her on the spot. I approved of that. If anyone had behaved inappropriately that day, it was me, and that made me frown as well.
I frowned at dress fittings, and even caught myself frowning at night watching reruns of crappy shows on TV. So it should come as
no surprise that on the morning of my wedding I was frowning again.
“I feel sick.” I pressed two hands against my stomach. “What if I vomit on my bouquet?”
Jill just continued to step around me, fluffing my voluminous chiffon skirt. We were in the bridal suite of a majestic old hotel on an escarpment in the Blue Mountains, two hours north of Sydney, and the only good thing was that I didn’t have to do this at the teahouse in front of my staff.
I wanted Max so much. Just the idea of seeing him standing at the end of that silver carpet waiting for me, made my skin tingle with excitement, especially if I got to unwrap him soon afterwards. But the future was like a rock in my stomach. I simply couldn’t imagine a happily-ever-after where the Max I knew in private could become my public husband.
It just didn’t compute.
Even worse, it had been a week since I’d seen him, and the lack of physical contact had sent my spirits diving to their lowest ebb. I’d tried to cheer myself up by poking fun at the hotel decor as we’d walked through it, but Jill had been strangely quiet.
Max couldn’t have picked a more thoroughly English venue, built at the turn of the century and recently renovated to bring back its Art Nouveau glamor. Everything from the patent crocodile leather chairs and lacquered red motifs, to the curtains trimmed in peacock feathers, reeked of British Colonial rule.
I’d tried not to think about the fact that the overblown majesty of the setting must mean that our wedding was making its way onto his television series, or at the very least, to the networks as a promotional tool for the series.
Instead, I should be happy that it would be good for Max’s ratings, which in turn must be good for us as a couple, only…I couldn’t believe my own propaganda.
“This should be white.” Jill interrupted my rambling thoughts when she came to a halt in front of me. “And you should stop thinking that you don’t deserve this man.”
I ignored her last complaint to focus on the first. “The theme of the wedding is black and grey. That was clear from the invitation—”
“He loves you.”
“So he says.” I looked down at my pale silver gown with its pretty lace bodice, telling myself to be strong. But I was too fragile for a deep-and-meaningful with Jill who took no prisoners at the best of times.
She only raised an eyebrow. “I’ve known you for twenty years, F, and I have never seen you angsting over a man like this. He’s the one.”
“I know.” My feelings for him weren’t the problem. Still, I couldn’t meet her penetrating gaze, so I pretended to inspect the understated elegance of her charcoal taffeta pleated skirt with its beaded sleeveless top.
Jill being Jill, she bulldozed on. “So you love him, but you don’t believe he loves you?”
I heard a door open outside the bedroom we were in, and I could have sighed in relief because it distracted Jill. Seconds later Louella came in wearing a matching bridesmaid gown with Angela close behind, wafting sandalwood into the gilt elegance of the room. I even managed to conjure a fake smile for them, thankful that Jill’s interrogation was over.
But Louella frowned at me. “No change then?” she asked Jill, and I suddenly realized this could be three against one.
Angela reached out and took my hand.
I clung to it. “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m not backing out.”
“It’s your wedding day.” Angela joined in the group-frown. “You should be delirious, not just okay.”
“Nerves.” I cleared my throat, not looking at anyone.
Angela was still frowning in earnest, but Louella patted her arm and then said to me, “What are you scared of?”
I shook my head. It was too complex, too ridiculous to try and articulate.
“You know we’re here for you, no matter what,” she said.
I nodded. I knew that in my bones. The connection between the four of us was cemented into my heart.
Jill grabbed my hand and then Louella’s. Angela, across from her, did the same, so we were a circle, holding hands, time spiraling back twenty years to when we’d first become us against the world.
“You’re not alone,” Louella said gently and I nodded, sucking in a steadying breath as I stared at her, appreciating her blond perfection and the sixties-chic that she exuded like an astronaut’s wife in the White House. Then I looked at Jill, all tanned limbs and white teeth with her sexy Italian eyes, and then Angela, our Bollywood diva with her gorgeous mocha skin and sexy curves.
My tribe.
As I allowed it in, that familiarity softened my fear, and despite the arguing voices in my head, I felt my connection with them and it calmed me down. My breathing slowed, and I even managed a genuine smile, although it didn’t hold for long.
“We will never go away,” Louella said, clearly speaking for the other two in what sounded like a rehearsed speech. “But there comes a time in every woman’s life when she needs something more than girlfriends.”
A lump rose in my throat and I couldn’t speak then, so I nodded. They knew me. And although they didn’t understand what I was going through, it comforted me to know that they accepted me just as I was—crazy self-doubts and all.
“So now,” Jill said, taking over from Louella. “You have to decide if this is the man you’re going to bet on. Because marriage is a crap shoot. Anything can happen. And God knows I was terrified that Finn might cheat on me.”
“You married him anyway.” I remembered Jill’s epic battle to overcome her trust issues. “And I know Max won’t cheat on me. I know that.” Whether he trusted me on that score, I wasn’t convinced, but clearly he was willing to bet on it right now.
Unless something had changed in the last ten minutes, he was in the building and preparing for the ceremony.
“His mother is here,” Louella said, and nodded toward the door to the bridal suite. “She’s waiting outside to speak with you before you go down.” She looked at me a moment longer as I tried to quieten the pounding of my heart. His mother? What did she want? “Are you going down?” Louella asked.
“Yes.” I’d known all along that I’d do this. “And not because I’m reckless. If this is poker, I know what’s in my hand, and I’m willing to bet on it. I’m just terrified of what Max is holding.”
Angela smiled, but I could see tears cresting her dark lashes. “He’s not playing against you, honey. He’s on your side. He even asked if we could meet him.” She glanced at Jill and Louella. “He told us that he understands how important we are in your life, and that he’ll never get in the way of that.” She shook her head, and I could see her lips trembling. “Honey, he loves you so much. I wish you could feel that.”
I wished I could too, but all I could feel was a growing fear.
“Alright then,” Louella said, and she let go of hands. “We’ll wait outside while you speak to Hilary…” Hilary? As if they were mates. How did they get onto a first name basis when I hadn’t even met my prospective mother-in-law yet? “…but in ten minutes we need to go down.”
“Okay,” I said automatically, but it took me a moment longer to let go of Angela who hugged me in sympathy before she trailed the other two out.
Then, well before I was ready, an elegant woman with a thoroughly modern grey bob tucked behind her ears stepped into the room, wearing a grey Chanel suit, if my Louella training served me.
“Ms. Wynde,” she said formally as she approached me, and I was even more frightened then, alone with Max’s mother in the large mirrored room with it’s ridiculous gilt-trimmed everything.
I wanted to press my hands against my waist, but I knew Louella would slap me for bad manners if I didn’t extend a hand, which Hilary shook firmly.
“You look beautiful,” she said simply.
“Thank you.”
We stood awkwardly looking at each other. Or, at least, I was awkward. Max’s mother, in sharp contrast, had a calmness about her that eventually wore the edges off my nerves and helped my breathing settle.
; But when nothing had been said for almost a minute, I offered, “Thanks for coming all the way to Australia for the wedding.”
She shook her head, as if to dismiss my gratitude. “I have one child. Of course I would come to his wedding.”
That reminded me that my parents weren’t here—in fact, there were bodyguards who had pictures of them, prepared to stop them at the door if they tried to gate-crash. I didn’t feel bad about that for a second. In fact, I felt only relief to be protected from them.
But I didn’t say any of that. I pasted on a fake smile and said what she probably expected me to say, “I’m looking forward to seeing England.”
“Maxwell has told me he’s looking forward to showing you around. In fact, he’s keen to show you the world. I believe you haven’t seen much of it.”
I shook my head. “Just Italy last year, and a teenage trip to Indonesia.” It was hard to keep the conversation flowing when my brain was saying What else has Max told you?
“Do you love him?”
What? “Pardon?” My train of thought stuttered to a halt.
“Because he’s convinced that you do, but…” Her frown deepened. “I’m worried for him. I’ve never seen him expose himself this way before.”
“Expose?”
I had a memory-flash of that sizable dick before she added, “To ridicule. If you’re not being genuine he’ll be crushed, publicly.”
She’s worried about me hurting Max.
I was so surprised I couldn’t think of anything to say.
After a moment her expression softened. “It’s not easy for a man in his position to risk everything for love…”
I kept staring at her, but something was happening inside me—something I’d never experienced before, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, I put out a hand to stop her, because I couldn’t concentrate past the fluttering inside my chest.
The lead weight that had filled that cavity for the last week was breaking up and morphing into a flurry of warm, light pancakes that danced around excitedly. And I could taste strawberry love, drizzled in maple syrup. Then in the next second, a rush of hot emotion stung my eyes and I laughed, even while I was crying.
Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4) Page 23