by Kim Lawrence
Chloe bent to kiss her when almost immediately her phone began to bleep and, fishing it from the minuscule bag she carried, she glanced down. ‘A text from Sabrina,’ she explained, skimming the message her sister had sent her.
Good luck and chin up! If you change your mind that’s fine either way. We’ll be cheering you on, so have a glass of fizz for me! And hurry back, please. If my husband asks me if I’m all right one more time I might have to kill him.
Chloe’s smile was tinged with wistfulness as she switched her phone off and slipped it back into her bag. What would it be like to have a man be as crazy about you as her brother-in-law was about her sister?
Swallowing the emotional lump in her throat, she knew how lucky she was to have a family like hers, who were aware of her plans and supported any choices she made. It had been a struggle to stop her parents from flying over to offer moral support, and she suspected they were a bit hurt by the rejection, but she knew it was something she had to do alone.
‘Is everything all right?’ Tatiana asked.
‘Fine if you discount the fact that Sabrina can’t keep anything down. The doctor says if things don’t improve by the end of the week, they’ll have to give her IV fluids.’
‘Oh, the poor thing!’
‘So what happens now?’ Chloe asked.
‘Well, you’re up first so they want you to go straight backstage, and after you’ve presented the award you’ll see Kate back to her table, where they’ve seated you there for the rest of the dinner.’
Chloe nodded. ‘That sounds good.’
‘You sure about this?’
‘Quite sure.’ Chloe was surprised by how calm she felt now the moment was almost here.
‘You know there are going to be headlines.’
Chloe nodded again, refusing to give mind space to fear and doubts. Producing headlines was the idea. You couldn’t challenge common perceptions from a position of fear. She’d been going around telling the world that they should accept people with scars while hiding her own.
Which made her a big fat hypocrite.
‘Tonight is the night of the big reveal.’
‘I think you’re very brave,’ Tatiana husked emotionally.
Chloe felt uncomfortable with the praise. ‘No, the people being awarded tonight are brave.’
She’d never thought of herself as brave but she had thought that she had come to terms with her injury. However, watching a filmed conversation with the little girl she was due to present a bravery award to tonight had destroyed that particular illusion for Chloe.
‘So what do your friends think about your scars, Kate?’ the reporter had asked.
The little girl had put down the doll she was playing with and thought about it.
‘Well, I think they thought my arm looked funny at first, and some kept staring. A few people, not my proper friends, were mean and made me cry, but everyone’s used to it now, so they don’t even notice it cos they see it every day and I’m still me.’ She’d picked up the doll, applied a comb to its hair and added thoughtfully, ‘I still cry sometimes cos I liked my arm the way it was.’
The hard-nosed reporter had had tears in his eyes as he’d wound up the segment and Chloe doubted anyone watching would not have been similarly affected.
She herself had wept gallons but her tears had been partly out of shame. She had been hiding, Chloe realised that now, and if she hadn’t, if she’d been truly honest with herself and everyone else, that devastating scene with Nik a few weeks ago on Spetses would never have happened.
Now she’d have to live with the memory for ever, all because she had preferred to be treated like a woman with no imperfections. Of course, there had been a price to pay for her deceit: she’d fallen deeply in love. Flaws and all, she loved Nik Latkis, but he didn’t love her in return. Unrequited love had seemed much more romantic when she was a teenager with a lurid imagination, but the reality actually sucked.
It didn’t help that her youthful imagination was still hanging in there inventing implausible happy-ever-after scenarios, not that she was ever in any danger of identifying her fantasies as anything other than what they were.
It was the thought of Nik’s far more sinister dreams that continued to haunt her. She wondered and worried about the demons that visited him in the night and the eventual toll they would take on his health, both emotional and physical. She longed to comfort him but knew that was never going to happen after what had happened between them. She didn’t blame him for that; he’d tried, but her scars were obviously an issue for him and he wasn’t interested in helping himself, either.
Would he be watching the awards ceremony?
Would he disapprove of her decision?
She knew full well that her big reveal would go viral on social media, sparking thousands of debates, which was good, and an equal number of cruel comments, which was not, from people who thought anonymity gave them the freedom to say vile things about people they had never met.
She was prepared for the impending blaze of publicity as much as it was possible to be prepared.
‘Lady Chloe.’ One of the organisers, an efficient-looking woman in a blue evening dress, appeared. ‘You look lovely,’ she gushed. ‘Has Tatiana explained the format to you? Excellent. You really do look amazing. Oh, excuse me.’ She stepped to one side as, at a nod from Chloe, Tatiana moved forward to remove her floor-length cape.
‘It’s OK,’ Chloe whispered when the older woman hesitated.
Chloe smoothed down her hair, which tonight she was wearing gathered in a simple jewelled clasp at the base of her slender neck. Her dress was the same bold red as her lipstick, a silk sleeveless sheath cut high at the neck and low at the back, the reverse cowl open almost to her waist, and plain except for the pattern traced in hand-sewn beads along the daring slit that was cut high on the left side that fell open to reveal her thigh.
It wasn’t accidental; she had asked Tatiana to do it that way.
‘Stunning!’ the woman began then stopped; she’d clearly reached the revealing slit. There was a pause before she lifted her eyes and during the slight hiatus Chloe fought the urge to twitch the fabric over the scars.
When the woman did finally speak, her voice was husky. ‘That,’ she said, looking at Chloe as though she were seeing her for the first time, ‘is beautiful.’ Then, clearing her throat, she waved away the assistant who had clearly been allocated to escort Chloe. ‘I’ll take Lady Chloe in myself.’
The lift was empty as they stepped in.
As the lift whooshed silently upwards the woman cleared her throat. ‘My sister was born with a cleft palate and lip; it’s fine now and you’d never know, but I remember the comments she’d get when my mum used to take her out in the pushchair. People can sometimes be very cruel and what you’re doing is...good, very good. I’m Jane, by the way.’
Backstage was actually pretty crowded, but Jane found Chloe a seat in a corner that wasn’t occupied by what seemed to be the entire cast of a hit West End musical, who were waiting to go out and do the opening number.
Jane left but returned almost straight away with a glass of wine, and stayed with her while the comedienne who was hosting the event introduced the musical stars.
‘Your turn.’
Chloe jumped at the touch on her arm.
‘Don’t worry. Pretend the cameras aren’t there.’
Chloe straightened her shoulders and walked out onto the stage.
* * *
Nik arrived late, but he was there. He entered the back of the hall and surveyed the tables that had replaced the normal seats in the auditorium, searching for his sister and niece. He had just located them and plotted a course towards them when a ripple of applause made him decide to hang back until there was a break in proceedings so he could slide unobtrusively into his seat and no doubt get an earful for being late.
Maybe he’d slip out to the bar...? He hated this sort of occasion and he’d have been much happier to just make an anonymo
us donation, but he’d been guilted into coming, not by his sister for once, but his niece, who had gone into Bambi-eyes mode and reminded him that he’d never taken her to the show he had promised for her birthday.
He was in no position to deny it, although he didn’t remember the promise or the birthday, so here he was. He hadn’t smelt a set-up, not until he heard Chloe’s name announced, followed by another ripple of applause.
Nik only heard the name.
Theos, she looked magnificent!
Lust struck through his body as his glance moved from the woman standing on the stage to the larger image on the screen at the side of the stage. Elegant, assured, with the glamour of a siren of the bygone golden Hollywood era, she was wearing a dress that had to have sent every male temperature in the room sky-high... The thought of anonymous males lusting after her drew his brows into a straight line of disapproval above his eyes, but they relaxed when she began to speak.
A sigh of pleasure left his lips...he had missed that sound. The simple admission sent a shock through his body and he didn’t catch what she said as he focused instead on the sound of her voice.
She had a beautiful voice; pleasingly low and clear, it filled the room. She must have said something amusing because there was a soft ripple of laughter...except he didn’t feel like laughing. There was nothing humorous about the way he was feeling, the things he was feeling.
Did an alcoholic feel this way when they found the innocuous orange juice they’d just swallowed was laced with vodka?
What did they say about recovery? Something about the first step was accepting you had a problem...but what if you didn’t want to recover—ever?
Frustration burned through him as he stood there staring at her, a multitude of clashing emotions swirling inside him. He desired her, he resented her...he had missed her.
He had been only trying to help her and she had thrown his actions back in his face, accusing him of being the one with the problem, assigning the worst possible motives to his actions.
Why should he defend himself to this woman?
The woman who had tapped into his deepest fears, the weaknesses he despised in himself, and exposed them all to the light, and she’d made it sound as though he had a choice...?
She was wrong. Knowing it was enough, challenging her mistakes would have made it seem as though he needed to defend his actions, or, as she saw it, his lack of action... Move on, she’d said, but where was he meant to move on to? He couldn’t rewrite the past.
A man takes responsibility for his own actions, Nicolaos.
The memory of his father’s comment surfaced, smoothing out the creases of uncertainty at the edge of his mind.
Strange how some memories stuck. How old had he been? He couldn’t even remember what lie he’d told, or what childish rule he’d broken. Maybe the moment had stood out for him because it was outside the norm. His father had not had a hands-on parenting style; he had seemed as remote a figure as the portrait of his stern-looking great-grandfather that Nik always felt disapproved of him.
He remembered the shame he’d felt and the determination never to disappoint his father again; he’d be a man.
The idea that he hadn’t lived by that adage ever since was ludicrous. As for feeling guilty about how he’d handled matters with Chloe, she was the one who had seduced him that night they’d met!
Ah, poor you, the unwilling victim!
His inner dialogue was interrupted by a sudden roar of applause, and Nik realised that he was the only person in the room still looking at the figure in red on the stage. The spotlight, along with everyone else, was focused instead on a table near the front.
The big screen showed a little girl with a woman kneeling beside her, obviously her mother, encouraging her to go up on stage to receive her award, but the little girl was shaking her head emphatically.
There was an awkward silence as the child began to sob loudly then, and it was a heart-rending sound.
He was relieved and pleasantly surprised by the show of sensitivity as the camera moved off her face. No, not sensitivity, he saw then, they were just following the story. It focused on the tall figure in red who was now walking down the steps of the stage.
A murmur of approval went round the room that faded to a silence as Chloe began to weave her way through the tables towards the child. A silence Nik didn’t understand until he saw the image of her body on the screen. The camera had dropped to show the long legs, the daring slit and...everything inside him froze.
The lighting was harsh and the camera picked out every detail of the discoloured, twisted flesh.
‘Theos...!’ His stomach muscles clenched, not in reaction to the sight of the ugly marks, but the pain they represented, the months of pain they represented. The explosion of pride he felt drew a raw-sounding gasp from a place deep inside him he hadn’t known existed. An emotion he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
Like everyone else he watched as she dropped down into a graceful crouch beside the little girl, the big screen showing her smile as she spoke.
There was another faint ripple of sound around the room when the little girl lifted her teary face from her mother’s shoulder. Chloe nodded and pointed to her own leg.
The room held its collective breath as the child reached out and touched Chloe’s leg, then released it on a sigh as the camera recorded the smile that bloomed on her face.
Chloe said something that made the kid laugh, then she got to her feet and held out her hand. The room erupted when the child took it, and together to the sound of applause they walked back up onto the stage.
Nik wasn’t applauding, he was barely breathing... He felt a maelstrom of pride, shame and an aching desire to run up there and take Chloe in his arms, but he knew that even if he had earned the right to do that, which he hadn’t, this was her night.
As the tall, beautiful woman walked onto the stage and turned to face the audience they rose to a man and gave a foot-stamping ovation, which the excited child joined in with...and Nik knew he was looking at tomorrow’s front-page headline.
He also knew he was looking at the love of his life.
And he’d blown it.
For once, no heads turned his way when Nik Latsis left the room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS NEARLY one in the morning when Chloe got back to her flat.
She rarely received a call on her landline these days, but the red light on her answer machine was flashing, showing her it was full of messages.
She ignored it, as she had already spoken to everyone who mattered, and her mobile phone lay switched off in her bag. She massaged her temples with her fingers to alleviate the tension she could feel gathering behind her eyes.
She could feel the exhaustion bearing down on her like a lead weight, but her mind remained active, not in a productive, problem-solving way, but more of a febrile, hamster-on-a-wheel way.
She kicked off her heels, conscious of a sense of anticlimax. She had been building up to tonight for days, not quite admitting how nervous she was about it, and now it was over and it couldn’t have gone better, she should be feeling elated. But instead she felt...oddly flat, and not at all the inspiring figure that people had lined up to tell her she was this evening.
Easing the beautiful cape off her shoulders, she walked through to her bedroom, where she hung it on a hanger before covering it in a protective bag. Hopefully a few people would bid for it at the charity auction her sister had planned for next month.
When Chloe had suggested the timing might not be good for Sabrina to organise an auction, she had quipped, ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor. I’ll be feeling fine by then.’
As she stripped off the beautiful red gown and ran a bath for herself, she debated having a nightcap, but on balance decided against it, worried it might compete with the champagne she’d drunk earlier that evening.
Lighting the scented candles around the bath, she eased herself into the sweet-smelling water and lay there drifting,
feeling deliciously decadent. Slowly the tension began to ease out of her shoulders.
Then the doorbell rang.
Her eyes peered through the open bathroom doorway to the clock on her bedroom wall, and she squinted to make out the time. Who on earth could that be in the middle of the night?
Everyone had warned her to expect some press intrusion after tonight and she thought that was realistic but this was ridiculous. It was getting on for two a.m.!
She decided to ignore it.
But her late-night caller was not giving up, and Chloe lay there, teeth gritted as the tension climbed back into her shoulders. And then the answer to her earlier question popped into her head.
Who did knock on doors at this time of night? The police with bad news.
Leaping out of the water, her pulse racing in panic and still dripping wet, she fought her way into a thick towelling robe and ran to the front door, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. By the time she reached the door her imagination was cranked up to full volume and she was on her fourth awful possible scenario!
Cinching the belt a little tighter, she checked the safety chain was fastened and, as an extra precaution, picked up a heavy pale wood Dala horse from the console table and opened the door a crack.
Her late-night callers weren’t wearing uniform and it was one visitor, singular, although she couldn’t make out who it was.
Caution replaced dread, though on the plus side if this was a homicidal maniac standing there the walls were very thin in the apartments. Someone would be bound to hear her being murdered, and hopefully report it to the police.
‘My neighbour is a black belt in karate!’ she called through the crack.
She could only see a sliver of the man standing outside her door in the communal hallway, but as he stepped closer the partial view was more than sufficient to make the colour in her face recede, leaving her dramatically pale, and then return as quickly, dusting her cheeks with rose pink as she stood there frozen.
Her first thought was that she had fallen asleep and this was a new version of her recurring dream. In all the other versions, Nik had been wearing black swimming shorts and nothing else, not a dinner jacket that hung open and a white dress shirt that was pulled open at the neck and seemed to have several buttons missing. There were the remains of a bow tie sticking out of his breast pocket too; he really did not look his usual immaculate self.