by Anne Oliver
That shocked both of them into silence. Love. Such an overrated, overused word. But why did that single word sound so right—so complete, so perfect—coming from Charlotte’s lips? Why did it wrap around his heart so tight he wondered how it didn’t shatter into a million pieces?
He beat it down. An illusion was what it was. What it all was. And he didn’t need it. He was happy with his life. Free and easy and unencumbered. And no self-respecting woman needed a man who cracked like a faulty tower every time there was a mini power failure.
He paced away, using the kitchen table as a barrier between them. ‘I travel solo, Charlotte. You understood right from the start.’
‘So now I’m a threat to you and your precious independence.’
‘A holiday romance was all I offered and what you agreed to. I’ve never been anything but honest with you.’
‘Honest,’ she said slowly and he could hear the burn of frustration and anger. ‘Is that what you’re being? What about that little performance on the balcony? You’d prefer to freeze your arse off than talk to me. And tonight … Your problem’s a common one and yet you deny—’
‘You don’t know jack.’ He turned to her, his own frustration and impotence at boiling point. ‘And I don’t need you psychoanalysing me.’
‘Is that what you call it?’ Her eyes clashed with his. He could almost hear the swords cross. ‘It’s so much more than that, Nic, but you’re not ready or willing to share, and I’m sorry for you.’
She sighed. Not an audible sigh, but one that passed from her heart to his and shadowed the world grey.
‘I never meant to—’
‘Leave. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve been shut out once too often. I refuse to be shut out any more. People I love always leave—why should you be any different?’
‘Charlotte …’ He couldn’t find the words. Why couldn’t he find the right words?
‘After all,’ she continued, on a roll now, ‘as you just stated very clearly, it was never anything more than a holiday fling.’
The way she said it, as if it were the most casual of affairs when deep down he knew it wasn’t, made him want to yell something. But what? I love you too and it might have started as a fling and now it’s more but it can never work.
‘Go.’
‘Okay. Calm down. Tomorrow we’ll—’
She threw up a hand. ‘Don’t come back, Nic. I don’t want you here. It’s over.’
It took him a skipped heartbeat to process her meaning, then the hot taste of panic skewered up his throat. He grasped for a reason to make her change her mind. ‘The benefit; you’ll need some support.’
‘Support?’ Her laugh was harsh, scraping at his soul. ‘Oh, you’re a fine one to talk of support.’ She curled her hands into fists at her sides. ‘I planned it because I wanted to give something back to Kas and the kids. I never intended you to be involved—you invited yourself. Well, I’m uninviting you.’ She rapped a fist once on the table. ‘I don’t need your support, the way you don’t need mine, so we’re square.’
He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. ‘If that’s how you want it.’
‘It is.’
She glared at him, eyes dry now but he knew there’d be tears soon enough. It was kinder to finish it quickly and cleanly and be done. Over. Don’t give her a reason to think there’s more.
He rubbed at the raw throbbing place over his heart, forced a smile and played his last card. ‘Goodbye, Charlotte. It’s been fun. Look me up if you ever get to Fiji again.’ He waved a disparaging hand in the air. ‘That is if you can bring yourself to leave this mausoleum.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘THAT’S the last of it.’
Charlotte dipped her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans and watched the final box of memories being loaded into the truck. It had taken two weeks of tears and sleeplessness to sort through her family’s stuff, decide what to keep and what to toss.
‘You okay?’ Suzette asked beside her as they watched the truck’s doors close.
‘I will be.’ Between clearing out the house and organising the fashion show she’d had no time for dilly-dallying and broken hearts. She’d made decisions on the spot; she’d live with her choices.
At least the busyness helped keep her mind off Nic, if only for short bursts. The nights were the worst; dreams and heartache and memories. How many times had she picked up the phone to call him and say she’d changed her mind, then reminded herself he’d been the one insisting it was temporary? It had just ended sooner than she’d thought. The big surprise was that she’d done the ending.
Suzette slung an arm around her shoulders as the vehicle trundled away. ‘Let’s take a coffee break before that antique dealer arrives with his quotes.’
‘Good idea.’ Charlotte leaned into her as they walked inside to the noise of hammering and drills. In the formal lounge a guy was installing a monitoring system to keep a watchful eye when she opened the room to the public. She still had to decide which of the antiques to sell and which to keep, and that process would require more consideration. Because what stayed would be a key component of her new plans for this place.
On their way through the kitchen they passed a couple of tradesmen installing her big new oven. ‘This is the right decision.’
‘Yes, it so is. I guess I have to be grateful to that Nic guy for something,’ Suzette murmured the moment they were past and out of earshot. ‘If nothing else, he forced you to see what I’ve been trying to get you to see for two years.’
The mention of his name was like a fist at her breastbone. ‘We may be over, but he’s still the best thing that ever happened to me.’
Suzette stopped and looked at her deep and direct, eyes full of understanding and sympathy. ‘You still love him.’
‘Yes.’ And that reality was a raw and open wound. ‘It’ll take time but I’ll get through it.’
‘He hurt you.’
‘Because I let him, Suz. It wasn’t his fault—he never made a secret of what he wanted—and I knew he had that power but I jumped right in regardless. Now I’m living with the consequences.’
She stopped at the entrance to the atrium her father had had erected the year before he’d died. The pungent smell of rich damp earth greeted them. Sunshine poured in, throwing shards of rose and emerald onto the luxurious greenery through two intricately stained-glass panels. The rest of the atrium was clear glass and allowed plenty of natural light. Sliding floor-to-ceiling windows could be opened on a fine day to bring the fragrance of the herb garden inside.
The worst had happened. It could only get better from hereon in. But something good had come out of the bad too. Nic had given her affirmation as a woman. She’d bloomed like the flowering vine that climbed the atrium’s walls because Nic had shown her how. She no longer wanted to blend into the background; she wanted to shine like the sun glinting on the glass.
‘I love this room.’ Smiling for what felt like the first time in weeks, she nodded to where a stack of new café chairs towered beside half a dozen small tables. There were glass display shelves and clothing racks against the wall. ‘And I’m going to turn it into my dream.’
Nic gazed over the white-capped ocean. Sea mist blurred the horizon today, whipped by a strong wind. The colour of Charlotte’s eyes. For the third time in as many minutes his hand hovered over his phone. Tonight was Charlotte’s big night. He should ring, let her know he was thinking of her and wish her luck.
But she’d told him it was over. The last thing he wanted to do was reopen fresh wounds. He should have gone back to Fiji as he’d intended, but he’d not been able to put that stamp of finality on their relationship.
‘Why not?’ he asked the ceiling for the millionth time. She’d seemed so sure that was what she wanted on that last night when she told him it was over. And wasn’t it what he wanted too? It had just happened too damn soon.
Tossing his phone across the desk, he brought his manuscript up on screen. Two solid weeks of work and
he’d almost finished, but he couldn’t see the end.
Reena is imprisoned in the Sphere of Darkness. Onyx flies to the rescue on his trusted dragon, Grodinor. Happy ever after …
But how?
He drummed his fingers on his thighs. If his own life were one of his games how would he play it? Charlotte, his real-life heroine. Beautiful. Loving and fun to be with. Unique—her understated dress code, her empathy for others, her ability to pull a fundraiser together at short notice. And trapped as surely as Reena, unable and unwilling to let go of her past.
But was Nic Russo hero material? Hardly. Was he any different to her? Suddenly, like Charlotte, he realised he was trapped in a hole of his own making, unable to unlock his fears and share them with someone who cared, someone who could help him to heal. Someone who loved him.
He spun his chair towards the ocean view but he wasn’t seeing it. The last time with Charlotte played before his eyes like an old movie. There was something very wrong with that scene …
But what?
Had he thought himself free? Was that truly what he wanted or was it a barrier he’d erected to keep people at a distance, something to hide the deep down longing to connect with another? To trust and belong. To be accepted for his faults and failings.
He not only feared confined spaces, he was afraid of not being good enough.
He was afraid of rejection.
Whoa … He scrubbed his hands over his four-day stubble and let the dust of this new realisation settle. He was the independent playboy, the charmer, superficial, because that kid from the back streets was still afraid of being excluded. An outsider looking in, telling himself he didn’t want to belong anyway.
He’d found solace in his safe world of make-believe. But that world was no longer enough. It was a prison, a way of avoiding reality, as surely as Charlotte’s family home was for her.
He needed the real world, with a real woman. Charlotte. And if he didn’t lay his fears and faults on the table, whether he was accepted with them or not, he’d never experience the freedom he really craved. And faults and all, he’d never find the love he knew he could find with Charlotte. If she’d have him back. Real love, a real life, not some fantasy world to hide away in.
His chair rolled backwards across the boards as he shot up, checking his watch on his way to the bathroom. There was still time …
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’ Charlotte smiled at the audience and waited for the crowd to hush. To look at her. The press was there at her invitation. Her parents’ friends. New faces and old. Was she really standing up here in front of all these people? Her hand trembled on the microphone but she took a deep steadying breath.
‘Thank you for coming and for your support for this worthy cause. As some of you know, I was recently in Fiji and had the opportunity to visit a local school.’ She scanned the crowd but there was no sign of the man she’d foolishly hoped might be there. ‘I’d like to acknowledge a man who not only makes generous monetary donations, but gives his time and expertise every week to support those students who play and learn under less privileged circumstances than our children here in Australia. His name’s Nic Russo. Nic’s kind and generous and …’ her voice faltered ‘… and his work’s the inspiration for tonight’s show.’ Pinning her smile back in place, she said, ‘I hope you’ll all dig deep tonight and purchase some of Suzette’s stunning pieces that you’ll see this evening.’
Nic arrived at the entrance as Charlotte finished her introduction and what he saw stole his breath—and his heart—clean away. Charlotte, his Charlotte, in fire-engine red. A slinky shimmering low-cut gown that clung to every curve. A poised and confident woman who’d do any damn politician proud.
And she’d paid Nic tribute. It made him humble and proud and very, very grateful she’d come into his life and changed it for ever.
As she turned to leave the runway he sucked in a breath. The full-length gown was backless, right down to the dip in her spine. Her shoes, glittering crimson stilettos, peeked from beneath the hem as she walked away and disappeared behind the screen.
He couldn’t wait to talk to her, to touch her again and tell her … He had so much to tell her, but that would have to wait. Not wanting to distract her, he spotted a vacant seat near the back.
Fashion shows weren’t his thing, especially when all he could think was, when would it finish? His attention was ostensibly on the models parading some way-out bridal and formal designs, but his mind was on the woman he’d not even glimpsed since that initial speech on his arrival.
‘And now for some scintillating, sexy lingerie,’ he heard the announcer say with a grin in her voice, and perked up. ‘Nothing too risqué; those are available for your personal perusal in your catalogue.’
Models started coming out wearing what he recognised as Charlotte’s work, but he wasn’t prepared for the finale—the long-legged brunette gliding along the runway in a white gauze number over flamingo-pink bra and panties.
Charlotte.
He could only think … hot.
Too soon, she disappeared behind the screen but in no time at all she was back on the runway again wearing that fabulous red gown.
He started making his way through the audience as the announcer handed Charlotte the microphone.
‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling. ‘That’s all and goodnight. Oh, don’t forget to buy a raffle ticket or ten before you leave.’ She pointed to a couple of the models starting to circulate amongst the crowd. ‘The prize is a weekend getaway at a mystery location.’ She handed the microphone back and began descending the steps.
Not bothering with the stairs, Nic hauled himself onto the runway and took the microphone from the surprised announcer. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, before you leave …’
The audience murmured and looked at him expectantly. He only had eyes for one member of that audience and she was frozen to the carpet. Her smile had vanished; the pretty flush had leached away. He smiled encouragement at her before turning to the audience once more. ‘Good evening. My name’s Nic Russo.’
More shuffles and murmurs. Maybe it was a mistake to muscle in on Charlotte’s event, but it wasn’t his biggest mistake. His biggest mistake had been letting her walk out of his life.
‘I’d like a chance to say a few words about Charlotte. I met her a month ago in Fiji. No, that’s not quite correct—I met her at Tullamarine airport.’ He looked down into her eyes. ‘How would I describe Charlotte Dumont? She’s capable. She organised this event in two short weeks. She’s creative. You saw her designs up here tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be purchasing a few pieces for my special woman, if not the entire collection, so you’d better be quick if you don’t want to miss out.
‘But most of all, she cares. She saw a need and made it a priority and that’s why we’re here tonight.’ She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. She’s the woman I love. ‘So please, everyone, help her out, and help give some kids in Fiji a fantastic environment to play and learn in because that’s where the money raised tonight will go.’
As he handed the microphone back Nic saw the flash of red disappear through a rear door. His heart jumped into his mouth and he followed.
Light bulbs flashed and reporters rushed him at the door. ‘Does Dom Silverman have something to say?’ someone asked.
Nic stopped short. Nodded. ‘I’ll give you guys some time to ask questions later, but can you do me a favour and disappear for now?’ He shot them a grin. ‘I have something important to tell Ms Dumont. In private.’
Heedless of the cold air on her bare arms and back and the glitter of flashbulbs, Charlotte fled down the wide steps and onto the lawns that lined the river. Her heart was numb with shock and a lot more.
The city’s lights reflected on the water, the fountain’s spray speared high into the sky, captured in changing colours of green, pink, purple, yellow.
Nic was still here. He’d come and he’d p
aid her the highest of compliments. He’d told the entire audience he intended purchasing her collection for his ‘special woman’. He’d looked at her when he’d said it.
Shivering, she rubbed her arms and wished she’d grabbed her jacket, but she’d been in too much of a rush to avoid Nic. A couple strolled hand in hand along the bank, obviously in love.
Yes, she loved Nic, she always would and once upon a time that couple might have been them, but she’d told him no. She was strong enough to tell him no again.
She’d started a new life, one that didn’t include broken hearts and dreams that didn’t come true and men who weren’t prepared to give everything, to share everything. Halfway was not enough.
She clenched her fists against her sides, summoning anger and indignation to crush the pain she’d worked so hard to be rid of. How dared he appear at her special event after two weeks of silence, smiling at her in that intimate way, arrogantly speaking of Tullamarine airport as if nothing had changed?
She knew he was coming for her long before he reached her. It was as if she had inbuilt radar where Nic was concerned.
‘Charlotte.’
She didn’t turn around. ‘Hi, Nic.’
‘You were sensational tonight. Congratulations.’
‘Thanks.’ He still hadn’t touched her and, despite herself, her body yearned.
‘The evening was a great success by the looks of things.’
‘I hope it helps.’ They were talking like two acquaintances discussing an opera performance. Two strangers who’d run out of conversation. She studied the ground as if she might find the right words to say written on the grass.
‘This may not be the lake I imagined,’ Nic began. ‘And maybe the stars are already out, or maybe those reflections on the water are fallen stars—a bit like me. Because since we parted that’s how I feel. Like I’m at the bottom of that dark murky River Torrens.’
She crossed her arms, tightened her fingers above her elbows, so tight she could feel her nails bite into the flesh. ‘Perhaps you need to think about how you got there and find a way out.’