‘Steady. You’re really nervous, aren’t you?’ Zavier observed.
‘Terrified,’ she admitted.
‘Why? They all believe us. Even Aiden seems to be coming round to the idea.’
‘Good.’ Her voice was strained; she was scared she might reveal it wasn’t his family that was unnerving her at the moment, wasn’t the charade they were playing, but the impact of him close up that terrified her. ‘How was America?’
‘Great—didn’t you get my postcard?’
Which ended that conversation. Zavier would no more write a postcard than fly to the moon. He had propped himself up on one elbow, and, placing his drink on the bedside table, he pulled his tie looser.
‘You must be exhausted?’
‘I’ve spent sixteen hours sleeping on the plane.’
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Tabitha gave a wry laugh. ‘There was me feeling sorry for you, imaging you slumming it in economy, but no doubt you flew first class—or does your family have its own private jet?’
‘No, but for heaven’s sake don’t suggest it or it will be on top of Mother’s list of “must haves”.’ It was a tiny joke but it made her smile, though it wobbled slightly as his finger came up to her lips.
‘That’s better. I forgot how beautiful you look when you smile.’
He was being nice to her, gentle and funny, and she didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what was real any more.
‘Lie beside me.’
‘Why?’
‘Practice. We’re going to have to get used to sharing a bed, and anyway I don’t like sleeping on my own.’
And no doubt he never had to, Tabitha thought, but she was weakening. ‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Why?’
Tabitha swallowed. ‘Your mum put us in different rooms; it wouldn’t be right.’ She was fighting for excuses. Marjory had practically opened the adjoining door for them, handed her consent on a plate, but it wasn’t some delayed moral code that was preventing her lying down beside him. It was the very real fear that she might weaken and tell him how she was really feeling. Tears were threatening, and the emotions of the past few weeks, the desperate need to see him, the fact he was actually here, the shock of his tenderness were all doing unimaginable things to her self-control.
‘Come here.’ They were the same two words he had used on their first night together, the same two words that had catapulted her into his arms, and this time the effect was gentler but just as devastating. Slowly she unstrapped her sandals, before stretching out on the bed beside him.
‘We mustn’t…’
‘I know.’ He pulled her into the crook of his arm and she lay there rigid, her breath hot and bursting against her lungs. ‘How has it been, the last few weeks?’ She didn’t answer, just lay there, revelling in his embrace. ‘How did your family take it?’
‘There’s only my grandmother.’
‘So how did she react to the news?’ His voice was so deep, so soft, it was almost lulling her to sleep as she lay in the darkness next to him.
‘She was surprised, pleased, stunned—the same as my friends, really.’
‘Why were they surprised?’
Wriggling slightly, she turned in the darkness towards him. ‘Well, the speed of it. They all initially tried to convince me that I’d gone crazy. I guess there’s not many people left who believe in love at first sight. How about you?’
‘What about me?’ He was half-listening, half-asleep.
‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’
‘There’s no such thing as love.’
She stared into the darkness, waiting for him to finish his sentence, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, when the only sound that reached her ear was his gentle rhythmic breathing and the ticking of his watch, she realised he had finished talking. ‘You don’t believe in love at all?’
‘I believe in lust, compatibility, friendship—but love like in the movies? There’s no such thing, Tabitha.’
‘But of course there is.’ Propping herself up on her elbow, she jabbed him playfully in the ribs, but Zavier was deadly serious. Taking her hand, he pulled her back into his arms.
‘There’s no such thing,’ he repeated. ‘I thought I’d been proved wrong once, actually thought I’d hit the jackpot.’ His voice was detached but Tabitha could feel the tension in him as he spoke, and she listened intently, desperate for insight, for understanding. ‘For a while there it was great, but it was just a fantasy, like one of your fairytales. Louise never loved me. Sure, she was attracted to me—liked me, even—but that’s not the type of love you’re going on about.’
‘Just because it didn’t happen with Louise it doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there for you.’
He gave a low laugh. ‘The other half that will make me whole? You’ve been watching too many films, Tabitha. I’m telling you there’s no such thing.’
His words tore through her—to hear him so cynical, so scornful, defied explanation.
‘I know Louise hurt you, Zavier, but to write off the rest of the human race because of one bad relationship—surely that’s a bit of an overreaction?’
‘It isn’t an overreaction. I can’t think of one marriage in my entire family that hasn’t been about money.’ He lay there, thoughtful for a moment. ‘No, not one—ours included.’ He gave a loud yawn, stretching his body languorously beside her, his arms reaching above his head then wrapping back around her. ‘Funny, I actually missed you while I was away.’
Stunned, scared to move in case she had somehow misheard him, Tabitha swallowed hard.
‘You missed me?’ Her voice was a whisper and she finally turned to him, but Zavier didn’t answer. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, the sulky look on his face even in sleep. She went to get up, to go to her own room and somehow glean some breathing space, somehow try to add up all the pieces that were Zavier. But, grumbling, he pulled her back, his arm clamping down around her, his face burrowing in her hair with a low moan, and she lay there scared to move, in case the spell was broken.
If this was the hell she was destined to for her sins then Tabitha could take it. Pompous, arrogant, scathing he might be, but the occasional glimpse of what she believed was the real Zavier made up for it all tenfold.
Surely something that felt so right, so natural, couldn’t be all wrong?
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE dressed at lightning speed for dinner, terrified that the intimate mood might somehow evaporate while he showered. But out of his arms, as she pulled on a pale lemon shift dress and strapped on her sandals, the demons that constantly sniped at her returned.
Of course he was being nice; he wanted this to work as much as she did, and keeping her on side was one way of ensuring that their audience remained convinced.
Walking down the stairs, he took her hand, and as they entered the lounge his grip tightened. They joined the group and it took only one look for Tabitha to realise that the sudden strength of his grip wasn’t about lending her moral support.
Jeremy Chambers sat in a wheelchair. He seemed light years away from the powerful man of just a few weeks ago, his face haggard and thin, his eyes sunken, but his suit was impeccable and there was an air of dignity and strength about him that illness couldn’t ravish, no matter what else it took.
‘Tabitha.’ He took her hand, kissing it gently. ‘You look stunning.’ He winced slightly as he let her hand go.
She knew he was in pain, but instinct told her that Jeremy didn’t want his pain to be acknowledged.
‘We’re thrilled to welcome you to our family.’ He turned to his son, hesitating slightly as he caught his breath, even the minimal exertion of greeting his future daughter-in-law a huge feat in his poor health. ‘How are you, son? How was America?’
No flip reply for Jeremy, Tabitha noted. Instead Zavier plunged straight into an in-depth report, reeling off figures as if he was giving a presentation. It was almost inhuman, the knowledge his brain held. Not once did h
e ask his father how he was feeling, and the wheelchair was dismissed as if it had always been there. Tabitha knew that was exactly how Jeremy wanted it, his face rapt as he listened to his son intently.
‘Bores the hell out of me.’ Marjory rolled her eyes. ‘But just look at Jeremy—it’s exactly what he needs: a bit of intelligent conversation. I admit I’m as guilty as anyone. The second he sits in that damned wheelchair I find myself speaking to him louder and even answering for him.’
Tabitha smiled sympathetically at her honesty. ‘I’m sure you’ll all get used to it.’
‘Let’s hope we have time to.’
‘How are you feeling, Dad?’ Aiden’s awkward attempt at conversation brought nothing more than a frown and a sharp retort from his father, and Tabitha reflected how austere and formal Jeremy sounded when he addressed his younger son, how sad that it had come to this.
‘So, how are the wedding preparations going?’ Aiden forced a smile and walked over to the more receptive audience of his old friend.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Tabitha admitted honestly.
‘Don’t tell me—’ Aiden grinned ‘—everything’s being taken care of.’
Tabitha laughed at his perception. ‘Apparently all I have to do is turn up.’
‘Nervous?’
She nodded, relieved at finally being able to be honest with someone.
‘What does your grandmother say about it all?’
‘She’s as stunned as everyone else.’
‘Is everything sorted there?’
She went to take a sip of her drink but realised that her glass was empty; instead Tabitha picked up the lemon slice, sucking on it, she gave a small nod. ‘For the time being.’
Aiden lowered his voice. ‘She needs help—you know that. You mightn’t have done her a favour, getting her out of trouble again.’
Tabitha was down to the pith now, but that was more preferable than talking about her grandmother’s problem.
‘Gambling’s an illness,’ Aiden continued relentlessly. ‘It doesn’t just go away. The debt might be cleared but it will just mean the bar’s raised higher next time.’
‘There won’t be a next time,’ Tabitha replied indignantly.
‘But that’s exactly what you said before,’ Aiden reminded her. ‘And the time before that, if I remember rightly. How can you be so sure that this time things will be different?’
‘Because next time the bailiffs come knocking there mightn’t be a multimillionaire prepared to bail me out.’
‘It’s those little things you say that make me love you more.’ Zavier slipped an arm around her waist, but there was nothing tender about the kiss he placed on her cheek.
She had meant her words for Aiden only, in defence of her grandmother, her brutality a cover-up for the genuine fear she felt for her only real family, and knowing Zavier had heard made her stomach sink. Sure, they both knew it was a financial arrangement, but the gentle acceptance, the truce she had demanded, was undoubtedly over.
‘And for your information, sweetheart—’ his lip curled around the word ‘—it happens to be a billionaire bailing you out. But then what’s a few more zeroes to a dizzy thing like you? What’s a few million here or there when you’re prepared to blow your last cent on the poker machines?’
‘What are you lot looking so serious about?’ Marjory was all smiles, wagging a finger as she joined them.
‘We were just discussing my fiancée’s little problem.’ He arched one perfect eyebrow as Tabitha stood there mortified. He wasn’t going to mention it? He couldn’t—not here!
‘What problem, Zavier? Do tell.’ Marjory giggled, moving closer. ‘Anything that needs a woman’s viewpoint? I’d be only too happy to help.’
‘You wouldn’t know where to start,’ Zavier said ominously to his mother, and Tabitha held her breath. ‘Unless that is, you’ve taken a crash course in domesticity all of a sudden. Tabitha’s glass has been empty for the past five minutes and no one’s bothered to fill it. You really need to have a word with the staff.’
The ringing of the bell summoning them for dinner was the only thing that made Tabitha remember to breathe again.
Dinner was awful.
Oh, the food was perfect, the wine delicious, the conversation scintillating, but dinner really was awful.
Zavier studiously avoided her eyes, and the hand that briefly brushed hers was icy cold. Any headway that had tentatively been made was now seemingly dashed by one inappropriate comment.
The conversation inevitably turned to the wedding, and Tabitha struggled to concentrate, to laugh at the right moments, to inject some enthusiasm into her voice when she listened to what Marjory had in store for them.
‘I’ve put all the gifts that have arrived so far into the drawing room; we’ll have to decide where we’re going to display them. It’s a shame you didn’t want a bridal registry—you’ve doubled up on a couple of things.’
‘How many toasters?’ Tabitha’s feeble joke fell flat on its face as Zavier leant back in his chair.
‘None—well, I can only vouch for my side of the family anyway. Mother, just how many toasters have we received from Tabitha’s side?’
‘Just ignore him, darling.’ Marjory giggled, not remotely fazed by the simmering tension. ‘I do believe he’s getting nervous. How about you, Tabitha?’
‘A bit.’ That was the understatement of the century, but unlike Zavier at least she was trying to sound as if she cared. ‘Still, at least it’s just a small wedding. I couldn’t cope with much more than that.’
‘The only problem with that…’ Zavier’s sardonic drawl at least momentarily forced the attention from Tabitha ‘…is that I’ve a feeling my mother’s version of “small” might differ somewhat from yours. Isn’t that right, Mum?’
Marjory clapped her hands gleefully together. ‘Well, I can’t promise small, but I can guarantee it will be tasteful.’
Zavier rolled his eyes, but smiled affectionately at his mother, and Tabitha noticed how much nicer he looked when he addressed someone he truly loved. Gone was the haughty menacing expression she was becoming so used to, instead his face seemed softer, younger, perhaps, and infinitely more desirable. ‘Why don’t I believe you? No doubt you’ve already put in an order for heaven only knows how many helium balloons and a couple of ice sculptures.’
‘No,’ Marjory said defensively. ‘Balloons are old hat now. I’m sticking with fresh flowers.’
‘Good choice—and how many ice sculptures?’
Tabitha had thought he was joking, but her face dropped a mile when Marjory shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Just the one.’
The groan that escaped Tabitha’s lips was muffled by the guffaws of laughter around the table, though Zavier caught her eye as she sank lower in her seat. For the tiniest second he smiled sympathetically, and she knew then she was forgiven. For that brief instant she was privy to a glance from him that wasn’t suspicious or malicious, and for all the world it felt like a caress. What was it about him? It was as if he had a hotline to her soul—one small look could wrap around her like a warm blanket on a cold night. She felt the colour in her cheeks mount under his watchful eyes, even managing a small smile back.
Maybe Marjory’s ice sculpture wasn’t such a bad idea after all, she thought. At least it might cool her down, though the heat that was radiating from her now would melt it in a flash. Clearing her throat, Tabitha dragged her eyes away, smiling around the table.
‘Marjory, it’s such a lovely night—I wondered if I might take my port out on the balcony?’ The vast dining room seemed stifling now, and the need to escape the oppression of her lies overrode Tabitha’s usual shyness around the Chamberses.
‘Of course, my dear, make yourself at home. It can get rather warm in here.’
Gratefully Tabitha picked up her glass and made her way through the French windows onto the balcony.
It was a beautiful night; placing her glass on the stone wall, she rested her arms and gazed at the ma
gnificent view. The bay shimmered before her, dark indigo as deep as Zavier’s eyes but with flashes of silver as the moonlight hit the waves. The endless water glimmered in parts, and she imagined the couples entwined on the dance floors, sharing romantic meals in the bayside restaurants.
She envied them.
Envied them for the uncomplicated lives they must surely lead compared to hers. Envied these unknown people for the gift of requited love.
‘You seem miles away.’
She had half expected him to join her; in some ways she had engineered it.
‘I was over there, actually,’
Her slender arm lifted and she pointed to a cluster of lights sparkling on the foreshore.
There was no need for further explanation. He seemed instinctively to understand how her mind had wandered.
His eyes followed to where she was pointing. ‘And were you enjoying yourself?’
Tabitha laughed. ‘Actually, no, the food was terrible.’
‘I’m sorry for earlier.’
She swung around, visibly stunned; never in a million years had she expected any sort of an apology from him. If anyone should be apologising it was her.
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For making you so uncomfortable before dinner—pretending I was about to reveal your gambling problem. It was a cheap shot, not my usual style at all.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ she admitted. ‘What I said to Aiden—I didn’t mean…’
‘Yes, Tabitha,’ he said slowly. ‘You did.’
She didn’t say anything; instead she reached for her drink, taking a hesitant sip, confused at the change in his demeanour.
‘But it didn’t give me the right to put you on the spot. We both know it’s business; I guess sometimes it’s all too easy to forget. We must be good actors. Unfortunately you seem to bring out the worst in me. Or the best in me. I guess it depends what night we’re talking about.’
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