The Millionaire's Redemption

by Therese Beharrie

  Not even the taunts his father had aimed at him after his mother had decided not to leave had given her a clue that he wouldn’t ever change. And after that night—after the subsequent events that had ruined his career—he had cut ties with his parents. He’d put away those protective instincts he’d felt for his mother. Had vowed never to apply them to another woman.

  Except Lily.

  ‘How about that lasagne?’

  She interrupted his thoughts and he frowned as he tried to remember what they were talking about.

  ‘Let me check.’ He checked the freezer, saw there was nothing in it, and closed it again. ‘I’m sure there aren’t any people outside any more. We should go out.’

  ‘Because there’s no food in your freezer?’

  ‘Are you mocking my hosting abilities?’

  ‘Who? Me?’ She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I would never do that to my oh-so-gracious host.’

  He eased with the banter. ‘What do you feel like eating?’

  ‘What’s the closest place?’

  He frowned. ‘It doesn’t have to be close. We can drive somewhere nice—’

  ‘No.’ She cleared her throat and pulled the jersey she still wore tightly around herself again. ‘Let’s just get something at the closest place.’

  It took a moment for him to put all the pieces together.

  ‘You don’t want us to be seen in public?’ When she looked away, he shook his head. ‘Lily, that’s not a realistic expectation for this whole plan. We’re—’

  ‘Just not tonight, okay?’

  It was a plea that went straight to his heart.

  ‘I’ve given people enough of me today. And I look fa—’ She stopped, looked at him with uncertainty and then finished, ‘I look frumpy in this dress.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ he said immediately. ‘And you weren’t going to say that.’

  ‘What?’

  But she’d walked into the living room, away from him, and he realised she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  ‘Yesterday you said you were too heavy for me to lift you.’ He was talking to himself mostly, but when he saw her face he knew his gut had been right. ‘Lily, were you going to say fat?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘NO,’ SHE ANSWERED QUICKLY. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Why on earth would you think that?’ he asked her, dismissing the obvious lie.

  She wanted to be flattered by the incredulous tone he used, but her embarrassment was too much for her to think of anything else.

  ‘We should probably get going.’

  Please don’t push, she thought, and while the minutes passed repeated the plea in her mind.

  ‘There’s a place we can walk to from here. It’s secluded...intimate. Something only the residents around here know about.’

  Relief pummelled the reply from her mouth. ‘Yes, that sounds perfect.’

  He nodded. ‘We can go down there.’ He gestured to the balcony stairs.

  She followed him down the steps, through the gate he’d opened in the fence that no longer had to keep out a crowd. Her feet felt heavier with each stride. It didn’t take long for her to realise the weight had nothing to do with the sand they were walking on, but guilt.

  Guilt for avoiding his question. For lying to him. She didn’t want to tell him, but she felt compelled to and she wasn’t sure why. Though she wanted to ignore it, his silence made her feel as if he was pulling back. It sent waves of panic through her that soon took control of her tongue.

  ‘I was overweight for a very long time.’ Her insides shrivelled at the words, but she knew it was too late to stop. ‘I lost some weight when I started university, and then a little more while I studied. It was hard.’ She cleared her throat when her voice suddenly went hoarse. ‘I’ve been struggling to keep it off since then.’

  He didn’t respond, but gripped her hand. The warmth from it spread through her body.

  ‘You still feel like you’re overweight?’

  ‘I...’ She took a deep breath and was grateful for the slight pressure from his hand. ‘I’m not perfect. I’ll never be a supermodel.’

  ‘And in your mind that means you’re fat?’

  She flinched at the word, just as she had the first time he’d used it. But it was her own fault. She’d thought it first—had almost said it—and she couldn’t shy away from it now because it offended her. But it brought back such memories—hurtful ones that made her want to fade into the background.

  Before she could respond, he stopped, and put a hand around her waist, pulling her in to his side.

  ‘We’re here.’

  She’d been so lost in thought, so lost in the difficulty of their conversation, that she hadn’t seen the beach torches that led to a small wooden deck. The deck seated four tables of two and four, then led into a beach cottage that had been renovated into a restaurant. Paraffin lamps lit the deck, lining the two steps that led up to it and the wooden banister that surrounded it.

  Jacques’s hand still held hers as they walked up the steps and she saw the beach-themed green and blue interior of the restaurant. A stocky young man greeted Jacques with enthusiasm, with recognition, and seated them at the only free table on the deck.

  ‘This is... Wow, it’s beautiful.’ She looked out to where the moon lit the sea, and only then saw the small dance floor just beyond the deck. ‘Do people actually use that?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve never actually been here to see that.’

  ‘But you have been here before. With other women, of course, considering the waiter is now discussing you with his friend over there.’

  She nodded her head to where the man was animatedly speaking to another waiter, gesturing in their direction.

  ‘He might just be a fan of mine.’

  ‘He might be,’ she agreed. ‘But since the other waiter just sent me a knowing glance I suspect I’m right.’

  He smiled, but didn’t meet her eyes. ‘You are.’

  Though she wasn’t surprised, she was a little annoyed—too much for someone who supposedly didn’t care about Jacques’s past.

  And then he said, ‘But you’re the first I’ve brought here at night.’

  ‘And that’s important because...?’

  ‘Because night-time dates set the tone for the rest of the evening. This kind of place...it’s intimate.’

  Her heart pounded at the implication.

  ‘And the waiter you pointed out just took a picture of us. He’ll probably post it to all his social networks.’

  That’s more realistic than thinking he wants to be intimate with you, Lily.

  ‘So “secluded” and “intimate” don’t necessarily mean private?’

  ‘We aren’t supposed to be private, Lily,’ he reminded her. ‘But I can ask him not to post it. To delete the picture, even. I doubt his boss would want him taking pictures of the restaurant’s patrons anyway.’

  ‘You’d do that? For me?’

  He didn’t meet her eyes. ‘For both of us. We still have a month until the club’s sale is finalised, and I think we’ve had enough exposure for today.’

  But she knew he’d just given her that reason because he couldn’t admit he would have done it for her. It had her insides glowing.

  ‘It’s fine—let him post it. What harm could it possibly do after all we’ve already done today?’

  He nodded his thanks, and then called the waiter over to order wine.

  It gave her time to think about why his words had warmed her so much. They shared an attraction, yes. And if she hadn’t lived the kind of life she had perhaps that would mean something. But attraction didn’t last. Reality would soon catch up with them—just as it had with her and Kyle. And Jacques would soon realise—just as Kyle had�
��that Lily simply wasn’t enough.

  She’d thought about it a lot after she’d broken off their engagement.

  Lily knew she would have made Kyle a decent wife. She’d passed her degree—a Bachelor of Arts, much to her parents’ chagrin—at one of the top universities in the country, so she’d have been able to engage with his peers without embarrassing him. She had lost weight, so she’d looked fine, she supposed, but not good enough that she’d threaten any of the supermodel wives of the business acquaintances Kyle would have to charm. And she had been easily manipulated—which had probably been a huge part of her appeal. Easily bullied.

  Lily would have done almost anything Kyle had asked because—well, because he’d asked her.

  She could remember the times when she hadn’t responded favourably and had had him pressuring her. She’d given in so quickly, terrified he would leave if she didn’t. And yet despite all that Lily had clearly still lacked something. And that something had been significant enough that Kyle had turned to another woman to get it.

  No, she thought again. Jacques’s interest in her wouldn’t last for very long. Not once he found out she wasn’t anything more than a prop in his charade.

  But she could enjoy the present. She could enjoy the fact that she was in a restaurant—a beautiful one she would never have discovered otherwise—with a man she liked. And, being in the present, Lily didn’t have to think about the context that word ‘liked’ was being used.

  ‘You’re perfect, you know,’ he said when the waiter had left, so sincerely that she regretted that he wouldn’t want her soon. ‘Your body, your weight... You don’t have to worry about it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. And then, because the way he was looking at her gave her gooseflesh, she continued, ‘Like I said, I’ve lost a lot of weight. Now I try to keep what I eat appropriate, so that I don’t gain it again.’

  ‘That isn’t the only thing you do.’ Jacques’s voice was low. ‘You wear clothes you think hide your body. And even then you pull at them so they don’t cling where they aren’t supposed to.’

  He paused when the waiter arrived to pour their wine. As soon as he was gone, Jacques continued.

  ‘You worry about what people think about the way you look. So much so that you put a jersey on during a warm evening just in case someone sees you. Am I right?’

  Her vocal cords wouldn’t work. Not that there were any words for her to say after Jacques’s little speech. It stunned her—shook her—that he was so perceptive. That he’d seen things she hadn’t paid much attention to. She cringed that she hadn’t been able to hide them. Felt the mortification balling in her stomach coated by anger.

  ‘The judgement in your voice... Is that because you think I shouldn’t care what people think?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘I wasn’t judging you, Lily. But I do think you could worry a little less about it.’

  ‘Because that’s worked so well for you?’

  It was a low blow—one she’d made deliberately, out of anger. But when she saw him recoil she immediately felt ashamed.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘But you were right.’

  He shrugged, and she could almost see the weight that lay heavy on his shoulders. It made her feel even worse.

  ‘No, you were right. I... I said that because I know you’re right. And yet somehow... Well, some scars just don’t go away.’

  ‘Kyle?’

  Again his perceptiveness was disturbing.

  ‘Yes. But he was in a long line of others.’

  ‘Then why did you date him, Lily?’

  Because his tone was pleading with her, and because he was asking her for the second time—third, if she counted the night they’d met—she told him.

  ‘He was interested in me. After years of no one wanting me, of feeling like I wasn’t enough at home or at school, this successful, attractive man wanted me. So I ignored all the signs that told me he was just like the people who had bullied me in my childhood. It took catching him cheating to finally open my eyes.’

  She didn’t blame him for the silence that followed. But that didn’t help her feel less exposed.

  ‘I didn’t realise...’

  She lifted her glass to her lips, saw that her hands were shaking. ‘Why would you?’

  ‘I never liked him.’

  He said it in a gruff voice, and it made her smile.

  ‘You have good instincts.’

  ‘And you blame yourself for not having them?’

  Her fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass. ‘No, I don’t. My gut knew all along that he wasn’t the right person for me. I just didn’t listen.’

  Because she’d already told him too much, she told herself there was no point in holding back now.

  ‘I blame myself for believing that I couldn’t do better.’

  ‘But you know now that you can.’

  It was a statement that told her he wouldn’t accept any other.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lily, you have to mean it.’

  ‘I do mean it.’

  ‘No, you don’t. You may believe it in part, but something’s keeping you from believing it fully.’

  She felt a door slam shut in her heart.

  ‘Let’s order.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT TOOK JACQUES a moment to realise he’d been shut out. Another to deal with the rush of emotions that realisation brought. The anger was there, and the frustration. As was the curiosity. But the feeling that was strongest was the desire to make her believe. She didn’t have to be defined by people’s opinions. By one decision.

  You’re trying to convince yourself.

  He shook it off. He didn’t need to indulge thoughts that came from nowhere. But he did need to say something—this one thing—so that he wouldn’t have to think about it over and over that night when they’d parted.

  He waited for her to order, knowing she would use that as an excuse if he didn’t, and placed his own. When the waiter had left, he said, ‘You’re a strong woman, Lily. Even if you don’t believe it right now, some day you will and I’ll have told you first.’

  He’d wanted to reach out, to lay a hand over hers, but the look on her face had his hand sticking to his thigh. Her eyes were glossed with emotions that he felt in his own chest, her face a picture he didn’t think he would ever be able to forget.

  There was surprise, yes. But there was also hope. Pleasure, too. All because he had seen something in her that he now realised had been whittled away after years of being bullied.

  What he wouldn’t have given to see that look on his mother’s face just once...

  ‘Thank you.’

  He nodded, unable to find words when his mind, his heart, were in turmoil.

  ‘So, the flat...’ She cleared her throat. ‘Why did you buy it if you don’t spend enough time there to have more than half a bottle of orange juice in your fridge?’

  Grateful for the change in topic, he answered, ‘I bought it after my first big rugby pay-cheque. The club is based down the road from here. It made sense to live close by. I could walk to and from the daily practices, and I was able to leave my car behind when we had away matches.’

  ‘But you don’t spend much time there now. So why do you still have the flat?’

  ‘Because...because it reminds me of the happiest times of my life.’

  There was another beat of silence, and then Lily said, ‘That’s why you want the club, too? Because it represents something good in your life?’

  ‘Are we going to spend the whole evening talking about things that make us uncomfortable?’

  He reached for his wine, drank it in one gulp. When he set it down he saw that she was watching him. She gave him a sm
all, comforting smile.

  ‘Seems like we can’t get away from it.’

  ‘We could if we just stopped now. If we talked about something innocuous like the weather.’

  ‘It is a lovely evening,’ she agreed, lifting her wine in a mock toast.

  He smiled, then sobered. ‘What do you want to know?’

  His own words would have surprised him if he hadn’t felt the shift that was happening between them. And, though he’d resisted it from the moment he’d first felt it, it still seemed to have power over him.

  It still seemed to compel him.

  ‘I want to know what really happened the night of that game,’ she said, as he had known she would.

  ‘I got into a fight, got a red card—my team lost and I got suspended.’ It sounded crass, but it was the only way he could tell her.

  ‘I know. I read all that in the papers. What I want to know is why?’ she said softly. ‘It’s clear how much that time in your life meant to you. How much it still means to you. What could have happened to make you give it up?’

  He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and then shook his head.

  He tried again. ‘I told you my grandfather was in the mining business?’

  She nodded.

  ‘That was my mother’s father. He spent years building his business, and the family name grew with it. By the time he retired he was a millionaire, with his name appearing on every rich or most successful list in South Africa.’

  He paused and ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘It meant people knew the family name—who they were. Here and overseas, since my grandfather had started trading abroad. If you aren’t careful, having that kind of money and power tends to make people take advantage.’ Another pause. ‘My mother wasn’t careful.’

  He stopped, tension tight in every part of his body. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see the empathy he knew would be there.

  ‘She was an only child—my grandmother died during childbirth—and my grandfather sent her overseas to live with his sister while she went to school.’

  He took another breath.