Some Kind of Wonderful

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘I—’ She was speechless. ‘I honestly don’t know what to say.’

  ‘The word you’re looking for is yes, but you missed your cue.’ He spoke through his teeth, and then inhaled deeply and smiled the smile that had first attracted her attention. ‘You were in shock. This is a big night for you—I understand that.’

  She relaxed a little. Reminded herself they’d been together a long time, and that no one was perfect. ‘Good, because for a moment I wasn’t sure you did.’

  His phone rang. ‘Excuse me one second—this could be important.’

  She stood, her arms wrapped round her waist, wondering what could be more important than talking about their future.

  She glanced around her, trying to stay calm. The room was an Aladdin’s cave of creative endeavour. Paintings were stacked against the wall, there were several bronze figurines on a shelf, and a rolled-up carpet next to a table stacked high with boxes.

  He checked the number and silenced the phone. ‘It can wait.’ Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he glanced at her blankly. ‘Where were we?’

  ‘You were working out whether your phone call was a higher priority than a conversation about our future,’ she said flatly, ‘and you were telling me you understood that tonight is a big moment in my life.’

  ‘Of course I understand. A marriage proposal is a big moment in every woman’s life.’

  There was a ringing in her ears. ‘Excuse me? That’s what you consider to be my “big moment”?’

  ‘Getting engaged is a big deal.’

  ‘We’re not engaged, Richard.’

  ‘We will be when you’ve answered my question.’

  He gave her his most winning smile but she felt nothing but frustration.

  He hadn’t listened to her.

  Apparently he’d never listened to her. He’d steamrollered over her in pursuit of his own goals.

  He had a five-year plan and apparently she was part of it.

  ‘I don’t remember a question. You said, “I want you to marry me.” Much the same way a child might say, I want that candy.’ Too stressed to stand still, she paced the length of the room. ‘In the last year, how much time do you think we’ve spent together?’

  ‘It’s been a crazy year—I’m not denying that. Of course we would have spent more time if you hadn’t insisted on spending so much time in your studio and on that island. But all that’s going to change when we’re married.’

  ‘I thought I’d made it clear that marriage isn’t on my wish list. Didn’t you hear me?’

  ‘I heard you, but we both know you didn’t mean it. Why wouldn’t you want to get married?’ There was a hint of impatience in his voice. ‘Your parents have been married for thirty-five years and never a cross word.’

  And never a loving one, either.

  Never—not once—had she seen her parents show affection.

  They didn’t hold hands.

  They didn’t kiss.

  There were no lingering glances, no suggestion of a bond of togetherness.

  She wanted so much more.

  ‘What are you doing here? I mean, what are you really doing here?’

  His smile lost some of its warmth. ‘I came to support you—although given the mood you’re in I’m starting to wonder why I bothered. I’m still finding my way around Capitol Hill. Being here was the last thing I needed right now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’ He dragged his hand over the back of his neck. ‘You’re determined to misunderstand everything I say.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because I don’t understand. You told me you weren’t coming tonight, so what changed?’

  When he didn’t answer, she answered for him.

  ‘You saw the guest list and thought there might be people here who could be useful to you. Be honest. Tonight was never about me.’

  But she’d wanted it to be. And her creative brain had spun the facts into a scenario that she could live with.

  Her mother was right.

  She was a stupid dreamer.

  Richard met her gaze head-on. ‘I’m not ashamed to admit the value of networking. You want honest? I’ll give you honest. This hobby of yours is fine, but you are wasting your life. You paint pictures and make jewellery—and that wouldn’t matter except that you’re smart, and there are so many other more useful things you could be doing. Things that would make me proud.’

  She felt dizzy. ‘You’re not proud of me?’

  ‘You’re not exactly saving the planet, Sky. Even you can’t pretend that what you do is important.’

  With a few words he dismissed what she did, tossing her dreams into the trash as her father had done with her first painting all those years before.

  She felt as if she were emerging from a deep sleep.

  ‘The last necklace I made was taken from a brooch left to my client by her grandmother. It had been sitting in a drawer for a decade and she wanted it made into something contemporary that she could wear. Something relevant to her life that would remind her of someone she’d loved very much. It was important to her. Emotions are important.’

  But she knew he wouldn’t understand that.

  To him, money, power and influence were the important things.

  He was like her parents. Which was why they got on so well.

  He made a conciliatory gesture. ‘This is a pointless conversation. We need to move on.’

  ‘My work is not “pointless”, and by “move on” I presume you’re saying that your ambitions take precedence over mine?’

  He frowned. ‘No, but you can’t argue with the fact that I’m serving a lot of people.’

  ‘Are you? Or are you serving yourself? Because sometimes, Richard, I wonder if this is about your ambition—not a selfless desire to dedicate your life to public service.’

  His features hardened. ‘You want to talk about being selfish? What do you think your actions are doing to your parents? It’s time you stopped thinking of yourself and made them proud.’

  ‘Since when do my parents have anything to do with our relationship?’ A disturbing thought slid into her brain. ‘Why did you call my father?’

  ‘I told him I was going to ask you to marry me. They were thrilled, and they’re looking forward to celebrating when we join them on Christmas Eve.’

  Was this really all about her parents?

  Desperately wanting to be wrong about that, she took a step forward. ‘What if I said that this year I don’t want to spend Christmas with my parents? What if I said I wanted to spend Christmas by ourselves? Just the two of us? We could rent a little cottage on Puffin Island and spend our time playing games and chatting. Log fire, a real fir tree from the forest, walks in the snow, making love in the warm …’

  She’d said it to test him, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted it.

  ‘Let’s do it, Richard. Forget proposals—forget goals and careers. For once let it be the two of us and our friends. We’ll make a pact not to talk about work. Emily and Ryan are hosting Christmas at Harbor House and making it extra-special for little Lizzy. Zach and Brittany will be there too, and I’d love for us to spend more time with them. It will be perfect.’

  ‘Perfect?’ He looked appalled. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than Christmas on Puffin Island. What would be the point? Your parents have invited people who will be useful.’

  ‘The point is it’s Christmas, Richard. It isn’t a business opportunity, or an excuse to network, it’s Christmas.’

  How could she have been so deluded? They’d spent a year together. A whole year. She’d believed they had a future.

  ‘If not Puffin Island, how about Europe? We’ve always talked about going to Paris or Florence. Let’s do it!’

  ‘This isn’t a good time.’

  ‘It’s never a good time.’

  And she realised in a flash of painful clarity that she really had been fooling herself. When she cleared away the creative clouds of her imagin
ation the truth was right there, forming a stark picture.

  ‘When we first met I couldn’t believe how much we had in common. That first night we stayed up until four in the morning, planning a trip to Florence. Do you remember?’

  He shifted. ‘Sky—’

  ‘It seemed almost too good to be true—to meet someone who shared your dreams so exactly. There were so many things we were going to do, and we never did any of them. It seemed too good to be true because it was.’ She swallowed, still finding it hard to look the truth in the eye. ‘My parents told you about me, didn’t they? You studied my interests so that you’d know exactly how to gain my attention.’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with wanting to know someone.’

  ‘What’s wrong,’ she said slowly, ‘is that it wasn’t genuine. Love isn’t a business deal, Richard, it’s an emotion. It isn’t about convenience or ambition—it’s about feeling. Genuine feeling. Not something manufactured for the purposes of manipulation.’

  ‘There you go again. You expect a fairy tale, and when you get reality you’re disappointed. It’s the same with your attitude to Christmas. You’ve always romanticised Christmas and it’s just one day.’

  They were almost the same words her mother had used, and she knew it wasn’t coincidence.

  The thought that they’d discussed her was horrible.

  Almost as horrible as realising what a mistake she’d made.

  She felt humiliated, and a little betrayed, but most of all she felt foolish because she’d tried so hard to believe in something that didn’t exist.

  She wasn’t the sun, moon and stars to him. She wasn’t even a speck of cosmic dust on the bottom of his shoe.

  ‘Maybe it is just one day, but it’s an important day, and this year I’d like to spend it with my friends.’

  ‘Precisely—they’re your friends. They’re no use to me.’

  ‘Friends aren’t supposed to be of use.’ She heard her voice rise and tried to control it. ‘That isn’t what friendship is. It’s about giving, not taking.’

  ‘What can they possibly give you? Your situation is nothing like theirs. You have family—they don’t. Emily had an alcoholic mother, Brittany’s mother clearly knew nothing about responsibility, and don’t even get me started on Zachary Flynn. But I can tell you I don’t want to risk my reputation by being in the same place as him. Can you imagine what the media could do with that story?’

  It was like looking at a stranger, and she realised he’d carefully shown her the side of himself he’d wanted her to see. Even with her he’d controlled his image. The only time it had slipped were the occasions when he’d lost his temper.

  ‘If you’re forcing me to make a choice between you and my friends, there’s no contest.’

  He relaxed slightly. ‘That’s good to know. Obviously you’d pick me.’

  ‘No! I’d pick them. I love my friends.’

  And she was incensed by what he’d said. Incensed, deeply hurt, and furious with herself for being so deluded.

  ‘A friend would never do what you just did.’

  She knew now there was no going back. No fixing.

  ‘I know you love your friends, and that love makes you blind. It’s thanks to them you’ve lost sight of what’s important in life. We’re going to your parents for Christmas. They want the best for you. And so do I.’

  She felt numb. Disconnected.

  How could she have possibly thought this might be love?

  ‘I’m the one who will decide what’s best for me.’

  ‘That’s the theory—but you always make the wrong choices.’

  Anger flickered to life inside her. ‘Thank you for making it easy for me to say no to the question you didn’t ask.’

  ‘Oh, for—’ He bit off the word and inhaled deeply. ‘Skylar Tempest, will you marry me?’

  ‘Again—no!’ Her voice sounded strangely flat. ‘And I can’t believe you’re still asking after the conversation we’ve just had. You wanted me to choose. I’ve chosen. Now, get out.’

  He swore under his breath. ‘My flight leaves tomorrow and I have to be back in DC on Monday. I don’t have time to play games. I want to spend the next twenty-four hours celebrating, not fighting. All I want to hear is two words—that’s all. Yes, Richard.’

  ‘I’m not playing games. We don’t want the same things. Apparently we never did, but I’m only now realising that. And even if we did have a single thing in common, I can’t be with someone who is so rude about the friends I love. They’re too important to me. It’s over, Richard.’

  Her words fell into a simmering silence.

  She saw the change in him and her heart kicked hard against her chest. She’d been with him long enough to be familiar with every shift in his mood. It was like watching the sky darken over Puffin Island, heralding an approaching storm.

  His temper was the thing she liked least about him.

  ‘I propose to you in public and your response is to break up with me? That’s not happening.’ His tone had thickened. ‘You’ve humiliated me. Next time we step out there it will be together and you’ll be smiling. This time you are going to make the right decision.’

  ‘If you really knew me you’d know that being proposed to in public would be the last thing I’d ever want. I don’t believe in fairy tales, Richard, but I do believe two people should be together because they love each other—not because it suits their career ambitions or because it’s part of a five-year plan.’ She saw him take a step forward but she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. ‘You need to go now. If you’re worried about being seen then you can use the rear exit.’

  ‘I’m virtually a member of your family.’ His voice was an ugly growl. ‘Your father loves me.’

  ‘Then marry my father. I hope you’ll be very happy.’ She was calm, trying to defuse a situation that was threatening to explode, but it was too late—and she saw the moment his anger snapped the leash and bolted.

  In the past she’d handled every incendiary moment with care, never allowing it to reach this point. She’d soothed, placated, and occasionally walked out, putting distance between them.

  But it was too late for any of those options.

  The pin was out of the grenade.

  His shoulders hunched. His features were contorted and ugly. And in that single split second she wondered how she ever could have thought him handsome. On the outside he was perfectly wrapped, but on the inside …

  ‘Richard, you need to get control of yourself.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Take some breaths.’

  ‘You are a spoiled bitch.’

  She flinched as if he’d hit her—and then realised in a moment of suspended disbelief that he actually was going to hit her.

  His hand came up and instinctively she sidestepped to evade the blow. Her heel caught on the edge of a box and she fell heavily, smacking her head on the corner of the table.

  Pain exploded in her skull. Her vision went dark and there was a distant humming in her head. Something warm and wet trickled down her face and she opened her eyes dizzily, trying to see through the pain.

  He stood over her, hands raised to ward off the accusation he was clearly afraid she might make. ‘I didn’t touch you.’ There was a hint of panic in his voice. ‘I didn’t touch you.’

  He made no move to help her.

  Showed no concern for her wellbeing—only his own.

  Her sense of betrayal deepened.

  ‘Get out, or I swear I will damage more than your career.’

  Her voice sounded strange and distant. The world around her had blurred edges.

  Oh, God, she was going to pass out. Just when she needed to be strong and kick his ass, she was going to faint.

  ‘It was an accident, Sky—a stupid accident because you didn’t look where you were going. You know how dreamy you are …’

  ‘You wanted two words? I’ve got two perfect words for you. Fuck off. Go. Now.’ She lifted her fingers to her head and they came away st
icky.

  Crap. Forget ketchup—she was going to get blood on her new dress.

  ‘The press are out there.’ He growled the words, his eyes wild as his brain computed the potential PR nightmare. ‘They’re supposed to be reporting our engagement. Instead you give them this? Damn you, Skylar. You did this—you deal with it. Maybe a blow to the head will wake you up. When you come to your senses, call me. I’ll think about whether or not you’re really what I want.’

  Without looking back he strode out of the side entrance and into the night, leaving her lying in her own blood.

  What the hell were they doing in that room?

  Alec prowled round the exhibition, ignoring the other guests. The crowd was thinning out, people were melting away—some speculating on the romantic scene that was going on behind closed doors.

  The public proposal had taken him by surprise.

  Brittany had described him as the ‘rat boyfriend’, which hadn’t sounded to him like a relationship on the edge of happy-ever-after.

  He’d found the proposal uncomfortable to witness, but judging from the oohs and ahs from the women in the audience he was alone with that feeling—which was probably why he was single. What did he know about romance? According to his ex-wife: nothing.

  She’d wanted sweeping gestures and frequent public demonstrations of his love.

  Her insecurities and endless demands had made him feel as if he’d been given a life sentence for a crime he’d never committed.

  Trying to delete his toxic thoughts, he grabbed a glass of champagne and calculated how soon he could make his escape.

  As soon as they reappeared he’d offer his congratulations and leave.

  He needed to remember to say what was expected of him—Congratulations, so pleased for you, I hope you’ll be happy—not what he was instinctively driven to say: Are you both insane?

  He paused, his eye caught by a display of jewellery: intricate silver artfully placed on silk the colour of a Mediterranean sky. The design was eye-catching and original, and the historian in him recognised the nod to shapes and styles used in Bronze Age Greece.

  A woman approached and sent him a smile, her intention unmistakable.

  Alec turned away without returning the smile.