by Joanne Hill
What a mess they all were, Daniel thought wryly. A mother who wanted money and had taken it to leave. A father who would have been happy with none and resented the responsibility their wealth demanded.
And here he was. A Christie who thrived on it, who loved the challenges that running this empire gave him. Who, from the time his father had died, had made it his business to make the company his own, to leave his own legacy, his own imprint. And yet here he was now considering marriage to a woman he didn’t know and only somewhat liked, to appease his own guilt at failing his grandfather.
He tightened his grip on the glass and slugged back the remainder of the wine and prayed Mel would somehow go against the person she was, that normal human greed he saw so often in others and despised would triumph in her, and she would agree to this.
Ellie Green had lived at the Gertrude Ellerm Retirement Complex for the past year. Every time Mel visited her, she hoped and prayed that one day, one day soon, her mother would be able to live independently, just like she had the first 58 years of her life. It was going to happen. Mel was going to make it happen.
Mel set about making a pot of Earl Grey tea, cut a small fruit cake in to slices, and took two dainty china mugs from the cupboard. It was a ritual she’d come to depend on, that provided them both with a sense of consistency in a life that had not been normal since the stroke that had left Ellie partially paralyzed and with a tendency to have seizures. The therapy she had undergone in those first few months had been intensive and loaded with frustration, but had helped her regain much of her memory and her speech. Unfortunately, it had not helped with her movement.
In many ways, Ellie hadn’t changed. She had the same sense of humour, still supported the local rugby team, loved the same cosy mysteries and thrillers, even if she struggled more with the written word than she once had. But she was so young, and at her age, a stroke had been a shock to everyone.
“I spoke with your doctor,” Mel commented as she poured the tea, and added a generous slosh of milk in each cup. She stirred sugar into her mother’s tea, then for good measure reverse stirred. She’d noted Daniel had stirred sugar into his coffee that way at lunch. Her chest tightened. Ever since that insane proposal, it had been doing that nonstop and the feeling was getting uncomfortable. She’d had to rub her chest a few times in public just to get rid of the tightness, and endured suspicious looks in the process. Even more annoying, she’d spent two hours at the library on the internet researching the man, looking for anything that would indicate he was either a psychopath or morally reprehensible. She’d found neither.
She set the spoon down and bit back on a long drawn out sigh. She seemed to be sighing all the time now and one of the librarians had even asked her if she was having trouble breathing and needed fresh air. She tried to imagine Daniel sitting here, joining them for a cup of tea and a slice of cake but couldn’t. He’d look preposterous drinking tea out of a dainty china mug.
Yet she needed to make a decision. Because when she’d left the office after work last night, she hadn’t left with an emphatic ‘no.’ She’d told him she’d think about it, and that she’d let him know in forty-eight hours.
Mel sighed again. Her mother said, “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yep. I’m fine.” She put the tea and cake for her mother on the side table alongside her chair, and took her own cup but left the cake. She’d eaten too much yesterday. Far from her appetite vanishing, she had returned to the table, proceeded to stress-eat all her penne, devoured an apple pie for desert, and then finished it off with a tall, sweet latte as well.
Mel glanced around at her mother’s tired looking room and tried to assess it objectively. The Trust that owned the rest home had scheduled this block of flats for refurbishment but it was likely to be years away yet. That was one of the reasons Ellie had been able to get this place when the impracticalities of her old place meant she couldn’t go back.
“What did the doctor say?” Ellie sipped her tea, her gaze expectantly on Mel. The hairdresser had cut her hair last week and it looked appalling. Her mum had always worn her hair to her shoulders, now it was short and spiky. It didn’t suit her but at least in a month or so it would have grown out.
Mel focused back on the doctor. “He said you’re doing well.” He had actually said her mother was losing some enthusiasm, and he was worried. He was their family doctor, and he’d treated Mel since she was at kindergarten. He’d called in regularly to see Ellie after the stroke, and he’d been a lifeline of support, had been the one who suggested this complex while they made decisions. Again he’d suggested a move to a better facility but he knew it was unlikely. Mel let out another sigh. They could barely afford this place as it was, and it was subsidised by the trust. And while Ellie was comfortable here, it had never been permanent.
“Mum,” Mel began. “If we could afford it, would you want to live in your own place again, with people coming to help when I couldn’t be there?”
“Of course I…” Her mother stopped suddenly, focused on her tea. “Melly, it’s best for me here while I can stay here. I’ve got all the help I need.”
“I know, but if I won the lottery or something, that would be your dream, wouldn’t it?”
“This is fine,” her mother said simply.
She was saying it to make Mel feel better. Mel cast her gaze over the shabby furniture and her gaze lingered on a patchwork quilt she’d made for Ellie when she’d been seventeen and had been completely obsessed with patchwork everything. It had been so well used it was starting to fall apart and she’d planned summers ago to make a new one but never had. The quilt was covering a chair, one of the pieces Ellie had brought with her when she’d had to leave the small flat she rented. The furniture had been old to begin with. Now it was all just older.
“It is good here,” Mel agreed. The staff were lovely and that was important, knowing there were people who cared for her mother when she couldn’t be around to do it. But how much support would Ellie get if Mel couldn’t pay the bill? Ellie’s sickness benefit paid the basic room but Mel paid for things like the satellite TV, and that balance was now the subject of letters addressed to her and marked confidential.
Those letters scared her.
Mel shook all thought of them away and held out the plate of cake. “Have more cake, Mum, it’s delicious.”
Her mum took a piece. “You spoil me,” she said.
“I wish I could spoil you more,” Mel sighed, even as her heart dropped in her chest with a jolt of sorrow on its heels. There was so much more she could do. A state of the art wheelchair, cutting edge treatment, luxuries like facials and fashion, a box seat at every game Ellie’s beloved team played. Her own flat, on a ground floor with easy access and all the mobility aids to make it easier. Her own backyard with a gardener to keep it beautiful. And deep down, she wanted to do it, needed to do it. Her mother had sacrificed for her, could have had a wonderful career, traveled, maybe even met the love of her life. But she’d given birth to Mel, and the bright future had drifted further out of her reach as she’d raised her only child on her own.
Mel owed her; she owed Ellie her life. She at least owed her a nice roof over her head now Ellie couldn’t work to support herself.
And all it required, she thought dully, was a little thing called money.
Mel stood in the foyer of the Bondi Beach penthouse apartment as Daniel buzzed her in.
She heard a sound behind her and spun around. The elevator doors had closed and the lift was descending. Leaving her here. Alone. It was too late to back out now.
She turned back to face the apartment door and inhaled deeply.
What the heck are you doing, she muttered. It was like being the Fiddler on the Roof. She was struggling to keep on living and keep her balance and not fall off in a changing world, and boy, had that world changed a lot recently. The question was would she succeed?
The front door swung open, and the latest change to her life – or trying to put a posit
ive spin on it, saviour – stood there. He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze skipped from her sneakers to her black skirt, to her bright green top, and then his gaze settled on hers.
She discreetly did the same. The top button of his white shirt was undone, and he wore no tie. His black trousers fitted snugly around lean hips and powerful thighs, and he towered over her. You would look twice at him, just as she’d done at the beach. She, on the other hand, was short, possessed a tendency to plumpness, and had been awarded looks no one would look twice at.
She straightened on a sudden jolt of realization. Which meant she was quite possibly exactly what he wanted. Someone plain and inconspicuous, someone who wouldn’t tempt him physically while they had to “pretend” to be husband and wife.
He glanced at his watch. “What can I do for you, Mel?”
“If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”
He beckoned for her to follow him. But surely a man like Daniel, a man who reeked virility just by breathing, would want the benefits of a live-in relationship? Like a bed mate to ensure the time passed pleasantly?
Yet it was the one thing she was not prepared to compromise on. The annulment would be the safety net.
She followed him through to his lounge. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted views, but didn’t allow herself to get side tracked. The sooner this was over the better. She took a breath, the longest hardest breath she had ever taken so she didn’t faint right into his arms like the virginal imbecile he no doubt considered her to be.
“If you still want to marry me, I accept.” She added quickly, “As per the discussion at lunch. The –” She held up her hands and did quotation marks. “Marriage of convenience.”
His gaze didn’t flicker. Surely he hadn’t found someone else, and she’d now been rendered obsolete?
This had the potential to be the most embarrassing moment of her life, coming a very close second to being jilted. She managed a nonchalant shrug. “I’m easy either way.”
She thought relief crossed his face, a flicker at the corner of his mouth, but it remained for the most part impressively impassive.
He nodded. “Good.”
Good? “So? You’re agreeable?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” Phew. She said, “Shouldn’t we shake on it or something?”
His mouth curled in a smile, and he held out his hand. She stared at the long tanned fingers, the powerful wrist, the masculinity of him, and it struck her again that she might be getting herself into more trouble than she’d bargained for. Hands like that evoked images of touching and feeling. She would see them every day.
For you, Mum, she whispered, as she took his hand to seal the deal. He squeezed, and warmth infused her skin with a series of tingles that automatically made her tug her hand away. Instead he gripped it tighter and pulled her close.
He murmured, his voice low, deep and tinged with danger, “I think we can do better than that.”
He dipped his head, brought his lips to hers, and kissed her.
The firm softness of his mouth, the scent of him, the divine taste of him, sent what had to be desire pulsing through her body. Whatever it was, she hadn’t felt it with Max. Now, it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him, pull him closer, and press her body up against his. Her heart raced in her chest. What was happening?
He pulled away, dropped her hand and took a step back.
Cold air swirled between them, rapidly damping down the heat that seconds ago had surged through her. She stared into his eyes, eyes that stared back at her with shock. And desire?
She went still. Had he felt the same emotions she’d felt from this kiss?
She blinked to clear her mind. It wasn’t possible.
He took a step back and glanced at his watch. “We don’t have much time.”
Her breath was still labored, and her mind a blaze of confusion. “Time to do what?”
Any composure he had lost he appeared to have regained and it was all business. If there’d been any desire, it had clearly been fleeting. An aberration.
He reached in his pocket for his phone, and began to punch in a number. “To organize a wedding.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It didn’t feel right, but then what had she expected?
Mel put her hand to her chest, over the lump of sadness at the fact that her mother, a born romantic, had no idea her only daughter was getting married, that no one knew she was getting married except for a handful of people she’d known barely a week. Thinking about it was enough to make her question her sanity yet again.
She’d only ever lied to her mother about one thing and it had been a lie by omission, when she’d avoided telling her the full story behind Max leaving. It would have sent Ellie into a plummeting depression and if she knew the truth about this, the same thing would happen. Mel glanced at her left hand, at the bare fingers and flexed them. What an irony that for a woman who hated deception, who abhorred being lied to, she was about to do the very thing to the person who mattered most to her.
She glanced out the window at the perfect vineyard, from the discretion-guaranteed private hotel in northern New South Wales. In a few hours they would return to Sydney by jet. She would be Mrs Daniel Christie.
It would be worth it, she told herself. Living this lie for the next few months would be worth it.
She turned away from the window and glanced at their two “guests”; Hugh and his daughter, Claire. Claire seemed nonplussed by the whole quick and dirty wedding business. Mel wondered if she had been made aware this was not a real marriage at all.
Next to her, Daniel said, “You look lovely.”
In front of them was the marriage celebrant. He was a friend of Hugh, and had flown up with them in the private jet in what Mel thought of as the package deal.
She focused back on Daniel. He gave the compliment in a matter-of-fact manner, and he was probably being nice, but she’d thought she looked pretty darn good.
“Thank you.” She had purchased the dress, an Australian designer label, off the rack at an upmarket store in Double Bay; a soft white dress that fit her body closely yet even managed to knock a few pounds off her hips and stomach. The hotel stylist had arranged her hair in a swathe of loose curls swirling around her shoulders and she’d been presented with a bouquet of perfect pink and white roses.
She looked very bridal.
And very virginal.
Which, she thought on a sharp intake of breath, she would stay, even though tonight was their wedding night. Even though kissing Daniel Christie had told her there was no way on this earth she was immune to him.
She glanced at her future husband as he stoically faced the celebrant. In profile, Daniel was impossibly handsome. His jaw was lean, tanned, chiselled to perfection. Her gaze slipped. His suit was black with a pristine white shirt and black tie. His shoulders filled the jacket and his dark hair touched the tip of his shirt collar. But possessing good looks when you were uncompromisingly arrogant … she would have to grit her teeth and bear the next few months. For you, Mum.
The celebrant cleared his throat, Mel turned to him, and he beamed a smile of welcome at them both. Alongside her, Claire whispered, “You make a beautiful bride.”
Butterflies played havoc in her stomach. What sort of wedding was this? She whispered shakily, “Thank you.”
Nerves rippled down her spine then back up again. She felt a nudge at her side as Daniel looked down with a questioning glance as if to say, Are you ready?
No. But she was as ready as she’d ever be. She slowly nodded her head at him, and he turned to the celebrant and gave the go ahead.
Sixty seconds later, they were husband and wife.
“I present to you, Mr and Mrs Daniel Christie,” the celebrant announced, and Hugh and Claire clapped with enthusiasm. “You may kiss the bride.”
Heck. She’d forgotten about that. She’d had trouble getting the kiss that sealed this whole scenario out of her mind.
She turned to Daniel, about to say, a peck on the cheek will be fine. Instead he looked down at her, and a smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
She frowned. He gripped her shoulders gently, pulled her close, and bent to brush his lips over hers.
Again, she was struck with shock. His lips were warm, not too full, smooth and soft, yet with a degree of harshness that denoted, strangely, possession. That was different.
He pulled slowly away, and she stared into his steel blue eyes. She swallowed. “I…” Her voice was a croak.
His hands dropped from her shoulders.
“Mrs Christie,” he said in a smooth voice, the epitome of control. “Welcome to the family.”
The wedding breakfast was a feast. Oysters, champagne and even, of all things, a wedding cake.
Mel stared at the cake, and for the first time since she’d walked into Daniel’s apartment, regret pooled in her stomach so fast it hurt.
It’s only a damned cake. She blinked back tears. But it was more than that. Hugh ordered Daniel to stand next to her, and produced a bone handled knife.
“Daniel, hand on the knife,” he instructed. “Mel, lay your hand across Daniel’s.”
Mel put her hand over Daniel’s, his rough skin beneath her smooth palm. Two hands, one cake.