Cancer And The Playboy

by Zee Monodee

  All of a sudden, she couldn’t breathe. She struggled to form words, but it felt as if her tongue was tripling in size in her mouth, blocking her air flow, choking her. She flapped a hand, the other palm going to her knee as she bent in two and tried to win over the debilitating swelling that even stopped her from crying out.

  “Panic attack,” she heard someone say. It sounded like Agneta. “Something must have upset her.”

  “Take her to— Oh, good Lord. The fool,” Amelia said. “Take her to the sitting room over there. Close the door, but stay with her. Do not leave her alone.”

  Agneta must’ve acquiesced. Soft hands wrapped around Megha’s shoulders, and she found herself being steered out of the big room, down a luxurious hallway, and into a smaller room with antique furniture.

  Her bum landed on a cushy sofa, then Agneta was kneeling in front of her, giving her instructions to breathe. It sounded a lot like labour breathing to her, but it seemed to be working. Little by little, she allowed her heartbeat to stop racing. Her tongue seemed to return to its normal size, the perspiration on her skin leaving her cold and shivering.

  And that’s when the crying started.

  ***

  Magnus winced in the great room as his date laughed her hyena giggle in his ear once again. It had been a monumental error to bring her here, and he could see that now. Edwina wasn’t even his date but an acquaintance from his party days. Luck had had it that she now worked in the world of fertility treatments, and they’d caught up in Spain. When she’d prodded that he’d promised to bring her to the Trammell gala if ever the occasion arose, he’d absently agreed, and she’d latched on. His mind muddled by his self-imposed exile from Megha, he hadn’t thought things through. And now here he was, in this mire.

  He stifled a groan. Nammy walked his way—stalked, more like—then grabbed his arm and snatched him away from the giggling fool. One look from her shut Edwina up, and she steered Magnus outside until they finally reached a deserted hallway. There, she flung his arm off and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips.

  “What do you think you are doing with that parvenue?” she asked.

  He gulped. Nammy must not have recognised her. “That’s Edwina Bainbridge, Nammy.”

  She huffed. “Still a parvenue.”

  At this, he rolled his eyes. “She comes from one of the biggest fortunes in England.”

  “But has no class. Like that Pippa girl clinging to Stellan’s arm tonight.” She shook her head. “You just do not see it, do you? It’s right in front of your eyes, but you are a blind idiot.”

  At this, he blinked. “What?”

  If looks could hurt, he would be in flames right now, thanks to the glare she affixed on him.

  “Do you have any idea what your little stunt has done to Megha?”

  Ice seized his veins upon hearing this. “What? What happened to her?”

  “She just had a full-blown panic attack, from what Agneta said.”

  “Agneta? Does she even know what she is talking about?”

  He didn’t see the slap coming; just felt it stinging his cheek.

  “I thought we’d raised you better, Magnus.”

  Contrite, he lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Nammy.”

  “And so you should be.”

  Everything inside him had rebelled when he’d heard Megha had been sick because of him. He’d clutched to the notion of airhead Agneta in there like a life raft. Anything to make it hurt less, when he was the one who had caused her distress.

  Nammy sighed, then she touched his cheek and made him look into her face. “Magnus, can’t you see it? Megha, she is perfect for you.”

  He could, and he did. But that was just it. Dare he say it out loud?

  “She’s too good for the likes of me,” he muttered.

  “Nonsense.”

  He snorted. “She deserves better.”

  “Why don’t you let her be the judge of that?” She paused, stroked his cheek. “My dear boy. Ever since she has stepped into your life, I have seen how much of a difference she has made. She took you from a boy and made you into a man. You did it all because of her.”

  For her, he wanted to add, but didn’t.

  “Tell her,” she begged.

  This was his beloved Nammy; she shouldn’t have to beg.

  “What if she won’t listen?”

  “Then make her.”

  With that, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to a white door that looked like the polished piped frosting on a white wedding cake. She turned the knob, pushed him inside, and before he could reckon what had happened, Agneta had brushed past him and gone out. The door closed, with the suspicious click of a key being turned in the lock.

  Stranded. The old biddy had stranded him in a room with Megha.

  His heart stopped as he took in the sight of her on a sofa, her bent head lifting up to see what was going on. In the process, her gaze caught his.

  “How are you? Nammy. She said you had a panic attack. Is everything okay?”

  He could see the evidence of her distress on her face. The tear tracks marring her perfect cheeks. Her skilfully-applied makeup didn’t appear to have budged even one millimetre, but the tears were there, glistening in her eyes.

  He’d put them there … By being an abject fool. He’d run away to Spain. Frankly, he would’ve run away to any place as long as it wasn’t London and Daimsbury. Just his luck that some fertility experts in Spain had responded that Sunday to his queries to learn more about the vitrification process so he could offer it at the clinic. He’d found things to look into every single day, pushing back the date of his return, because getting home would mean needing to go to work. Needing to see her at the shop, interact with her without being able to do anything but be her friend. It was a wonder he hadn’t yet caught pneumonia from all the cold showers he’d taken over in Madrid.

  But as his eyes locked with hers, he finally made peace with himself that it had all been pointless. He needed her in his life.

  Question was, did she need him?

  Nammy seemed to think so. Considering his grandmother’s belief, should he jump on a leap of faith here?

  Megha wouldn’t be crying if the sight of him with Edwina hadn’t upset her. That must mean she felt something. Something more than friendship …

  Could he bite the bullet?

  “I … it … she means nothing,” he let out in a rush.

  She blinked, but didn’t reply.

  “I swear to you, it’s not what it looks like. I didn’t—”

  “Stop. Don’t make it any worse, Magnus,” she said softly.

  So softly, he wondered if he’d heard her or had imagined the words.

  Could this get any worse? He took a deep breath. “Does that mean you care for me?”

  She snorted. “More’s the fool me. Making castles in the sky. It seems I’m even very good at it.”

  He shook his head. “Wait, what?”

  She gave him a tremulous smile. “It was a dream. Me in your arms. Talking, telling you my deepest secrets. I even convinced myself we’d gone to bed together, you see.”

  What was she on about? No, wait a second. This sounded a lot like the night they had spent together. Didn’t she remember?

  “Don’t, Magnus. Don’t give me hope that there is more between us. That there could be more.”

  He gulped, hard. Now was his chance. He took a step into the room. “But there could be, Megha.”

  “What? Friendship? We both know you only care about me because of the cancer, because we met when we did and this diagnosis clouded everything. You wouldn’t have even seen me on the streets if we’d crossed paths.”

  That’s where she was wrong. Because he had seen her the first time he had set foot in the shop. He had her so well that everything else had fallen to the wayside, even making him forget for a moment why he’d come to the store incognito in the first place.

  Yes, he’d seen her.

  How to tell her this, tho
ugh? How to make her believe him?

  Words flittered in his mind; words he’d heard spoken somewhere. Then Nammy’s little speech out there layered itself over them, her telling him how Megha had made him into the man he’d always had the potential to become.

  “What is the thing that inspires you?” he asked. “The thing that makes your heart race.”

  She remained silent, watching him with a trembling lower lip.

  He reached her with a few steps and fell to his knees before her. It was now or never.

  “For me, that thing is you,” he said softly.

  She gasped, brought a hand to her mouth. Reaching up, he clasped her fingers, bringing her hand down and keeping it between both of his.

  “You … you mean that?” she asked.

  “Every word. It’s been you. All along. And after that night, I knew I had to get away—”

  She frowned. “What night?”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t dream it, Megha. We embraced on that terrace, you poured your heart out to me, and we slept together.”

  “It wasn’t …”

  “No. And I will admit I was a bloody fool for panicking. Because I wanted all this and so much more from you. Things I had no right asking of you.”

  “Why not?”

  Not the question he’d been expecting to hear, but he had the answer ready, nevertheless. “Because you are too good for me.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I’m perfect for you,” she quipped.

  And this made him laugh. Because this was what Princess Eleanor had said to Jasper when he’d said those same words.

  “Then let me prove it,” he said. “Let me be the Jasper to your Eleanor.”

  A laugh bubbled out of her. Then she sobered. “Is that it? My one good reason to stay?”

  He shook his head. “No. The real reason is because I love you, Megha Saran, and I wish for nothing more than to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

  “Is that a proposal, Mr. Trammell?”

  “It’s everything you want it to be, everything you need it to be, as long as you take me along.”

  With her free hand, she reached up and clasped his cheek. Warmth unfurled where she touched him, despite the cool gloves covering her palm and fingers.

  “I took you a long time ago, Magnus.” She shrugged. “I don’t know when it happened exactly, but it did.”

  His heart soared at her words. “Then please stop this agonizing wait. Kiss me.”

  She giggled, then bent her head and touched her lips to his.

  He surged to his feet at the contact, reaching out to clasp her in his arms so he could hold her, all of her, to him as he drank from her mouth, finally. Heat flared in his body, his hands starting to roam across her naked shoulders and trailing over the goose bumps that rose on her skin.

  “The things I want to do to you,” he rasped as he tore his mouth away for a much-needed breath.

  Slams on the door made them blink.

  “Keep it PG in there!” someone yelled.

  Megha gaped up at him. “They were listening all this time?”

  He sighed. “Of course they were.” Pulling her to him, he turned towards the door. “Piss off, you sorry lot.”

  “Not until you open the door and Megha can tell us herself that she accepted your proposal.”

  He groaned, then turned back to her. Speaking of that … “I still don’t have your answer.”

  “To what?”

  “To my proposal.”

  “Ask me properly.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. Sinking to one knee, he clasped her hands in his. “Megha Saran, will you make me the luckiest and happiest man on Earth by becoming my wife?”

  She laughed, a sound he absolutely adored and hoped to make pour out of her every hour of every day if he had the chance.

  Megha sank to her knees, too, and she unclasped her hands to come cradle his face in her palms.

  “Yes, Magnus. A million times yes.”

  This time, when he kissed her, it was as if fireworks were going off. It could also simply be the ruckus from the crowd gathered outside the door.

  But either way, he didn’t care. Not when he had her in his arms, heart to heart, kissing her and knowing he would be making her his as soon as they set foot back in London again.

  Bloody hell, it would be a long wait for this gala to be over.

  But they had the rest of their lives, and make that count, he would.

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  Megha and Magnus were the original people from Daimsbury when I imagined that world. Their story, as it happens here, was how it was always meant to start and just be. This wasn’t meant to be a series, but it turned into that, and their story kept getting pushed back, something keeping me from finishing it.

  I started this book three times. Picked up … left off. Picked up … left off. It always seemed to happen before that chemotherapy wing scene. At the time, I never realized why this was the case. Then this year, I knew I have to plough ahead and write it. Which I did. Getting through that chemo scene was the toughest writing I have ever done in my life … because this scene was not Megha breaking down but actually me breaking down the way I did during my own third chemotherapy cycle when my veins kinked up and I switched places with a Voodoo doll so much I was getting pricked by needles that day.

  So you see, this is a book that struck so close to home for me. I’ve had breast cancer twice, my first time back in 2005 very much like what Megha goes through in the book. I didn’t have a prophylactic mastectomy on the right side, though—that would happen, not prophylactic, 5 years later when the cancer returned. Living flat came after that.

  So much of me is Megha, and I just knew all of it had to go into her story. I couldn’t not make it a story with autobiographical strains, because I had been there, too, and someone who’d been there or was going through that might be reading this story. I owed it to them, to those women like Megha, those women like me.

  Still, it was also to be a romance, and I hope I delivered on that front. Magnus will always have a soft spot in my heart because he was one of my very first heroes. He can come across as a bit perfect, I know, and this is a feature of romance though it also doesn’t mean that such good guys exist in real life. I’m lucky to have one in my life, this man who loved me despite no more boobs and has literally been there for through sickness and in health, for better or worse.

  I hope you have enjoyed the journey to love of this couple. Feel free to let me know your thoughts—drop me an email or message me on Facebook. I always welcome your feedback. And if you would be so kind, if this book resonated with you, stayed with you, made an impression on you, then please consider leaving me a review on Amazon.

  My readers are the best—yes, that’s you! Thank you for being in my life …

  From Mauritius with love,

  Zee

  Acknowledgements

  I extend heartfelt thanks to my wonderful beta readers who plunged into this and read it over a few days to give me their opinion of the plot and catch any flaws I might’ve missed in there. Lynn Spangler, Alissa Baxter, Elsa Winckler, Graylin, Fox, Elizabeth Morgan, Kathy Bosman, & Louise Rose-Innes. Not only are you ladies awesome beta readers, you’re also amazing authors in your own right! I am honoured to count you in my inner circle.

  Natalie G. Owens – my sister of the heart, my companion in crime, my kick-arse editor, my counterpart in everything. Thank you for being my biggest, loudest cheerleader at all time! You push me to reach heights I’d never even dreamed of touching.

  Rose Helg & Marie Brown – two awesome book lovers whom I had the pleasure to meet on Facebook while still writing this one. Your support, ladies, has been nothing short of a Godsend! Thank you for being the kind of amazing readers every reader dreams of finding in her career.

  My amazing Virtual PA, Pam Labbe. My crutch in everything else but writing in this business! You’re a
lifesaver, honey!

  My nieces, Lou & Fafa, for cheering me on via Instagram while I wrote this one. This is the first piece I got to share with you (as you’re now old enough for romance *wink*), but hopefully, not the last. Love you, my girlies!!

  My husband and my son, for bearing with me (aka getting out of my way! LOL) while I had my ‘writing days’ rolling out. You two are the best men a girl can wish for in her life!

  My parents, for enquiring about the book and the writing process (even though their eyes probably glazed over from all my rambling. Still, it’s the intention that counts!)

  Last but not least, thanks to God. For everything.

  From Mauritius with love,

  Zee

  About The Author

  From always choosing the storytelling option in English & French classes to sneaking a Mills&Boon romance under the desk at school, Zee went on to make a career out of writing the kind of emotional romances all young girls junk on.

  Her Mauritius and Indian-based romances have all the classic makings of Bollywood-type drama: overbearing mothers, matchmaking aunties, ‘proper’ eligible suitors who look like frogs, race & class divides.

  Travel to the UK (Surrey & North Yorkshire), and you meet people—young and mature—struggling to find ‘The One’ amid the drudgery of day-to-day life, never mind if they’re a simple graphic designer working from home, a world-renowned supermodel battling anorexia, or a reluctant heiress on the run.

  Take to the Corpus Agency mantle, and become lethal spies & assassins who nevertheless feel the call of love in their dark and shady lives…

  Of Indian origin & a 2x breast cancer survivor, USA TODAY Bestselling Author Zee lives in paradise (aka Mauritius!) with her long-suffering husband, her smart-mouth teenage son, and their tabby cat who thinks herself a fearsome feline from the nearby African Serengeti plains. When she isn’t in her kitchen rolling out chapattis or baking cakes while singing along to the latest hits from the Top of the Pops chart, she can be found reading or catching up on her numerous TV show addictions. In her day job, she is an editor who helps other authors like her hone their works and craft.