by K T Bowes
Marcus patted his chest. “Penitent privilege, my dearest. What’s told in the confessional is sacred.”
“You don’t have a confessional!” Izzie snapped and Marcus laughed and nudged her arm.
“Can I just remind you of your own secret, my love? The small matter of the wee bun in your oven.”
“Different,” Izzie maintained. “Not the same at all.”
Marcus wiggled his eyebrows at Hana and she shook her head. “You seem to be everyone’s confidante,” she said with a smile. The expression faded from her face, leaving her complexion pale. He couldn’t know everything. She hoped not. A wave of fear came from nowhere, snaking up her spine as the memories returned. Hana swallowed and concentrated on the child in her arms.
Logan’s hand on her shoulder brought instant comfort and Hana sensed the dark cloud move aside at his bidding. “Please may I have the first dance with my wife?” he asked, his tone tender.
Hana smiled up at him and nodded with relief. “I’d love to,” she replied.
A slow, romantic song crooned from the speakers either side of the stage and Logan led Hana onto a dance floor teeming with coloured spots of moving light. He held her close and edged her around the parquet floor. The sound of clapping and wolf whistling from their gathered friends drowned out the music during the first bars and quieted as other couples joined them. Hana heard the click of cameras and saw occasional flashes of light. She cuddled into Logan’s chest, enjoying his proximity and the clean, musky scent surrounding him.
Logan bent his body into hers, holding her around her waist with his hands clasped in the small of her back. She felt his fingers brush sensuously across the bones of her spine and shivered. “That wasn’t so bad was it?” he asked, his cheek against hers so she could hear him over the music which Alfred cranked up to a deafening volume. “Nobody fainted or ran out.” Logan raised his eyebrows, seeking endorsement like a child.
“No. Nobody ran out.” Hana winced and glanced across at her son. His jaw looked fixed and Amy sat next to him cradling Jas. “I’m sure there’s still time.” She sighed and Logan smoothed his palms across her back. Her cheek nuzzled into his chest, feeling his heart beat through the tight shirt. She’d gained two extra grandchildren in the space of an evening, but the news would keep until later.
The first song ended and the next began. Logan kept hold of Hana, his breath warm on her cheek as they moved to the music, bodies pressed together in intimate closeness. She resisted the urge to slide her hand up his shirt now she knew what delights lay beneath.
A gentle Scots voice interrupted, “May I cut in?” Angus smiled as he held out his hand to Hana and Logan nodded, his eyebrow quirking upwards in amusement.
“Just this once,” he warned, bowing to them both and leaving the dance floor. He looked back and winked at Hana, not moving much further before guests encircled him, seeking gossip to take back to the staffroom.
Angus took both Hana’s hands and they resumed the dance as the music changed to another slow, melodic tune. Miriam wrestled the controls away from her trigger happy husband and resumed order. She set the volume to a more bearable decibel level and shooed him away. Pete ensnared Logan’s reluctant sister and danced some hideous boogie at her feet, his eyes on the same level as her breasts. She didn’t look amused but used her presence on the dance floor to shoot occasional, spiteful glances in Hana’s direction. The chilling expression made her blood run cold.
“I hope you’ll both be very happy.” Angus dragged Hana’s attention back to him, his expression sincere. The look in his eyes spoke of wistfulness. “Is it such a massive thing, starting again?”
Hana held his gaze, her nod just a hint of movement. “Yes,” she replied. “Bigger than massive.” Her mind cast back to the afternoon after Vik’s death when Angus appeared fresh from his own grief, urging her to do nothing for a full year. He advised her to live with her memories until she’d dealt with them. “I waited as you suggested,” she said, her voice soft. “But I didn’t realise I’d got stuck waiting.”
Angus tilted his head as though testing the gravity of her wisdom. “Oh.” His face reflected his intensity as he hung onto every syllable, assessing his own journey through loss. “I think I may be stuck too.” His orange brows knitted in concentration and regret. “I wasn’t a good husband,” he said, biting his lower lip. “I wonder if I’m stuck in a pattern of guilt. What do you think?”
Hana gaped in surprise. “You and Iris loved each other. I can’t imagine she’d want you to live your life alone, not if it made you unhappy. Do what you think is best.”
She saw the desperation in his eyes as he leaned closer. “But is it possible to love someone else as much as them, or do we settle for second best?” He asked the question and then cringed as the words emerged. Angus flapped his hand. “Don’t answer that. It’s none of my business whether you love Logan as much as you loved your wonderful Vikram. Forget I asked.” His freckled face pinked to a painful hue and Hana winced at his embarrassment.
“We’re friends, Angus. You can ask me that. I can tell you it’s different.” She stared at the floor as though the answer might be written there. “I hero worshipped Vik. He was a year older and yet, to some extent he parented me and the gap felt greater than twelve months. I’m older than Logan but feel more of an equal. He affects me in ways Vik never did. If I’ve learned one thing these last few months, it’s not to compare them.” Her mind wandered to Logan’s expert lovemaking and a smirk lifted the corners of her lips. She sighed. “There’s no roadmap to being a widow or widower, Angus. All we can do is walk the path and see where it leads.”
Angus nodded, the action slow and deliberate. “I suspected I’d pushed you too hard. I encouraged you to let go of Achilles Rise and then everything seemed to go wrong for you.”
“No.” Hana shook her head, the fear of the blonde man returning for the first time in days. “That’s nothing to do with my relationship with Logan. It started before I met him.”
Angus leaned closer, his breath soft on her face. “But it intensified after.”
Hana gaped and her breath locked in her chest. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Angus seized her wrist and forced her into a twirl beneath his arm. A sharp pain ran up Hana’s arm and the partial healing felt undone. When she crashed back into his chest with a cry, he looked sorry. “Apologies,” he said, his eyes flashing a warning. “Be careful, Hana. If you ever need help, you know where I am.”
Hana opened her mouth and gaped at him in shock, unable to find the right words. Angus clicked his heels together and bowed like a fine Scottish gentleman. Then he left her standing in the centre of the dance floor alone.
Pete spotted the vacancy and boogied across to her, poking a finger up his bulbous nose. When he reached out for Hana, she pushed his hand away. “Don’t even think about it!” she snapped.
“Liza dumped me.” Pete shimmied his hips and looked ready to lay an egg. Hana took a step back. “She terrifies me,” he added.
Hana nodded and looked around for Logan, seeing him standing next to his brother. Liza Du Rose hovered nearby as though waiting for an audience. Anger flitted across her attractive features.
Hana watched the strobe lighting twist and turn on the parquet at her feet and wondered if Angus’ behaviour reflected jealousy. She’d escaped widowhood and he remained stuck in it alone. Pete continued to gyrate in front of her and a sudden tug on Hana’s dress made her start. She looked into the eyes of her new grandson as he stared up at her, arms outstretched. “Dance?” he demanded, bouncing from foot to foot in anticipation.
“I’m figuring you hit the buffet table again?” Hana smiled at his eagerness. Jas grinned back through a mouth which bore the unmistakable signs of chocolate. A dribble of cola ran into the sauce stain on his shirt.
“I didn’t hit nothing,” his said, his expression showing fake affront. “It’s naughty.”
Hana bopp
ed and shook with him for the next few minutes until he went a disgusting shade of pale green and clapped his hand over his mouth. At the perfect moment, Amy arrived and hastened him off to find a bathroom before the inevitable happened. They reappeared a while later with Jas looking better. He sat on his mother’s knee and fell asleep.
Hana danced with numerous guests, all wanting to know the fine details of her relationship with Logan. Henrietta slapped her on the back and sent her sprawling into Pete. “I didn’t know you’d met Logan in London!” she yelled over the music. “How romantic.”
“Yes, very.” Hana picked herself up and staggered to the side of the dance floor. Her gaze roved the room for Logan and she saw him in deep discussion with his sister. His face displayed anger and Hana cringed and avoided them. She observed her son as he sat next to Amy. Hurt and confusion marred her green eyes. The existence of the little boy ached like a raw wound, reminding her of the huge chunk of his life she’d missed. “Tonight isn’t the right time,” she whispered to herself.
“Pardon?” Logan’s kiss on her neck made her jump and Hana turned.
“Your sister hates me.” Her brows narrowed in fear and Logan stroked her cheek.
“Liza likes nobody. Don’t let her bother you.” Soft fingers on her shoulder caressed the line of Hana’s dress and she sighed, pleasure reminding her nothing else mattered.
“Happy wedding day, beautiful.” Logan’s gentle kiss alighted on her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her and breathed out a contented sigh. “Who’s the wee boy with Bodie?”
“Tell you later.” Hana’s reply sounded guarded. Logan leaned back to study the sadness in her face.
“Okay,” he whispered, not needing to see the flash of warning in her eyes to know to leave the subject alone. “What do you want? Food or dance?” His easy smile pulled Hana from her turmoil.
“I’d love a glass of wine, please,” she asked.
Hana danced with Alfred and accepted his kiss. “Welcome to the insane branch of the Du Rose family, kōtiro.”
“Thank you for the party,” Hana replied. “I feel guilty for the deception.” She waved her arm to take in the beautifully decorated ballroom.
Alfred laughed. “Logan rang at the start of last week. We thought he wanted to throw youse a birthday party. We’ve even got a gift.”
Hana’s face flushed in shame as she muttered thanks. “It is my birthday in a few days’ time,” she reassured him.
Alfred leaned in and whispered, “Miriam sensed something was goin’ on. She’s been excited ever since the boy phoned. And she liked you when Logan brought youse home.” His face darkened. “She thought she’d messed somethin’ up for him.”
Hana gulped and her face paled, remembering the awkward conversation. Alfred cocked his head at her imperceptible nod. “Logan knew things about me I didn’t expect,” she said, her voice wavering. “It took me by surprise.” She banished the vision of the fourteen-year-old Logan, feeling a flush of desire as she caught his gaze across the crowded room. Logan’s lips tilted upwards on one side and he winked.
Hana pouted, offering her husband a pair of sensual lips ripe for kissing. Pete’s head popped up midpoint between them and his eyes widened at Hana’s intercepted offer of intimacy. “Oh,” he said, looking wrong-footed. “What about Henrietta and Logan?”
Hana snorted and Alfred asked her if she felt okay. “I’m fine thanks,” she replied. “But Logan wants me for a moment.” She excused herself and walked across the room towards her new husband. The thought of being one of a pair gave her immense pleasure. Logan met her half way and pulled her into his arms.
“Hey, babe. My bro’ and big sis want to meet you officially.” He turned Hana towards the imposing Du Roses and led her forward. Her walk slowed and she eyed the carbon copies of Logan, overwhelmed by their height and grace. Nervousness robbed her of thinking time between the questions Logan’s sister fired at her and Hana spluttered out answers like she stood in a witness box.
Intimidating and abrupt, Liza cross examined her, grey eyes filled with venom. She leaned in close to Hana. “We thought we’d come to check you out. We didn’t realise he’d already married you.” She made no attempt at pleasantries. “If you hurt him, I’ll make you sorry!”
Hana’s eyes widened and she took a step back, the night tilting out of control at an alarming rate. She saw no twinkle in the grey eyes, no hint of joking in the austere features. Liza meant every word. Hana chose not to pursue the conversation, gripping Logan’s fingers in hers and facing his brother instead. Liza’s eyes bored into the side of Hana’s face. A power dresser, she resembled Miriam in her facial features. She reached a long arm across Hana and ruffled Logan’s hair, treating him as the little brother and staking her claim against Hana. “You only just met me,” Hana whispered. “You can’t have formed a judgement already!”
“Oh, can’t I?” Liza spoke without moving her lips or teeth, creating an action filled with menace. Hana’s righteous indignation died an instant death and when Logan went to fetch another drink, Liza hit her with another barrage of pointed questions.
“What do you actually do for a living?”
“How did your first husband die?”
“Did he leave you well provided for?”
“What’s your interest in my brother?”
There seemed no end to Liza’s inquisition and the questions became more personal. Hana’s snippy retorts stumbled from her lips without effect because if Liza realised she’d offended her, she didn’t care.
Hana paused mid-sentence, trying to avoid discussing her financial solvency with a stranger. Logan pushed a glass of red wine into her fingers and blocked Liza. “Leave it!” he commanded. Animosity oozed from his flashing eyes and Hana caught a whiff of what brewed beneath the guise of happy families. She felt the tension in them both hike to frightening proportions and it made her head ache.
“You’re being a fool!” Liza spat and Logan widened his eyes in warning.
“I know what I’m doing,” he hissed. Liza pouted and the salvo of inappropriate questions stemmed. The look she gave Logan alerted Hana to some reason beneath her questioning.
“Don’t come crying to me when she’s ruined you!” she spat and moved off towards the buffet table.
Hana opened her mouth to demand an explanation from Logan but Michael stepped forward and engaged her in conversation. From the corner of her eye, Hana watched Logan struggle for control, his body ramrod straight next to hers. “I understand you work at a secondary school.” Affability flowered in Michael Du Rose’s face and Hana relaxed. A natural flirt, he diminished her anxiety and drew her into the conversation. Liza’s barb loosened its grip and Michael’s easy nature smoothed away the discomfort. Only Logan failed to let go, watching his brother through suspicious, narrowed eyes.
“Where do you work?” Hana asked.
Michael’s handsome face broke into a smile. Broader than Logan, they otherwise resembled a matched pair side by side. But where Logan seemed dark and brooding, Michael behaved with open friendliness. “I’ve worked at Auckland’s Emergency Room for the last ten years. I decided to go into medicine when I was twelve.” His eyes flicked towards Logan and back to Hana. “I held someone’s intestines in their split guts with my hands and enjoyed the adrenaline rush.” He threw his head back and laughed but Hana cringed.
“That sounds painful,” she said, siding with the victim. “Did they recover?”
Michael smirked and nodded. “Yeah. Lost a few metres of it but they recovered.”
Hana shivered. “That’s a horrid work story. My worst one is probably a paper cut.”
Michael laughed again and Hana’s smile drooped at the sight of Liza returning.
“Hey sis,” he said to Liza as she pulled a sausage roll apart with her fingers. “How’s life out at Mission Bay?”
“Fine,” she grunted, feeding the crumbled remains through painted lips. Michael winked at Hana, hi
s grey eyes sizing her up. Something about the look made the breath stutter in her chest. She knew in that moment he’d traded a wedding band for a steady procession of conquests. It made her nervous. Plainly used to dealing with drunks and rowdy, injured parties, he placated Liza with a well-timed question about her latest case and turned her attention away from Hana.
Logan inclined his head in a look of gratitude and pulled her away with a firm hand in the small of her back. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I should’ve realised she’d go in for the kill.”
“Why?” Hana’s eyes widened in fear and the answer met her in Logan’s eyes. “Oh. Because of Caroline?”
Logan inhaled as an irritated snort. “Please, let’s not talk about her today.”
Hana nodded in agreement but the Du Rose family dynamic perplexed her. She gleaned from the short but painful conversation with Liza that she and Caroline Marsh were friends. It rattled her. A family connection to Logan hindered her ability to expunge the woman from their lives and gave Caroline a reason to stick around. She wished for Rory’s return like a shopaholic craving shoes. Caroline might remain at the school, but at least she’d leave Hana’s office.
She cast around the room, looking for familiar faces and confused when she didn’t see them. “Where’s Rory and Sheila?” she asked, peering into the strobing gloom.
Logan halted at the edge of the dance floor. “I invited them.” He shrugged. “I called Rory and he said they’d come.”
“That’s weird.” Hana narrowed her brows. “Sheila loves a good party. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“Hana, Hana, dance with me?” Pete snatched up her arm and whisked her away from Logan. She managed to hand over the wine glass before Pete yanked her back into the throng of dancers. She realised too late he hadn’t offered out of any desire to spend time with her, but because a member of the sports department frolicked behind them with Henrietta. Both looked worse for wear.
