by Nikki Logan
‘No.’ He expelled a frustrated breath slowly. ‘They won’t buy that for a minute. They know me.’
Finally! The voice of reason …
‘I’m thinking we met in Melbourne last year,’ he fabricated, ‘where you were finishing your gap year …’
‘I’ve never been to Melbourne. And I never had a gap year.’ Not that he’d asked.
‘And then we bumped into each other in London. Went out a few times, for old times’ sake. One thing led to another.’
She frowned. ‘And then you proposed?’
He shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m a passionate guy.’
‘Uh-huh. And you never mentioned me to your family, this wonderful girl you met in Melbourne that drove you to such acts of passion? They won’t find that strange?’
‘Actually, I did meet a girl in Melbourne last year. Just not you. But they won’t know that.’
That shut her up. How stupid was she not to have considered he might have a girlfriend tucked away somewhere? A girlfriend who would be crushed when her man came home with a pregnant bride in tow. God, could this get any more complicated?
‘Oh, no … Will she—’
He waved away the concern. ‘She’s history.’
Literally? Or only now, since he unexpectedly had other plans? But if he wasn’t the type to join the Mile High Club, then hopefully he wasn’t the type to so carelessly dispose of a human being. Despite what he’d threatened back in the hospital.
She took a head-clearing breath. ‘So Melbourne, then. Last year. Party? Football? Pub?’
‘I’m thinking somewhere more suitable for a woman of your … breeding.’ Somehow he made the word more of an insult. ‘Flemington. The Melbourne Cup. The races seems more credible, don’t you think?’ His lip almost curled.
Bel frowned. ‘I have no idea. I’ve never been.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve never been to a horse race?’
‘Barbaric sport.’
‘But you’re a Chelsea girl.’
She shrugged. ‘So?’
‘Polo?’
A polo match, she had attended. But only one. ‘Polo’s vaguely more humane. But rather dull.’
‘So I guess fox-hunting is out of the question? Steeplechase?’
She gave him the look. ‘Okay this isn’t getting us anywhere. How about we just rule out the animal-based sports altogether? Won’t your family find it difficult to believe that both their sons should happen to meet a Rochester? In a country this size?’
He studied her closely. ‘Which is why we won’t be using your real name. What’s your middle name?’
‘Ah, no. Not going to happen.’
He leaned forward. Scenting a kill. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t like it. Can’t I just make something up?’
‘No. What is it?’
‘None of your business.’ Of course she could just lie and he wouldn’t be any the wiser but there was something about his serious grey regard. The way he just … stared. He lifted one eyebrow.
‘Oh, fine. It’s Belaqua.’
He stared at her. ‘Belinda Belaqua …’
‘You see my concern?’
He frowned. ‘Sounds like a porn star.’
She was too stunned that he’d cracked a joke to be seriously offended. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’ll have to pick something else.’
She searched around in her subconscious. ‘Depp?’
‘Be serious.’
‘Pitt.’
‘Belinda …’
She wasn’t prepared for the kick-in-the-ribs that her name on his lips would bring. And she couldn’t blame Drew for this one—he’d only ever called her Bel. How did someone as disagreeable as Flynn manage to make seven letters sound so … gorgeous? She smiled overly brightly. ‘Clooney, then.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Belinda Clooney. Okay, that sounds vaguely possible. But only because my parents live in a Country’n’Western bubble and barely go to the movies. And we’ll spell it with a “u”.’
There it went again … Her heart, tumbling like a pair of knickers in the dryer just because of the way he said her first name. She fought it valiantly with her weapon of choice—flippancy. ‘You have a bit of the George about you, actually.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Mostly in the forehead. Your smile. Though you have your brother’s eyes …’ The moment the words were out she regretted them. They caused such a deep sorrow in his expression, she yearned for the flat, dead look to return.
He cleared his throat. ‘If you want to get specific, we both have my nan’s eyes.’
The sorrow was replaced with patent affection. It made him seem more human. Just marginally. ‘Will I meet her? Your nan?’
‘You’ll do more than meet her. You’ll be living with her for the first while, at least until we can get hitched.’
Bel froze. ‘You’re offloading me on your grandmother?’ After dragging her all this way?
The look he gave her then was strange. Sad and baffled at the same time. ‘Drew really didn’t tell you anything about us, huh?’
‘Maybe Gwen didn’t want him to. We’ll never know.’ She pointlessly stirred her coffee. Just for something to occupy her suddenly weak fingers.
‘I live with Nan and Pop and my parents on Bunyip’s Reach.’
Bel frowned. ‘What? Like a commune?’
His laugh then was immediate and, for once, entirely sarcasm free. ‘It’s not a commune. It’s called a family. And the Reach is one hundred and seventy acres.’
Her frown continued. ‘You all live together?’ In her family that was inconceivable. She’d left home at seventeen. Moved into the tiny flat her grandmother had left her as part of an inheritance.
‘Well, no. I have my own place in a private croft. It’s only small but it was built for Drew and I to share when we got older. You’ll be staying with my family.’
‘But they’re complete strangers!’ Except that they were also going to be the grandparents and great-grandparents of the babies she carried … Her hand slipped to her belly.
‘So am I.’
That was true enough. Yet somehow he seemed so … not. Was it because he reminded her of Drew? ‘Better the devil you know and all that. Why can’t I just move straight in with you?’
He turned both hands upwards as though it was the most evident thing in the world. ‘Because we’re not married.’
She blinked at him. ‘They’re going to find out soon enough that I’m pregnant. I think they’ll know we’ve been sleeping together.’
Fictionally … Fictionally.
His eyes grew cold again. ‘Assuming you are pregnant. We won’t marry until we have absolute confirmation of that. What would be the point?’
Right. Because, if she wasn’t, then warp technology wouldn’t get her out of here quick enough. On that they were both agreed.
She shifted forwards in her seat. ‘So, let me just clarify … I lie about my name. I lie about how and when I met you. I lie about how I got up the duff. I lie about marrying you. And then, later, when the court case is resolved, I just confess all to your family and trust they’ll have a good laugh?’
His lips tightened again. ‘It’s not like I thought this through. If you recall, my hand was rather forced by circumstance.’
She gaped. ‘You were forced? I didn’t see anyone holding the lives of two small babies to ransom to get you to comply. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t march into your family’s house and tell them exactly who I am and exactly why I’ve come?’
He leaned in closer. ‘Because my family hates yours. You wouldn’t be welcome.’
That took her aback. ‘What?’
‘My family does not have the fondest feelings for the Rochesters.’
‘But they’ve never met us. They’ve only met—’ Instantly, her hackles rose. They didn’t like Gwen. Her beautiful, courageous sister. The desire to defend was overwhelming. ‘So that’s where you g
et your judgemental bent from—your parents?’
‘Judgemental?’ he snorted. ‘This coming from the woman who looked at me like I was filthier than the mud on my boots back in the hospital.’
She stumbled again. She could hardly tell him that the earth on his boots was the only reason she hadn’t given him both barrels of what-for. She fought the conversation back on track.
‘So they won’t like me, big deal. Although lying is just one more thing for them to hate me for later.’ His glance was steady and a tiny little lightbulb came on somewhere far back in her mind. She narrowed her eyes. ‘But you don’t care about that, do you?’
He pushed his lower lip out and paused. Was he debating whether to tell her the truth or not? ‘Not particularly, no. You’ll be back in England, so what does it matter?’
‘Then why on earth do you imagine I’ll play along with this ridiculous charade?’
‘Because you lost your sister the way my mother lost her favourite son. And because finding out that son had children that she could never hold would be like ripping her heart out all over again.’
Bel had truly loved her brother-in-law—despite the secrets Drew had apparently been keeping. He’d been everything she could have wished for her sister, and the sort of man she secretly wished for herself. It was hard not to sympathise with a mother so deeply wounded by the loss of such a man.
‘So if the court ruled in your favour, what would you do?’ she asked.
‘When the court rules in my favour I’ll tell my parents the truth.’
‘And when it doesn’t?’
‘Then I’ll tell them nothing. You and I will just break up and you’ll head back to England.’
There was no way she knew him well enough to even begin asking this kind of question but she asked him anyway. ‘What makes you think losing your children would hurt them less than losing Drew’s?’
His eyes held steady, though they grew guarded and he considered her for an age before finally answering. ‘Past experience.’ But then they flicked away and when they returned they’d gone back to carefully neutral. ‘You can send photos every birthday. Which is more than we got from Drew.’
She hissed out a controlled breath. ‘Okay, enough with the surly hinting. If there’s something you want to say about—’
Her words were interrupted by the shrill call of his mobile phone. He flipped it open without apology. ‘Hey.’ He took a deep breath and listened. ‘Yep. We’ll be there shortly.’ Whoever was on the other end asked a question. He lifted his eyes and looked at Bel. ‘Yes, “we”. I’ll explain when I see you. Can you check that the guest room is clear of Dad’s fishing stuff? Thanks, Mum.’ Another pause. ‘Love you.’
He muttered that last one on a half-turn away from her. So the man loved his mother. No big news there—look at the lengths he was going to protect her from further hurt. But that didn’t make him a saint. Unless the definition had changed considerably.
‘So do we have an agreement?’ His eyes were uncompromising again.
‘Agreement implies there was a negotiation. So far all you’ve done is outline all the lies I’m expected to tell.’
‘I’ve already agreed to your terms.’
‘What terms?’
‘I won’t be touching you. On pain of dismemberment.’
‘That was to get me to come here, not to lie shockingly to the people putting me up. Besides, you’ve just finished telling me how much you loathe the Rochesters. I’m not feeling at particular risk of sudden and erupting passion on your part. The no-touching rule is nowhere near a decent trade.’
‘What do you want, then?’
She considered him.
One year. That was what he was asking. Less if the court case was settled quickly or the babies didn’t take. Not a lifetime. Not forever. This was the gap year down under she’d never had. With free room and board. Far from all the friends and family who would take issue with what she’d decided to do about Gwen and Drew’s embryos. Ironically, he was offering her a haven until the damage—as her parents would undoubtedly see it—was well and truly done. When she flew home it would be with living human beings in tow, the most done of done-deals. Non-commutable.
Or she could fly home with no one if things didn’t go her way.
More alone than ever.
She had her posse of lawyers working hard for her back in the UK—there was nothing she needed to do that they couldn’t ask her via email. Her job was to get these two little beings past the first trimester successfully. And she could do that anywhere—might as well be on a commune in the Australian alps. Regardless of how many strings were attached.
She settled more comfortably in her seat. A total act. ‘As soon as I work out what I want I’ll let you know. For now, you’ll just have to owe me one.’
He laughed, but it wasn’t happy. ‘Why would I agree to something that unspecified?’
‘Because you have more to lose than me. I don’t know your family. Hurting them wouldn’t really hurt me at all.’
Brutal, but true.
He stared at her, knowing when he was snookered. ‘I can see why you and my brother got on so well.’ He leaned in closer and nailed her with steely eyes. ‘When you come calling for that favour, Belinda, make it count. It’s the only one you’re going to get.’
No doubt. Flynn might have the same inherent personal charisma as his brother but it was nowhere like Drew’s charming, comfortable likeableness. He had this whole intense, surly, younger brother thing going on. It would be interesting to discover which of them was the black sheep. For her own sake, and the sake of the babies she hoped were taking root deep inside her, Bel really hoped it was Flynn—that comfortable and likeable were dominant Bradley traits. If she was putting herself—and her sister’s children—into the hands of people more like her own parents, then everything she’d fought for had no purpose.
The babies would have been better off going to strangers.
She sat up straight in her chair and pushed the half-drunk tea to one side. ‘Fine. I’ll play Belinda Cluney-with-a-u, frequenter of horse races and forgetter of birth control. Long enough for us to determine whether there’s any need to continue this farce.’ Then she lowered her voice. ‘But don’t for one moment think I don’t realise that this handy string of lies you want me to spout also conveniently gets you out of confessing your ugly part in this charade. The court case, the threats, the blackmail. How wounded would your family be if I told them that?’
His stormy eyes clouded over as he pushed his chair back and stood. ‘I’m sure they’d expect nothing less of me. Don’t imagine you’ve got valuable ammunition there.’
I’m sure they’d expect nothing less.
That flash of pain suggested maybe everything wasn’t quite as happy-family as she’d imagined over at the Bradley homestead. And while she should have been worrying about what she was walking into, for no good reason it actually made her feel fractionally better to know she wasn’t the only outcast in the world.
And that she wouldn’t be the only one working hard to fit in.
Fractionally enough that when Flynn slowed to let her exit the café ahead of him she didn’t flinch at his warm hand low on her back as they stepped back out into the fresh, vital air.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS still awkward four hours later as the entire Bradley family sat down for their evening meal and Bel slid into the empty place next to Flynn’s grandmother, Alice. Given they were a family of five and this tree-slab table had been built for six, Bel knew exactly whose spot she was in. Sitting in what must have been Drew’s seat gave her a welcome and surprising shot of comfort. Almost as if he was behind her, hands on her shoulders, backing her up silently.
‘Well, isn’t this nice?’ Denise Bradley said on a bright smile by way of breaking the awkward silence that had descended. ‘Belinda, what time does your body think it is right now?’
She glanced at the clock over the kitchen bench and did a quick bur
st of mental arithmetic and answered Flynn’s mother. ‘Actually, it’s not too bad—at home it would be just before lunch. So eating now feels quite normal.’
Flynn reached over from across the long table and helped himself to a healthy serving of everything, as did everyone else, but Bel held back. It would be tempting to blame the babies for her lack of appetite, but it was more related to her level of unease at being so far from her comfort zone—and the rapidly amassing pile of manure she was feeding these people. They’d welcomed her as though she was a long-anticipated and greatly-looked-forward-to guest, not a last minute, unheralded blow-in.
Lying to their faces in fact was much harder than lying to them in theory.
‘Do you come from a large family, dear?’ This from the older woman next to her.
‘Uh … no, just me and my—’ At the last second she realised she had no idea whether she was supposed to manufacture an entire family dynamic or not. She coughed to cover the verbal stumble and took a sip of water to buy herself some thinking time. But in that stolen moment she knew that Flynn could do all he wanted to pretend his brother didn’t exist but she wasn’t about to deny her sister. ‘There’s just two of us girls and my parents.’
In truth it had often just been the two girls while their parents had either been at some social soirée or out dining with the moneyed set.
She glanced up at Flynn, at the white grip of his knuckles as he spooned a large helping of mashed potato onto his plate, and realised how unhappy he was that they’d already stumbled into such dangerous territory.
Not that he was doing anything to help matters.
‘So tell me about the name of your property, Bill,’ she said, turning quickly to Flynn’s father. ‘Does it mean something?’
‘The Bunyip is one of Australia’s most legendary mythical beasts—’ Bill Bradley started in his deep Aussie accent and she could tell immediately that he was the story-teller in the family. Out of nowhere she had an image of him with a pair of small boys on his knees, making up wild stories about Bunyips and bush rangers.
‘What a load of rot,’ Flynn’s grandfather cut in, obviously a regular occurrence judging by the way no one reacted. ‘It’s for the tourists.’
