by Abby Green
‘She was dreaming up names and was all excited and hanging out for a ring and I didn’t want to know a thing about it.’ He’d withdrawn and gone remote on her rather than admitting how he felt. Certainly hadn’t dropped down on one knee instantly as she’d seemed to expect he would. ‘It was a crazy time. I was working all hours negotiating this deal …’ That was no excuse; he should have been just a little more interested. But the fact was he’d been wanting out of the relationship for a while already. He just hadn’t got round to breaking off with her—too busy to be bothered. And he was still too busy to be able to think it through properly—he’d just avoided the issue for a while. Tried to pretend it wasn’t real, tried to swallow the guilt that came with that.
‘What happened?’
‘She was mistaken. There was no baby.’ She’d been late, that was all. When she’d told him, with red-rimmed eyes and a catch in her throat, he’d been so relieved and he hadn’t been able to hide it from her. That was when she’d lost it—screamed at him about how selfish he was, how unsupportive, that his heart only beat for his business. And she’d been right. He hadn’t wanted her or the baby or any of it. It had got really ugly then, and in the course of the argument Liz had slipped up.
It wasn’t that she’d been late at all. She’d made it up—there had never been the possibility of a pregnancy. She’d tried to manipulate him—cornering him just as he was about to come into vast wealth. And she’d done it in such a low fashion—because even though he’d known it probably wouldn’t work, his integrity would have insisted that he try. He’d have married her and she knew it. It was just that he hadn’t come to the party soon enough for her to get away with it. Whether she’d wanted him or the money he didn’t know—he suspected the latter.
He’d been viciously angry then and vowed never to be put in the same position again. No woman would wield that threat over him. He didn’t want it—marriage, babies—not ever.
‘She met someone else not long after.’ He dragged out a cynical smile, feeling sorry for the poor bastard she’d netted. ‘She married him, has a kid or two. She’s happy.’ She’d got what she’d wanted.
And he was happy too, right? Happy with his choices and with his freedom to focus on his work and on fun.
The silence was long. Bella was looking at him, expression clouded. He felt bad—the bitterness that Liz had left him with wasn’t for her. This hadn’t been her fault—it had been his irresponsibility. He’d broken his own rules, he hadn’t played safe—and he should have stopped fooling with her a week ago.
‘I’m sorry, Bella.’ He met her gaze squarely. ‘I should never have put you in danger.’ He didn’t want to treat her badly, and he probably would have.
‘I put myself there too, remember?’ She looked away, stood. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I’m a bit tired.’
He stood too. ‘You OK? Comfortable? Need a painkiller or anything?’
She shook her head, a sad smile twisting her lips. He knew what she was wondering—if he felt the same about this baby-that-wasn’t, if he had the same antipathy towards the idea. But he couldn’t answer her, couldn’t bear to think on it because it was hurting him more than he’d ever thought it could. And what hurt more was the realisation that she’d been right. He was a coward.
He watched her go. For the first time feeling as if he’d missed out on everything.
It had started out as the party from hell. The house had been tiny. The wind had meant there was no way they could be outside. The stereo system had failed. And there had been the most hideous boyfriend of one of the mothers who’d hit on Bella before she’d even got all the way up the path.
She’d worked hard to turn it around for the poor kid. Wished the audience of adults would just go away so she could have some fairy fun with the wee ones. In the end it had been good old-fashioned bubbles that had saved it—as she’d made big ones they’d spotted the rainbows in them. And then she’d read them the tale of the unicorn and the temporary tattoos had come out and the face paints and the magic of make-believe.
Bella parked Bubbles in the garage and braced herself. The week had gone quickly and she still hadn’t moved out. Still hadn’t the strength to leave the man she ached to love.
Now, with the payment from this party, she had no more excuses. She could give him at least some of the money she owed and get out. She’d phone her father for the rest to start afresh. It was best, because now she’d thought about it, she knew she wanted the whole marriage and kids bit. She couldn’t live with less. So she needed to get away and over him.
He wasn’t waiting to pounce on her the minute she walked back in. Instead he lifted his head from the paper he was reading in his big chair, took one look and frowned at her.
‘Didn’t it go so good?’
She sighed. ‘It was OK. But the house was tiny—and I mean tiny. And they’d invited twelve kids and all their parents were there.’
It made her skin itchy just thinking about it—all that close contact with complete strangers. The kids were OK. It was the adults who grossed her out. And she simply couldn’t perform to her best in an environment like that.
He shoved his paper to the floor and stood. ‘Actually I’ve been thinking about you and your parties.’ He paused, then words seemed to tumble from him. ‘Why don’t you use some of the space downstairs? You could do it up and get all the kids to come here. It would save you from lecherous uncles.’
Bella stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ He’d never want that—would he?
‘No. It might as well be used for something. It’ll get other prospective tenants off my back and it’ll only be used part of the time. During the week when my guys are in upstairs it’ll be quiet.’
‘Isn’t it a waste of your resource?’
‘It’s mine to waste.’ He shrugged. ‘And it’ll only be part of it. Still room for a restaurant if I ever want one.’
Oh, my, she thought as he winked. That sparkle was back and his expression was lighter and Bella felt herself falling once more, mesmerised by his vibrancy.
‘I’d have to decorate it,’ she said, half dazed. ‘I don’t have the money.’
‘I’ll loan you. Start-up costs. You can pay me back once you’re up and running. You’ll make it back in no time.’
She shook her head, stopped thinking completely. This was crazy.
‘Bella.’ He stepped near her. ‘This is what you’re good at. This is what you love. Every time you do a party you come home with bookings for at least one or two more. You’re a wonderful entertainer. This is what you’re meant to do.’
The idea was so tempting. Her own party space. She’d never even thought of it before. And she’d have such fun designing the venue … Unstoppable ideas swirled through her head.
He was grinning at her, as if he knew.
She inhaled deeply, shook her head. ‘Owen, I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Because things were complicated between them. She didn’t want this to be his latest idea that he’d set up and then skip on to the next. They weren’t together any more—were they? She really needed to get over him and on with her life. ‘I need to get out and find a new flat. I can’t stay here for ever.’
There was another non-committal shrug. ‘Maybe, but there’s plenty of time for that. Why not focus on building a business first? You could do the food too, couldn’t you?’
Of course she could—standing on her head. More ideas teased her—of menus and fun things and dreams and fantasies.
‘Tell you what.’ He kept talking. ‘Why don’t you just take a segment downstairs and paint it? See what you think. It might not be right as there isn’t an outdoor area. It might not work out at all.’
But it would work out. No outdoors didn’t matter, not if she created a grotto indoors. And she knew she could do that. And if they built a pirate ship the kids could climb up it and hunt for treasure and … and …
She looked at him. He was acting so casually
about this. And yet, in his own way, he was pushing it. Batting away her arguments with a shrug and his usual ‘of course you can’ attitude. What was his real agenda? Was there anything more to this than a simple offer of help?
Her mind—and heart—leapt to the most blissful conclusion. Was this his way of keeping her in his life? On the terms that he could handle?
Probably not, she scoffed at herself. This was just his latest obsession. And once it was set up he’d be onto something else. She was looking everywhere for anything. But the little bubble of hope wouldn’t be popped. She’d keep on hoping, keep on dreaming. Maybe, just maybe, he’d wake up to the fact that there was more between them than either of them could have imagined. Or was it just her imagination going overtime again?
‘Come on, let’s go look at it now.’ He took her arm, half dragging her down the stairs. The space was huge.
‘We could partition it off.’ He stood, arms stretched out marking imaginary walls.
‘I’d have to get consents.’ Her trailing footsteps echoed. ‘There’d be building work to be done. I’d have to buy so much stuff.’
‘Yeah, but wouldn’t it be great?’ His eyes were shining so damn attractively. No wonder he was successful—he could make anyone believe in anything. Passionate, enthusiastic, energetic.
‘Look—’ he dragged her over to one corner ‘—you could have a little shop next door here selling things—like the fairy dresses and the tattoos and glittery stuff. And you could paint a mural—throw in a few tigers.’
She was amazed. ‘You’ve really thought about this.’
‘Sure.’
She could have different themed parties—art, beading, pirates, jungles, teddy bears’ picnics—the list was endless. His enthusiasm infected her—bubbling through her veins.
‘Owen.’ She was shaking her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile.
He smiled back at her. And then he stepped closer, his hands on her arms. She only needed to take a step forward to touch him—and she wanted to touch him so much.
‘Think about it,’ he said softly.
She was. She read the offer deep within him. On a plate he was handing her everything she could ever want—anything material. But what she really wanted wasn’t a tangible thing. And he didn’t think he had it to give. But he did—and so badly she wanted him to give it to her. She was a fool, such a fool, but his blue eyes shone even more brilliantly and she couldn’t ever say no—not when he looked at her like that.
He whispered again. ‘I’m going to kiss you, Bella. So if you don’t want me to, you better speak up now.’
Pure, deep, hopeless longing overcame her, rendering her silent, waiting and so willing for whatever he wanted.
But it wasn’t the fiercely passionate kiss she expected. It was soft and sweet and so gentle. He stepped closer, his hands lifting to frame her face—so tender. She felt her eyes prickle. She closed them quickly and the bliss simply increased. It rushed from both her toes and the tip of her head—meeting in the middle of her, expanding, taking over the beating of her heart.
Suddenly, somehow, they were on the floor and he’d rolled, pulling her on top, protecting her from the cold, dusty concrete.
‘This is bad,’ she breathed. ‘This is where the kids will be playing.’
‘No kids here now. Only a couple of adults. Consenting.’
‘Oh, yes.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
BELLA was dusting the shelves at the café the next morning, mentally choosing paint colours, when she heard the beep of her mobile. She pulled it from her pocket. Didn’t recognise the number. She didn’t recognise the voice either—fortunately the woman said she was calling from Take One Agency… .
Oh, God. The audition. Just over a week ago and frankly she’d forgotten it. It had been the day she’d had that massive argument with Owen.
‘I’m pleased to be able to offer you the part of …’
Bella tuned out—entering shock. She was being offered a part on a national touring show.
‘Rehearsals start in Christchurch next week …’
She’d be paid. A full-time job as an actress—in a musical theatre production. Excitement flooded through her. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t wait to get home and tell Owen.
Owen.
She pulled up short. Owen—who was probably designing her a pirate ship this very minute. Owen—who was probably the reason why she’d got the job in the first place. Owen—who had made her so mad she’d gone into that audition all guns blazing and uncaring of the consequences. Owen—who had never made fun of her parties, but who made everything matter.
She had to leave him. Leave the business—while it was still a seed, just a fragment of a dream. For one wild moment she wanted to turn down the part. Pretend it hadn’t happened. But as she listened to the woman warble on about the details she knew she couldn’t. This was it, her shot at the big time. Do well in this and she could springboard to other, bigger, better shows.
Sydney, London, New York … Her imagination ballooned.
But there was Owen. And she wanted Owen. And she’d thought if she had a little more time, she might show Owen how much he had to offer—and not just in the money sense. But it probably was for the best, because that was the fantasy, wasn’t it? Her winning him. She’d soon know anyway. She’d tell him about the part, see how he reacted. Then she’d know for sure if this was still just sex or something else entirely. She spent the afternoon totally excited, totally nervous, totally torn.
She raced home, but he wasn’t there and she paced round the big space. Not sure how to tell him. How to act. But when he finally appeared the thrill, the disbelief, the pride all bubbled out of her.
‘I got the part, I got the part!’ She ran to him, her smile and arms wide.
He caught her, sweeping them both into the embrace, lifting and spinning her, grinning hugely.
‘What part?’ he asked when her toes touched the floor again.
‘On the show.’
‘What show?’ He laughed.
‘It’s not the lead or anything,’ she clarified. ‘But it is a minor character. Well, quite a major minor character actually. And I do understudy the lead, which means in some matinees I’ll be the lead.’
He was still laughing. ‘This is fantastic. Which theatre? When?’
Her smile suddenly felt a little stiff. ‘It’s a travelling show.’
‘Travelling?’ His hands loosened.
She took her full weight, brushed a stray bit of hair back behind her ear and blurted it all. ‘Rehearsals are in Christchurch. The show starts there and then tours. If the New Zealand tour is successful, then it’ll go to Australia.’
‘Wow.’ He was still grinning as he stepped away. ‘Wow.’
He went straight to the fridge and pulled out a bottle. ‘This calls for a celebration, right?’
The cork fired right across the room, bubbles frothed. She watched as he poured, staring at the label. Good grief, she’d only ever seen that sort of champagne in the pages of posh magazines.
‘Yeah,’ she said slowly. Had he known a celebration was in order?
He handed her a glass. ‘When do you go?’
‘Later this week.’
‘How long do you rehearse for?’
‘Almost six weeks, I think. Then the tour starts. I don’t know how long that’ll be ultimately.’
He was all questions; she had no time to think of anything but the answers. It was a good twenty minutes before they quietened.
‘You did it,’ he said softly, smiling.
‘I did.’ She still couldn’t believe it—any of it. Especially that she’d be leaving, right when things were getting interesting. She finally broached the subject. ‘I’m really sorry about not using the space downstairs.’
‘Oh. Don’t worry about it. It was just an idea. I have lots of them.’ He grinned.
Her heart ached. He really didn’t mind.
‘You’ll have to phone and tell
your family.’
She paused. ‘Not yet.’ She’d see how it went first—make sure it was a complete success that she could be proud of. And she was still nervous about contacting Vita. Her sister was too good at prying and she’d want to do a post-mortem over what had happened on Waiheke.
‘This is great,’ he said. ‘This is really good.’
She supposed it was. An easy, clean finish for him. She’d been the one building dream castles. Seeing them shatter, hurt.
Owen could see the shadows entering her eyes and steeled himself not to give in. His heart was breaking—just as he’d found he had one. But he could not do it. He could see the question in her face and he refused to answer it. He was not going to give her the out. He was not going to hold onto her only to have her resent him for it in—what?—six months or a year’s time. He was not going to ruin it for her.
She had to go. And she had to go utterly free of him. So he talked it up, went on about how exciting it was, how wonderful. She was finally going to realise her dreams. And not once did he mention how it was tearing him apart inside. Not once did he mention how much he wanted her to stay—to choose him. He gave her no choice. Because he knew that right now, inside, she cared for him. But she deserved to have her chance. For a moment there he’d thought they could have it all, but fate had decided it for both of them. The champagne tasted bitter. He’d put it in the fridge to celebrate something else entirely. He’d been going to cast off the coward label and embrace the risk—of emotion and responsibility—just as she’d challenged. Only now he was forced into a far more brave action—letting her go. The irony of it all really sucked.
Bella didn’t take time off work. Nor did Owen. In some ways it was a relief. She worked the last two days at the café totally on auto. They had pizza one night, Thai the next. Before she knew it, it was the last night. She was flying. He’d insisted. Reckoned he’d got a cheap deal on the Internet. She’d let him. It beat the ferry and bus option. She was always sick on the ferry.
They’d talked and teased and joked their way through sex. And it had always been wonderful and fun. But this was no joke. She was making love to him for the last time and then she was leaving.
