by Nicola Marsh
Mumbling a noncommittal response, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles, blanking her mind.
It didn’t work.
Her thoughts zoomed straight back to Ethan.
What was he thinking? Doing? Feeling?
It had taken all her limited supply of courage to see him again after she’d stormed out of Ambrosia the day she’d discovered Richard had a love child by his mistress.
But she’d had to—had to tell him the truth. She loved him, trusted him and, while he hadn’t said the words back, she now knew he was a man of action rather than words.
His admission, ripped from somewhere deep within, spoke volumes. He was a control freak and, for someone like him, this powerful yet nebulous emotion gripping her would be terrifying.
She understood. But it didn’t make the ache gripping her heart any easier, or eradicate the fruitless wish that he could’ve come with her. She hadn’t expected him to, would’ve argued if he’d suggested it, but that didn’t stop the constant yearning she had.
‘No good, no good.’
The woman pummelled her thigh muscles, lifted a leg and dropped it. ‘Too tense. You go, come back tomorrow.’
She opened her eyes, sat up, clutching the towel to her chest. ‘But I paid for an hour.’
The woman waved her away. ‘I will give you two hours tomorrow but today—useless. Your muscles—’ she banged the wooden table with a fist ‘—hard as this. Abhyanga not work for you today.’
She opened her mouth to protest again but the woman floated out of the room on a whirl of sari, leaving her cold and semi-naked and ruing her decision to have a massage to unwind.
Maybe she would come back tomorrow.
Then again, she had a feeling that nothing could help release the pent-up tension twisting her muscles into ropes of steel.
Nothing, apart from having Ethan arrive on her doorstep. And that just wasn’t going to happen.
He’d been here since daybreak every day for a week, watching the pale dawn bathe the marble monument in translucent light, staying until dusk when the purple streaks turned the Taj luminescent, grateful the law only allowed electric vehicles within ten kilometres of this stunning monument to avoid pollution staining it.
He’d traversed the place from end to end, lingering around the main gateway, oblivious to the beauty of the entwined red lotus flowers, leaves and vines motifs inlaid in semi-precious stones around the niche, always on the lookout.
He’d drifted past the red sandstone mosque on the western side of the Taj and the Taj Mahal Naggar Khana—Rest House—to the east, buoyed by hope.
He’d sat by the tranquil River Yamuna snacking on tiffin packed by the hotel, he’d strolled through the gardens, scanning the crowds for a glimpse of Tam.
Nothing.
An endless week where he’d scoured the Taj Mahal, a shadow to its greatness, drifting to every corner of the magnificent monument with the hope in his heart lending speed to his feet.
He’d walked. And walked. And walked.
Always on the lookout, his gaze darting every which way, following the hordes, desperate for a glimpse of long black hair and sparkling green eyes.
Still nothing.
While the flight details he’d obtained said she’d landed in Delhi, then hopped a train to Agra and hadn’t left again, Tam could be anywhere.
Maybe she’d changed her mind about haunting this place, had taken a train, a bus, to goodness knows where. Or she could be holed up in some ashram seeking higher guidance. Or planning a trek up Everest. Or back in Goa already.
Wherever she was, she wasn’t here.
He rubbed his eyes, refocused on the crowd heading towards the Taj. This was crazy. A waste of time.
He could spend a lifetime here and she still wouldn’t turn up.
This was the last hour.
Come tomorrow, he’d instigate phase two of his plan to track her down. In the meantime, he had one more lap of the grounds to complete.
Tamara’s breath caught at her first glimpse of the Taj Mahal, as it did every day she’d come here.
As the sun set the faintest pink blush stole across the marble, the highest dome a breathtaking silhouette against the dusk sky.
Despite the tourists milling around, snapping away, an instant sense of peace infused her and she headed for the back where the river flowed quietly on a familiar path as old as time.
That had been their favourite spot—hers and Ethan’s—and, while it may seem foolish, she knew she’d feel closer to him there.
Rounding the corner, she was almost mown down by a pair of rambunctious six-year-olds and, once they’d disentangled themselves, she brushed off her dusty trousers and set off for the river.
A lone figure stood on the banks. A man, dressed in khaki chinos and a white T-shirt. A man whose breadth of shoulders she’d recognise anywhere, whose casual stance, with hands thrust into pockets, heartrendingly familiar and, as the figure sensed her presence, turned, her belly clenched and tumbled with the overwhelming rush of recognition.
A surge of adrenaline urged her to run towards him but she’d done that before and he, despite her declaration, still hadn’t said he loved her.
He could be here for any number of reasons: scoping out another restaurant site, poaching another master chef, a business meeting.
However, as he strode towards her, long, hungry strides rapidly closing the distance between them, she knew he was here for none of those reasons.
The expression on his face told her why he’d come.
And the realisation took her breath away.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THEY stopped less than a foot apart, enveloped in uncharacteristic awkwardness.
Tamara didn’t know whether to hug him or strangle him—for making her love him, crave him, unable to forget him.
‘What are you doing here?’
Ethan smiled, his casual shrug pulling his cotton T-shirt across his shoulders in delicious detail. ‘Haunting this place in the hope of finding you.’
He’d come for her and her spirit soared.
‘Exactly how long have you been here?’
‘About a week.’
‘You’ve been here every day for a week? Are you nuts?’
‘Yeah.’ He stepped closer, swamping her in warmth and charisma and magic. ‘About you.’
Her heart swelled, filled to overflowing with love for this man. But it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was and she couldn’t get carried away because he’d arrived on her doorstep.
He was here but did he love her?
She needed to hear him say it, craved the words more than her next chai fix.
Trying to hide the cobra’s nest of nerves twisting and coiling in her belly, she took a step forward, slid her hand into his.
‘The feeling’s mutual.’ She squeezed his hand, knowing his presence here spoke louder than words ever could but needing to have everything out in the open for them to really move forward. ‘Do you know why I chose here to start my new life?’
His fingertips skated over her cheek, lingered on her jaw, before dropping to her shoulder, his touch firm and comforting, as always.
‘Because, when we were here, you said it made you feel safe. I get that now, your need for security.’
‘Do you? Do you really?’ Her gaze searched his, needing reassurance, desperate for it. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe in him. ‘Because I really needed to feel safe when I discovered the baby and you weren’t there for me.’
Shadows drifted across his eyes, turning them from startling blue to murky midnight. ‘I’m sorry.’
She accepted his apology but it didn’t cut it. Not now, after they’d shared so much, been through so much together.
‘Why did you shut me out?’
He squeezed her shoulder before releasing it, turning away and dragging a hand through his hair, but not before she’d seen something shocking on his face.
Shame.
Ethan Brooks, t
he man who had it all, was ashamed.
He dragged in a deep breath, another, before turning back to face her.
‘I didn’t want to have to tell you this—any of it.’
He was struggling, she could see it in the muscle twitching in his jaw, in his thinly compressed lips. Looked as if she wasn’t the only one with enough baggage to bring India’s railway system to a screeching halt.
‘Tell me. If nothing else, we’re still friends.’
His head reared up. ‘I want to be more than friends, damn it. I want—’
‘Then give us a chance.’ She softened her tone, touched his cheek. ‘Tell me.’
He raked his hand through his hair again, looking decidedly ruffled and adorable. ‘I’ve never told anyone this.’
She waited, wondering what could rattle him this badly.
‘I was jealous that day at Ambrosia, furious you were still hung up over Rich—’
‘But I’m not—’
‘If you are or aren’t doesn’t really excuse how I treated you. What really pushed my buttons was not being in control of the situation. And that’s something I don’t like, not being in control.’
‘You’ve told me. You’re a businessman, a successful one, it figures.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not the reason.’
He paused and she knew by the bleakness in his eyes that he was leading up to something big.
‘I used to be a street kid. Dumped by my mum when I was five, shoved from foster family to family, scrounged on the streets from the age of thirteen.’
Sorrow gripped her heart. ‘I had no idea, I’m so sorry.’
A wry smile twisted his mouth. ‘We’re doing a lot of that—apologising. Not real romantic, is it?’
‘This is about honesty.’
As for romance, it would come. Having him open up to her, knowing how much it cost him, told her they had a future—a great one.
‘And us.’ He scanned her face, searching for reassurance. ‘This has always been about us, Tam. I’m not telling you all this for any other reason than to give us a second chance.’
He cupped her chin, tipped it up. ‘Do you believe in second chances?’
‘You have to ask me that?’
Heck, she was the queen of second chances. She’d given Richard enough of them: after he’d stood her up the first time, after he’d blown her off for a restaurant opening, after she’d caught him groping a waitress within six months of their marriage.
Yet here was this incredibly honest man standing in front of her, his feelings shining bright in his eyes, asking her for a second chance? How loud could she scream yes without getting arrested?
Holding out her hand to him, she said, ‘Come on, let’s take a walk.’
‘That’s not exactly the answer I was hoping for.’
She smiled, recognising the instant he glimpsed the love in her eyes—for his eyes widened, all that dazzling blue focused on her.
‘I have so much I want to say to you but let’s go somewhere quieter.’
He glanced around, puzzlement creasing his brow. ‘You can’t get much quieter than this. The closest couple is twenty metres away.’
She tapped the side of her nose. ‘Trust me, I know somewhere quieter.’
Sliding his hand into hers, she sighed as his fingers intertwined with hers. This felt right, had always felt right from the first moment he’d held her hand at Colva Beach.
Leading him to the furthest corner of the garden, she pointed to a young cypress tree.
‘I’ve come here a few times over the last week. Seems I do my best thinking here.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘You’ve been here for a week too?’
‘I told you I would be. I just didn’t expect in my wildest dreams you’d be here too.’
He brushed the barest of kisses across her lips, her eyes welling at his tenderness, but she had to say this, had to make sure he knew where she was coming from.
She slipped her hand out of his, sank down and patted the ground next to her. ‘I also came here to think, to figure out some stuff. Seems like every second person in this country is intent on predicting my fortune. I can’t even get a massage these days without the therapist giving me a free glimpse into the future.’
He chuckled, sat next to her. ‘So what’s in the cards?’
She opened her mouth to respond and he held up both hands and waved them in front of her. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t want to know if they predicted some tall, dark and handsome stranger sweeping you off your feet.’
He winked, his rakish smile so heartrendingly familiar she leaned towards him without realising. ‘Unless they mentioned me by name, that is.’
Hugging her knees close, she rested her chin on them, staring at the Taj Mahal, a translucent ivory in the dusk.
‘Honestly? I’ve done so much thinking this last week, I think I can predict my own future pretty accurately.’
She’d sat in this very spot for hours on end, analysing her life, pondering the choices she’d made, knowing she should learn from mistakes of the past in building a better, brighter future.
While she felt safe here, she hadn’t quite achieved the peace she’d hoped for, gripped by a relentless restlessness, no matter how many hours she tried meditating.
She knew why.
The reason was staring her in the face with concern in his blue eyes.
‘So go ahead. Give it to me straight. What does the future hold for Tamara Rayne?’
Now that the moment of truth had arrived, she balked.
He’d surprised her, turning up when she’d been contemplating some vague, pie-in-the-sky dream, a nebulous idea she’d pondered at great length, debating the logistics of a long-distance relationship, wondering if they could really make it work.
But she couldn’t shake off the fear that still dogged her, the fear she’d finally recognised as undermining her relationship with Ethan right from the very beginning.
She shrugged, hugged her knees tighter. ‘My future is here. I’ve put feelers out and loads of the big newspapers are after food critics. Plus I can freelance for some of the glossy magazines and—’
‘While it’s great your career is back on track, I’m more interested in you. What does the future hold for you?’
Us, was what he really meant.
The unsaid word hovered between them, temptingly within reach if she had the guts to reach out there and grab it.
She took a deep breath and shuffled her bottom around to face him. In the fading light, with the low-hanging branches casting shadows over his face, she couldn’t read his expression. And she wanted to, needed to.
He’d come but there’d been no declaration, no emotional reunion, just two people dancing around each other, throwing out the odd bit of truthful information.
Should she put her heart on the line, once and for all? Confront her fear, at the risk of losing the love of her life?
‘I guess some of my future depends on you.’
He didn’t move a muscle, not the slightest flicker.
‘I’ve done a lot of soul-searching this last week and the only thing I regret in leaving Melbourne is not being completely honest with you.’
‘I’m listening.’
She released her arms, shook them out, stretched out her legs, which were cramping as badly as her belly.
‘When I ran out of Ambrosia that day, I didn’t correct your wrong assumptions. I was too disappointed, too caught up in the moment. I wasn’t thinking straight. It wasn’t until later, much later, I realised how it must’ve looked.’
‘You still love Richard, I know—’
Her gaze snapped to his, beseeching him to understand. ‘No, you don’t. I don’t love him, I probably never really loved him.’
She bit her bottom lip, knowing she’d sound callous but needing to get this out of her system.
‘I’d barely dated before I met him, then suddenly this brash, famous guy is all over me. I was flattered, just a
little bit in love and the next thing I know we’re married.’
‘I always thought you were happy.’
She nodded, slowly. ‘We were, for the first few months. I loved being married, loved how safe I felt having a husband who adored me. But then his lies started. And the rest.’
Her heart twisted at the memories of what she’d endured, all in the name of ‘for better or worse’.
‘He made my life hell. If I wore black, he said I looked too thin. If I wore white, too fat. He belittled my job, saying no one ever read the crap I wrote. He rifled through my handbag and diary to keep tabs on me. He hated what I cooked, threw a chicken Kiev at the wall once.’
‘Hell, Tam—’
‘He called me a useless bitch too many times to count, used subtle put-downs in front of his friends, demeaned the way I decorated our place, rubbished my friends, disparaged my mum.’
He swore, shook his head but she had to continue now she’d started, had to get this out of her system once and for all.
‘Did you know he was a classic passive-aggressive? I started walking around on eggshells, doing the right things, saying the right things, in an effort to avoid the inevitable explosion if things didn’t go his way.’
Ethan reached out to her, placed his hand over hers lying on the grass. ‘I had no idea.’
‘No one did.’
She blinked back tears, swallowed the bitterness. ‘How could you, when Richard Downey, Australia’s favourite celebrity chef, was all smiles, the life of every party?’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Why did you stay?’
She’d asked herself the same question a million times, had come up with different answers.
How could she verbalise her craving for love, for security, for the perfect happily-ever-after scenario her parents had until her dad died?
It sounded so soppy, so stupid, especially after she’d realised Richard could never be that man for her.
‘I stayed because I wanted the family I never had after my dad died. I craved it, which is probably half the reason I married him in the first place. As misguided as it sounds, at the time I thought if I could be a good wife, our marriage would stand a fighting chance.’
