by Miranda Lee
‘And mothers,’ a serene-looking Kathryn pointed out.
‘What’s this I hear?’ Janet Donnelly joined in from near by. ‘You’re all having babies?’
‘Yes,’ the six of them chorused.
‘Well, I never! Henry, did you hear that?’
‘Yes, Mother. And don’t even think about it. We’re too old.’
‘I’m only forty-eight. I could have a change-of-life baby.’
‘You wouldn’t like that, dear. No more bridge. Or golf. Or long lunches with the girls.’
‘You’re right. Bad idea.’
‘And I’m definitely too old,’ Roberta said drily as she produced a tray of mouth-watering hors d’oeuvres. ‘Anyone for a bite to eat? I hope I haven’t slaved away in that kitchen all morning for nothing.’
They all laughed.
‘Such a happy day,’ Megan said to James later that night when they were curled up in each other’s arms.
‘Very,’ James agreed.
‘I can’t think of anything more I could possibly want.’
‘What about becoming a famous artist?’
‘I might get around to that one day.’
‘From what I can see,’ he said, nodding towards the painting which now graced their bedroom wall, directly opposite the foot of their bed, ‘you already are.’
‘You really like that painting, don’t you?’
Megan had given it to him the day she’d come into his office three weeks earlier. She’d told him about the sale of the other painting too, though was secretly glad he’d never got to see that one.
‘Not only is it a fantastically good painting,’ James said, ‘but it also turns me on every time I look at it.’
Megan smiled. ‘Not that you need that.’
‘I might. In a few years’ time. So, my love, are you going to continue painting nudes?’
‘Maybe. Nathan said there’s a huge market for them. Though I thought I might try more regular portraits. Would you pose for me?’
‘Me?’
‘You have a great face.’
‘I guess I could.’
‘If it’s good enough, I’ll enter it in the Archibald Prize for portraiture.’
‘It’ll be good enough,’ he said confidently. ‘Now, stop talking and kiss me again.’
She did.
One year later, the three friends held a joint christening day for their children. Nicole and Russell’s son was called Adam. Kathryn and Hugh’s baby—a little girl—was named Isabella. And Megan and James’s son—she was so glad it was a boy—was named Jonathon. Though Hugh nicknamed him Johnny Boy. And it stuck.
Jackie Foster didn’t die. She lived to remarry and open an internationally successful modelling agency.
Megan went on to become one of Sydney’s most sought-after portrait artists after winning the prestigious Archibald Prize with her highly original portrait of her famous husband.
He was sitting, cross-legged, in an armchair.
And yes, he was nude.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4269-6
THE BILLIONAIRE’S BRIDE OF INNOCENCE
First North American Publication 2009.
Copyright © 2006 by Miranda Lee.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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