The Millionaire

by Victoria Purman

  Eighteen

  ‡

  Ellie Flannery was such a liar.

  As she nursed her cold cup of coffee at Sydney Airport, checking once again the departure times for the Qantas flight to Bangkok, she pulled out her phone to see if she’d missed a call from him, to check if he’d answered any of her ten messages. There was nothing.

  She’d been at the airport for an hour, running on no sleep and about eight cups of coffee, hoping the shame of her lie wouldn’t get in the way of saying a proper goodbye to Chris. Oh, she’d tried to be so brave last night in that hotel room, telling him she wouldn’t be there to say goodbye to him when he flew out. Wasn’t that how super cool people acted? See you round and thanks for all the orgasms? She assumed saying goodbye the way she had, with no promises, and no talk of the future, would be easier. More worldly.

  She was such a liar.

  She hated the way they’d left things. Cold and distant. She wanted one more kiss. She wanted one more embrace. She wanted to tell him she loved him because the idea he was about to fly off and land in any number of the world’s most dangerous hotspots during the next year and not know? That would kill her.

  Whatever happened to Chris, she wanted him to leave knowing that she loved him. Not his photos or his reputation. She loved him for who he was. For his gentle tenderness. For his humour. For the way he looked into her eyes like she was something precious and special. For the way she felt when she was with him.

  Ellie had regrets about things in her life. She wished she’d been braver earlier about her scars and hadn’t spent so many years concerned with covering them up. She didn’t want to add loving Chris Malone to her list of regrets.

  Bangkok might not sound dangerous, but as a journalism student more than a decade before, she’d read about the death of an Australian cameraman, Neil Davis, in the Thai capital. One soldier with a gun, in the middle of some long-forgotten and quickly aborted coup attempt, and someone had been killed.

  The memory of that had come flooding back to her last night as she wrapped herself in the crisp hotel sheets and stretched out an arm to feel the warmth of where Chris had been.

  Sometimes she was so stubborn she wanted to kick herself. So she’d thrown on some clothes and jumped inside a cab to the airport as soon as she’d resolved to say goodbye to the man she loved.

  She checked her watch again. Looked up to the departures board. The flight was now closed.

  He was gone.

  *

  Saturday mornings in Ellie’s neighbourhood meant overflowing coffee shops and crowds. She’d had the cab driver drop her off by the retail strip on the main road, where she picked up some ripe mangoes and strawberries, plump cherries and freshly ground coffee to take home. Along with a bottle of French champagne, of course. If she was going to wallow in her misery in the middle of a brilliant Sydney summer, she figured she would at least do it in style. On the way home, she checked her post office box and stopped in at a new home wares store; dawdled and even patted a stray dog.

  None of it worked. She was avoiding going home to her empty house. When she opened the door, Chris wouldn’t be there to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her. She’d grown quite used to that. There wouldn’t be a platter of cheeses, crackers, and fresh fruit waiting for her to nibble on while they either made love or decided what to do for the evening.

  There would be no love in her house. Only regret and loneliness.

  She rounded the corner to her street and regretted buying so much food. The bag was heavy and bounced against her legs as she walked. Had she really expected anything different from Chris Malone, the lone wolf international photojournalist and renowned risk taker? He’d survived a helicopter crash, for God’s sake. How could a boring life in Sydney compete with that?

  And as for her own life, the success of the charity ball had made her rethink what she was doing with her own career. Maybe she’d be more useful raising money for worthy causes than writing about other people raising money for worthy causes. Perhaps that was why she’d been destined to meet Chris. Perhaps he was the kick up the butt she’d needed to find her courage and her bravery about her own life.

  Ellie’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Her heart skipped at the thought that it might be Chris, and then she realised he was mid-air. It was Bron, her oldest friend.

  “Hey, Bron.”

  “Hey, Ellie. Ooh, what’s up with you? You sound like your dog died. And I know you don’t have one.”

  “I’m tired. It was a big night last night.”

  “I know, I’m reading all about it. Hang on. Sophie, honey. Can you put down Mommy’s purse? No, that’s good. Coins everywhere. Look, I’ve gotta be quick. Domestic crisis here that needs solving. But I wanted to check if you’ve seen the news reports this morning.”

  “What news?”

  “It’s everywhere. How fabulous the charity ball was last night and the bidding war between those sex-on-a-stick Malone brothers. Anyway, he paid one hundred grand for his own photograph!”

  “Yes,” Ellie sighed. “It was a very generous thing for him to do.” And it was so Chris. The thought of him last night, so handsome in his navy tux, and then how he’d slipped it on when he’d left, made her a whole world of sad all over again.

  Wasn’t one night every now and then better than nothing at all? She told herself once again that would never be enough for her.

  “Ellie, that’s not it. The gossip columnists are reporting that he’s broken things off with that piece of European white trash, that princess whatever her name is, and he’s instead engaged to some local Sydney woman. Some woman no one’s ever heard of.”

  “What?” Ellie’s head was spinning so hard she had to find a fence to sit on.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “No idea, Bron. Look, I’ve got to get home. Can I ring you later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Give Sophie a big kiss and a hug from her Aunt Ellie.”

  When Bron promised to do exactly that Ellie tucked her phone back in her pocket and willed one foot in front of the other to make it home without being interrupted by her elderly neighbour, Mrs. Dexter. If she got one more question about Chris this morning, she might snap.

  She wanted to simply walk in her front door, load up her fridge, and sleep. When she rifled through her rucksack for her keys, slipped the front door key into its lock, she pushed open the door, and tried not to cry at how lonely her house felt without Chris in it.

  One step inside the door and her phone buzzed again. She balanced her shopping bags in one hand and answered it. It was Kerry, her news editor.

  “Hi, Kerry.”

  “What’s this new story about Malone? Apparently he’s engaged to some Sydney nobody. Get on it, Ellie. Find out who she is. Haven’t you been working on your charity thing with him? How come you missed this one? I think we need to talk about your future on Monday morn—”

  “Kerry. I’ve got to go,” Ellie said. She lowered her shopping bags to the floor in the hallway. Her phone dropped and thudded on the carpet runner on the floorboards.

  There was a man sitting on her sofa and, unless she was dreaming, it was Chris.

  Nineteen

  ‡

  “Hey,” Chris said.

  Ellie couldn’t speak. Something had wrapped itself around her chest and squeezed the air out of her lungs.

  “What… the airport… Bangkok…” She was way past tired and realised the ability to form coherent sentences might have been more than she was capable of right now.

  Chris stood slowly, pushed his golden hair back from his face and exhaled, the rise and fall of his chest visible under his T-shirt. “I didn’t go.”

  “Clearly.” She looked him up and down. He wasn’t a mirage. It was him. Flesh and blood.

  “I’ve been waiting here all morning to talk to you,” he said. “Where have you been?”

  Ellie took a few steps into her living room. “At the airport. Why… why didn’t you call me?”


  “Flat battery on my phone.” He looked at her curiously. “You went to the airport?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “To say goodbye to me?”

  “No, to buy some bad coffee. Of course to say goodbye to you.”

  “Last night you specifically said, ‘I’m not going to the airport’.”

  “Well… I lied.” Ellie felt the flame in her cheeks and everywhere else on her body. “Why didn’t you get on that plane?”

  Chris dropped back on the sofa, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. He looked up at Ellie through his hair, like a curtain over his face.

  “Because I quit.”

  “You’ve what?”

  He paused, gazed into her eyes as if he was never going to look away. “I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realise, but if I hadn’t met you that day on One Mile Beach, I’d be on that plane to Bangkok right now, still running from my demons… and no doubt adding a few more to my collection.”

  Ellie sat next to him, needing to be near him, not caring that he could feel her quivering with tiredness and disbelief and love for him. His sapphire blue eyes glistened as he poured out his heart.

  “I’ve been obsessed with my job for too many years, Ellie, at much too high a cost. In the past few weeks, I’ve found a much healthier obsession.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He chuckled and reached for her, his strong arms around her, and he lifted her into his lap. “You, Ellie Flannery. I’m obsessed with you. With the way you fight with me, tease me, seduce me. With your laughter and your sass. I love all that about you, Ellie, and everything else. I love sitting on this damn sofa and watching old movies with you. I love the way you slurp your noodles from the Vietnamese takeaway. And I especially love your legs.”

  “I do have good legs.” She stretched one out in front of her and Chris ran his hand as far along it as he could reach, tickling her toes when he got to them.

  “And I want to make love to you every day for the rest of our lives.”

  Ellie thought about it. “Every day?”

  “It’s called stamina. And it’s also called being crazy about you.”

  Chris kissed her, claimed her, and she answered his demands by claiming him right back. She touched his forehead with hers and wondered if he could feel her heart swelling inside her chest as they held each other.

  “So, you’re giving up the international photographer thing for good, huh?” she murmured against his lips, his beautiful mouth.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m done with that life. The next time I get on a plane it’ll be with you on my arm. For our honeymoon.”

  Ellie weakened. “What did you say?”

  Chris’s eyes shone. “I love you, Ellie Flannery. I’d stopped seeing beauty in the world, until you.”

  Ellie kissed him. “I love you right back, Chris Malone.”

  His voice was deep and full of love. “This city only feels like home to me because of you. I’m back for good. If you’ll have me.”

  Hot tears stung Ellie’s eyes. The happiest of tears. “Yes, Chris Malone, I’ll have you.” She would have him with all her heart and soul.

  Chris entwined his fingers with hers. “So, where do you want to go for our honeymoon?”

  “Hang on,” Ellie said. “You’ve got to marry me first.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you all my life, Ellie. So we’re doing this damn quick. What about Vegas?”

  Ellie shook her head. “I was thinking about somewhere closer to home. Maybe we could get married here in Sydney and then spend a month at One Mile Beach.”

  Chris laughed. “Sounds perfect.”

  They sat together in the quiet peace of the small, modest living room, with its framed happy snaps and its groaning bookshelf and the pile of magazines on the coffee table and the odds and ends pieces of furniture.

  “And when we get back from our honeymoon, what are you going to do, other than scrounge off your family squillions?”

  Chris smiled. “What do you think about working with me to dispense with some of the Malone family money? I talked to Callum this morning about setting up a foundation to provide grants to worthy causes. I know more than a few charities and organisations around the world that could do with some help.”

  Ellie laid her head on his chest. The sheer perfection of the idea was so simple. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. You can change the world, starting right here at home.”

  Chris squeezed her hand. “We can change the world. You’ve already changed mine.”

  “You’ve already done a pretty fine job of spreading some of your money around. What are you going to do with the portrait of Grandpa?”

  Chris stroked her hair and rested his forehead on hers. “I thought it’d look pretty good above the fireplace in our living room.”

  “Our living room?” Ellie murmured.

  “It won’t be my place anymore once you move in. And you’re moving in today.”

  “I am?”

  “I’m not wasting another day without you, Ellie.” He kissed her then, soft and slow.

  “You won’t have to,” she replied on a sigh.

  “I want you to bring everything, especially this sofa.”

  “But it’s so old,” she protested. “Grandpa and Nanna gave it to me when I moved to Sydney. It’s ancient.”

  “It’s coming or we don’t get married,” Chris said with a glint in his eye.

  “You play hard ball, Chris Malone.”

  “Only when it comes to things I love.”

  “I’m glad you’ve quit. The thought of you being shot at again…” Ellie ran a hand through his hair, knotted her fingers in it. “Or of anything happening to your hair.”

  He chuckled then grew serious. “Why didn’t you ask me to?”

  “I wanted to. That night at your place, I nearly did. But it had to be your choice, not mine.”

  “I choose you, Ellie.”

  “I’m glad you have,” she said, and even she could hear the joy in her voice. “It would have killed me to love you and not be loved back.”

  He grinned. “That was never going to happen. Why do you think I walked out of the water at One Mile Beach just as you were walking past?”

  Ellie blinked. “You saw me?”

  “Your legs are hard to miss.”

  Ellie laughed so hard that her stomach hurt. She laughed so hard it echoed around the room and when Chris kissed her again, she laughed against his lips.

  When she came up for air, she quirked an eyebrow at her fiancé. “Damn. I forgot to mention. You’ve made the news.”

  “Not again.”

  “The gossip pages and news sites are reporting that you’ve dumped that European Princess What’s-her-Name.”

  He held up a hand. “I never confirmed or denied anything.”

  “I remember. Did you do that to make me jealous?”

  His grin gave her the answer she needed.

  “They’re saying you’re now engaged.”

  “Now that,” he replied, “is a story I’m very happy to confirm.”

  Ellie harrumphed. “To some Sydney nobody.”

  Chris’s smile reached right into her heart. “That’s just like a reporter to get their facts wrong.”

  Ellie was going to enjoy waking up to that sexy grin every day for the rest of her life. She looked at his mouth, was suddenly hungry for it. “I’d better call my editor. She’s after all the gory details.”

  “In a minute,” Chris said as he tugged off his T-shirt. “On second thought. Make that a couple of hours.”

  The End

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  About the Auth
or

  Award-nominated and multi-published Australian contemporary romance author Victoria Purman loves books, wine, chocolate, sad country music, hard rock songs and stories with happy ever afters. Writing romance means she regularly gets to indulge in all those things – as well as being forced into online pictorial research for her emotional, funny and smart love stories. In 2014, Victoria was a finalist in the RuBY Awards (the Romance Writers of Australia’s “Romantic Book of the Year” Awards) for the first book on her Boys of Summer series for Harlequin MIRA, Nobody But Him. That same year, she was named a finalist in the category “Favourite New Author 2013” by the Australian Romance Readers Association. Most days, she considers herself the luckiest woman in the world.

  Visit her website at VictoriaPurman.com

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