Bloody hell.
Tomas
Tomas sprawled in the pew behind Marco and Veton, wondering what God thought about the travesty taking place in this house of worship—not that he actually believed in God. As the bridal march started, Marco slapped his broad-shouldered cousin Veton on the back. They stood and moved into the aisle. Tomas levered himself upright. As far as he knew, Veton had seen his bride just once before today, when she’d been paid half the sum agreed on for taking part in this sham marriage. Tomas had the other half of the payment in the pocket of his leather jacket.
Not that it was a sham marriage. The damn thing was legal unless Tomas piped up and informed the authorities of just what had been involved here. There was no love involved, no promise of commitment, no sex—probably just an English woman who needed cash and an Albanian thug who required a legitimate way to stay in the country. Quite an irony that what Veton did to make money in this country was almost totally illegal.
Another of Marco’s men walked the bride down the aisle and the vicar smiled as they reached the point where Marco and Veton stood. Tomas wasn’t sure if the vicar was naïve or greedy. When the bearded guy droned on about the blessing of love and the sanctity of marriage, Tomas erred on the side of him being stupid. Marco smirked at Tomas as if he guessed what he was thinking. Tomas smiled. The one thing he really didn’t need was Marco reading his mind.
Thank fuck they didn’t have hymns, but maybe that was why the vicar had given them the spiel about love, just to drag things out. Tomas wondered if Marco was capable of loving anyone but himself. The silver-haired forty-year-old was an arrogant, ruthless bastard who used people, particularly women, and then threw them away without a backward glance.
Tomas’ views on love had been jaded even before he started to work for Marco, but Marco’s enterprises had swiftly taken him the rest of the way to cynical. His abiding memory of his parents was that they’d hated one another throughout most of his childhood. He’d learned to keep out of the way in case he got caught up in their arguments. He didn’t support the idea of staying together for the sake of the children. He’d have been better off with one or the other. Maybe with neither.
“You may kiss the bride,” the vicar said.
Veton took full advantage of that. The bride didn’t seem to mind. She shouldn’t for the amount she was being paid.
Once the registers were signed, Tomas adding his almost illegible signature to the book, they trooped out of the church. The bride got her money and before she walked away, she threw Tomas her bouquet. He caught it instinctively.
Ha, bloody ha.
Chapter Two
Adam glanced round the city-center apartment that was to be his home for the next three weeks and despite his bad temper, he smiled. He guessed that had been Ally’s intention. Seemed the day she’d told him she had to sort out a problem with the wedding caterers, she’d sneaked up to Leeds and stuck numbered Post-it notes on everything. Sink, hot and cold taps, microwave, fridge. A folder on the kitchen counter was labeled “Open Me”.
Adam checked the index and flipped to page nine to see what she’d said about the hot tap. “Twist right for hot water—don’t burn yourself.”
The next page said, “Cold tap—twist right for cold water—apply if you burn yourself.” He smiled. A year ago, a note like that from a personal assistant would have incensed him. Now he knew how to laugh at himself—the guy most likely to flood the entire building because he left the tap on.
Note to self, never leave a tap on.
The white-walled apartment had one large living space overlooking the River Aire with a view of the city beyond. Two black leather couches sat face-to-face, with a glass coffee table between them, just the right height for Adam to rest his feet. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall with a DVD player on a shelf beneath. The place was smart, stylish and boring.
A balcony jutting over the sluggish river held a circular table with a mosaic-tiled top and two chairs. Ally had left a waterproofed Post-it out there—“Sit here, admire the view, eat toast, drink coffee. You can also feed bread to the ducks. See pages nineteen and twenty on how to make toast and coffee. Picture of duck on last page.” Adam snorted when he flicked to the back and saw photos of a shark and a duck. Ally had written, “Don’t feed the sharks.”
In the bedroom he found a note on the bed saying, “Lie here and go to sleep.” He sat down and lay back. “I’m lying down, Ally, but I’m not sleeping. Are you listening?”
He’d always thought he preferred his own company. An only child with wealthy parents deeply involved with their jobs, he’d spent his boyhood being cared for by a succession of nannies. It wasn’t them he wanted to love him. Everything he could ever need had been provided for him except for the one thing he really wanted. He’d never made friends easily and when he did, they let him down. Adam eventually decided it was better not to trust anyone.
Carrying that philosophy into his adult life, he became a guy difficult to work for—demanding, awkward and intolerant. He’d never had a relationship, sexual or otherwise, that lasted. His staff turnover had been horrendous. Then twelve months ago, he’d put an ad in the paper, inviting applications for the position as his personal assistant, not realizing how much it would change his life.
The ad had been designed to weed out the weak. Would you like to work for an inconsiderate, demanding bastard? For a ridiculously large salary I want someone to work twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Three hundred and sixty-six next year. You’ll speak at least three European languages, and it would be an advantage if you were able to do at least some of the following—dive, cook, ski, sail, ride, climb, fly and bench-press one hundred kilos. If you don’t like being shouted at, don’t apply.
Ally had captivated him at her interview but about the only thing she could do was cook. Despite Caspar’s shaky past, with time spent in jail, he was perfect for the role, and Caspar didn’t come without Ally.
In the year they’d worked for him, Adam thought he might have smiled more than he had in his entire life. Ally wouldn’t let him get away with being miserable or rude. She either laughed at him or was rude back. Watching and listening to her and Caspar had taught him how to be a better man, or at least put him on the right path. He really hoped he wasn’t the inconsiderate, demanding bastard he used to be. Letting Ally maneuver him into this vacation proved he’d changed.
Though three weeks in a grim Northern town wasn’t exactly a vacation. On the train coming up here, he’d opened the folder of information Ally had made for him and discovered he was going back to school. He didn’t yet know exactly what he’d be studying but the name Ezispeke Language Academy suggested it wouldn’t be atomic physics. Ally said it was something he wanted to do, but when had he said he wanted to learn another language?
He rolled onto his side on the bed and flicked through the folder. She’d prepared lists of meals and how to cook them to cover the first week. The ingredients had been placed in the fridge and cupboard. After that he had to sort things out for himself. She’d printed out details of places to visit—museums, art galleries and local landmarks, and included scenic drives, hikes and train timetables. And in his heart, Adam knew these three weeks weren’t just about learning a language, they were about learning how to get a life.
* * * * *
Wren stared through the window of the bus taking her to have lunch with her parents and brothers and wondered what to say about Brendan. She’d avoided the subject yesterday at the wedding, saying it wasn’t the time to talk about his non-attendance. She’d forewarned her aunt because of the catering but should have known she’d tell Belinda and that Belinda would extrapolate Wren’s excuse of a disagreement into her being dumped and then tell everyone else. Bloody family grapevine. Wren’s mother had let the matter drop yesterday, but today Wren had to say something. Though not the truth. Not yet.
If she didn’t count The Big Mistake in Venice—and she really shouldn’t bec
ause how could two hours and thirteen minutes count?—she’d only had three boyfriends. Not many for a twenty-five-year-old. Despite being extremely picky, it seemed she also picked badly, choosing guys who took bites out of her confidence until only crumbs remained.
A sharp knot of pain flared in her chest. Wren’s lack of confidence hadn’t let her go on a date at all until she was nineteen. Her mum had quietly encouraged her and pestered her brothers to take her with them when they went out, but she preferred to stay at home and live vicariously through books and TV. She’d watched girls at school moon over guys and they all ended up crying in the bathrooms.
Nothing lasted, promises were broken, hearts shattered, and Wren had been hurt enough in her short life without opening herself up to more distress. So when those around her had talked of nothing but the opposite sex, Wren chose to keep her thoughts to herself and wait for the right guy.
A mistake. She should have practiced when she had the chance as a teenager because she obviously had no idea who was right for her.
Jack had dumped her after three months with the words, “You deserve someone better.” Meaning he’d found someone better. But she’d still sobbed and asked him to give her another chance. He said yes, and a day later, she’d seen him with a pretty redhead.
Leo had seduced her with his attentiveness and then fallen for Belinda’s charm offensive. Either that or her big breasts. Wren would rather have a brain than big breasts. Most of the time. Really, Belinda had done her a favor.
And Brendan—well, she suspected Mr. Smooth and Charming was abroad, spending her money on another woman. Too late now to dump the bastard.
Wren slipped into the kitchen of her parents’ home and kissed her mum on the cheek. “Am I in time to help?”
Her mother mock-glared. “No. As usual, your timing’s impeccable.”
Wren grinned and went over to her dad. He put his newspaper down on the kitchen table and lifted his cheek for a kiss.
“Okay, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Fine.”
He stared at her, and she kept smiling but knew she hadn’t fooled him. He had the uncanny ability to see straight through her, which was a mixed blessing.
“Everyone to the table.” Her mum inadvertently rescued her. “Drag the boys away from the TV.”
They were hardly boys. James and Matt, Wren’s older twin brothers, were in their early thirties though sometimes that was hard to believe.
She popped her head around the door of the living room. “Lunch is ready, guys.”
“Hi, Squirt,” they said at the same time.
They’d called her that for as long as she could remember. She was tall but her brothers were both over six feet. They had dark hair and their dad’s big nose.
“Last one to the table has to wash up.” Wren ran.
James caught her by the waist as she stepped into the dining room. Matt lifted her off her feet, they tickled until she yelped and then shifted her behind them. When they sat down before her, looking smug, she smiled. She smiled harder at their puzzled expressions.
“What have you done?” James asked.
“The other two have to mow the lawn and take the grass cuttings to the tip,” their mum shouted from the kitchen.
The twins groaned in unison.
“You still have to wash up,” Matt said to Wren.
“Your replacement dishwasher arrived on Thursday, didn’t it, Mum?” Wren called.
Matt growled. She dodged the balled-up napkin he threw but it hit their father just entering the room. He rolled his eyes, sat at the head of the table and began to carve the meat. As soon as their mother joined them, James piled his plate.
“Lovely,” he said.
Wren’s mouth watered as she helped herself to roast potatoes and parsnips.
“Outside of the beef, Wren?” her dad asked.
“Yes, please.” She liked her meat at a point between well-done and burnt. Nearer burnt.
“Survived yesterday, then?” Matt asked. “I’m glad you didn’t feel the need to run down the aisle singing, ‘It should have been me’.”
“Matt,” his mother snapped.
Wren snorted. “All I need to do is think about Leo’s revolting habit of collecting his bellybutton fluff and I know I had a lucky escape.”
Her father stopping carving for a moment and shuddered.
“What happened to Brendan?” her mum asked.
Oh no, let me eat first. Wren popped a roast potato in her mouth and chewed slowly. “Mm mmm.”
Her mother frowned. “Why wasn’t he at the wedding?”
Because he’s a lying bastard of an excuse for a man. “Mmm mmm mm mmm.” Wren speared another potato with her fork.
“Don’t you dare take another mouthful until you’ve told me,” her mum said.
Wren lowered her fork. “We’re not together anymore.”
“Ah,” said her mum. “We understood that much when he didn’t come with you yesterday. Deidre was at pains to tell me and everyone else you’d had an argument. By the time it did the complete circuit, he wanted children and you didn’t so you parted company.”
Wren groaned.
“Did you see sense and dump him?” Matt asked.
She should have seen sense and castrated him. “No, he dumped me.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” her mum said.
“What did he say?” James asked. When the rest of the family glared at him, he bristled. “What? It’s just research.”
“Well, I don’t suggest you copy Brendan,” Wren muttered, figuring she might as well tell part of the truth. “He said he was going out to buy a bottle of champagne and he never came back. He didn’t answer his phone and I was starting to worry until I went round to his bedsit and his neighbor told me he’d moved out.”
She felt the whole table bristle. Even the meat looked angry.
“Forget him,” her mum said. “He wasn’t good enough for you. You deserve someone better.”
No, he wasn’t, and yes, she did.
“And better than Leo,” said her father.
Wren stared into her lap and swallowed the lump in her throat. She waited for more questions but no one spoke. When she glanced up, she saw her mum eyeballing the twins and breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“Janine Sutton’s son is coming back to live in Leeds,” said her mum.
Wren’s turn to be pinned by her mother’s laser-sharp gaze.
“Good for him.” She tried not to groan.
Her mum wanted all three of her children married and producing grandchildren as soon as possible. Sunday lunch was always a probe into when she could start planning a wedding. Belinda’s had been the fourth the family attended in as many months. Wren’s mum was the only one of her siblings not to have a married son or daughter.
“The only snag is Gareth Sutton’s a barrister.” Her mum winced.
Wren stifled a smile. In any other family that would be a huge plus. With two brothers and a father in the police, the Ellis family had a thing about lawyers. “I guess he’s not a prosecutor,” Wren said.
Her mum sighed. “No.”
“Wren’s not seeing him,” snapped her father.
Anyone who defended the criminals her family fought to put in prison was never going to be suitable as a son-in-law.
Her mother stared at Matt and James. “I don’t know why you two can’t find Wren a nice man.”
After all she’d been through, of course Wren wanted a nice man, though she wasn’t going to fall for any more charmers. Being nice wasn’t as important as being a sex fiend with the body of a god, a guy who could make her come with a look or a couple of fingers, though she wasn’t going to share that with anyone. Nor that she’d actually like two of them. She drooled.
A coughing fit followed and Wren grabbed a glass of water.
“We’ve offered to find Wren a guy,” James said.
“But Wren hates policemen,” Matt added.
“Except us,” James said.
/> “Including you,” she muttered, which, the moment their mother’s back was turned, earned her another scoop of mashed potato from James and a spoonful of carrots from Matt. The bastards. Clearing your plate in the Ellis home was compulsory. Getting her own back—easy.
“So how’s Jennifer?” she asked. “When are you going to bring her home to meet us?”
Matt glared but it was too late.
“Jennifer?” Their mother pounced like a lioness. “Is she new? What does she do? Where did you meet her?”
Wren relaxed. Now her mother had something to sink her teeth into, she was safe. Although Matt would kill her later. She looked round the table at her family and smiled. She was so lucky. Her parents treated her as if she was no different to their sons, but she was different. They’d fostered her when she was a thirteen-year-old ball of fury and made her their little ball of fury. Wren’s childhood up to that point had been…difficult, but after the Ellises had taken her in, she felt as if she’d gone to heaven without dying, though it had taken her a few months to accept that love and kindness could come without strings.
The twins had won her round. They stood up for her when no one else ever had and changed her life. The only disappointment for them all was that they hadn’t been able to adopt her as an Ellis. Her birth mother wouldn’t allow her name to be changed and Wren Monroe she’d stayed. By the time she’d been old enough to do something about it herself, it hadn’t seemed to matter anymore.
Wren gazed at her plate and winced. Matt had managed to slip a brussels sprout on there without her seeing. Even one made her heave.
* * * * *
Tomas pulled up in the driveway of Marco’s opulent detached house, exited and slammed the car door harder than he should have. It was one step forward, two steps back with Marco. Just when Tomas thought the guy was warming to him, the bastard stuck him with some menial task like shopping for toilet rolls. Tomas wasn’t sure if Marco didn’t trust him, or liked to show him exactly where he stood in the pecking order, or just wanted beer, salted nuts, loo rolls and the rest of what was on this damn list, and his had been the first face Marco saw.
Girl Most Likely To Page 2
