One Wedding Required!

by Sharon Kendrick

  Amber pursed her lips together. ‘Hardly,’ came her wry response. ‘And even if we were, we’re not exactly in a position to greet anybody, are we?’

  He grinned. ‘I refuse to comment on position, for fear of being accused of being disgusting again!’

  Amber laughed and reached over for the silk dress. ‘Do you think we’ll ever get round to eating supper?’

  He sent a glance over at the neglected dishes on the table which were now lukewarm. ‘Would you be terribly offended if I said that I couldn’t face eating a huge meal right now?’

  ‘Not hungry?’

  He gave a huge yawn. ‘I’m bushed. Shall we take our wine and some potato crisps and go and watch TV in bed?’

  It sounded heavenly. It had been ages since they had done something quite as simple and as decadent as holing themselves up in their bedroom! ‘Wonderful idea,’ said Amber fervently. ‘I’ll go and shower, and then I’ll join you.’

  His eyes glittered. ‘I might join you,’ he murmured. ‘In the shower.’

  But Amber shook her head. That experience on the carpet just now had wiped her out—mentally and physically—and besides, Finn looked in need of rest far more than making love again. ‘Go to bed,’ she said softly.

  ‘It’s that engagement ring syndrome again. Clearly, our sex life is to be rationed to once a night from now on, I can see,’ he said, shaking his dark ruffled hair in dismay, but his eyes were smiling.

  ‘Wanna bet?’ she drawled, giggling as he playfully slapped her lace-clad bottom on her way to the bathroom.

  The home-maker in her was too strong to provide simply potato crisps, so she made cheese sandwiches to accompany them. And a bowl of blueberries. And thick, creamy yoghurt made from goat’s milk. That should build him up, she thought with satisfaction as she carried the tray into the bedroom, her hair still damp from the shower.

  She found Finn fast asleep, just as he had found her earlier. He had put their wineglasses down on the bedside tables and the rest of the bottle in an ice-bucket on the floor.

  She put the tray down noiselessly, in order not to wake him, but he stirred anyway and the black eyelashes flickered open. He gazed at her sleepily.

  ‘Hi.’ He smiled.

  ‘Hi.’ She smiled back. ‘Go back to sleep if you want. Though...’ She hesitated, not wanting to sound like his mother. Or his sister. Philomena had been more of a mother to him than a sister.

  ‘Though what?’ he asked.

  ‘You really ought to eat more, Finn. It isn’t good to skip meals, you know!’

  He sat up and yawned, and then handed her a glass of wine. ‘So how’s Ursula?’ he enquired, as he took a sip.

  Amber stared at him blankly. ‘Ursula?’

  Finn shot her a frowning look. ‘Yes, Ursula. Your sister,’ he elucidated, a deep seam of mockery running through his voice. ‘You spent the afternoon with her, remember? You were drinking champagne with her. What’s she been up to?’

  Tell him, urged the voice of common sense. Just tell him about the interview.

  I’ll tell him tomorrow, Amber decided firmly.

  ‘Not a lot.’ She shrugged uneasily, and took a great big mouthful of wine.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE office was crowded with models and gaudy paperchains when Finn exploded into it like a dark starburst. Like some black-clad, avenging devil, he strode over to where Amber was sitting and hurled a magazine down onto the desk in front of her.

  ‘Just what in God’s name do you think you’re up to, Amber?’ he snarled, as angry as she had ever seen him.

  It was all her chickens coming home to roost at the same time; all her nemeses arrived at once. And it served her right—she should have told him straight away. ‘Finn—’ she began placatingly.

  ‘Don’t you “Finn” me!’ he ground out, as though he found the words intolerable to say. ‘I want some kind of explanation as to why you saw fit to share our secrets with this tacky...’ his mouth contorted with disdain as he gestured towards the brightly coloured photographs ‘...rubbish,’ he snorted. ‘And I want it now!’

  If they had been alone she would have told him straight out what she had done—but they were not alone. They were surrounded by models of both sexes, all of them pale and gangling and, more importantly, all of them young. And for once they were looking vaguely interested in what was going on, instead of adopting their usual collective hangdog expression. Although usually their boss would not be waving his hands around as if he were conducting an orchestra.

  And Amber was a kind of role model to those young people. She handed out more than bookings—she was pretty free with coffee and advice if they wanted her to be. She also listened patiently to their problems. If she let Finn snarl and speak to her in that derogatory fashion then surely she would be sending out the subliminal message that such arrogant behaviour was okay. And it wasn’t okay.

  She had sold a fairly innocuous story to a popular magazine, that was all—but from the way Finn was glowering at her anyone would think she had been involved in some bizarre sex act with the photographer!

  ‘Finn—’

  ‘I’m waiting, Amber,’ he interrupted coldly.

  That did it. She saw watching mouths fall open in wonder. ‘Then you’ll have a long wait,’ she returned icily, saved, literally, by the bell, as the phone rang and she blithely began speaking into the mike attached to her headset.

  She hoped that no one was noticing how much her hand was trembling as she tried to carry on the commonplace conversation as normal.

  ‘You’d like to take out an option on CiCi Brown? For Wednesday afternoon?’ She clicked CiCi’s name up onto her computer screen and the model’s weekly schedule appeared immediately. ‘No, that’s fine. She has a “go-see” in the morning, but that’s only in Soho, so she’ll get to you by midday with no problem.’ Amber nodded and studiously avoided looking in Finn’s direction. ‘No. I understand. Great. Yeah. Sure. Bye.’ She put the phone down. ‘Finn, we’ll have to have this conversation some other time.’

  But he shook his head inexorably. ‘Some other place, maybe. Perhaps you’d like to come into my office, Amber?’

  She met the angry green stare. ‘And if I refuse?’

  His smile was bland and meaningless—and in that loaded and uncomfortable moment he might have been a complete stranger.

  ‘Then we’ll be forced to entertain all these pretty young things—’ he flashed a winning smile at the assembled throng ‘—with our little spat!’ And he spat the word out, as if to illustrate his point.

  Amber glowered at him. Wasn’t that called blackmail? Would she be considered submissive if she succumbed to it? Because surely the bottom line was that she did feel guilty about not having plucked up courage to tell Finn about the interview—and at least if they were in the privacy of his office she would tell him so. Very sweetly.

  She gave Debby, the other booker, a tight smile. ‘Excuse me for a minute, Debby. I won’t be long.’

  Debby’s answering look was disbelieving, but she nodded anyway, and the unusual silence continued as Amber picked up the magazine and trooped across the office, following Finn into the inner sanctum of his room.

  As soon as they were inside he turned on her. ‘Shut the door!’ he snarled.

  She was tempted to tell him to moderate his tone, but not for long. Instead, she slammed the door shut so loudly that it made him start, and then she sent a mutinous look searing across the office. ‘There!’ she flared. ‘Go ahead and shout! If you want to make a big song and dance about it—I will, too!’

  ‘Are you out of your tiny little mind?’

  ‘To tie myself to a power-hungry megalomaniac like you, you mean?’

  ‘To involve yourself in something like that—’ He cast a withering glance at the magazine she was hugging in her arms, as though protecting it from his anger.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Finn—stop overreacting! It’s a harmless little bit of gossip, that’s all. I’ve hardly d
ivulged your inside leg measurement to the waiting world!’

  He gave her a measured look. ‘Have you read it?’

  Something in his eyes made her start to feel nervous. ‘Well, no. Not yet. I’ve been working all morning and I haven’t had a chance to—’

  ‘Then why don’t you take a look before you make judgements on it?’ he interrupted silkily.

  Something in his eyes was now making her feel very jumpy indeed. She began to open the magazine out while Finn went to stand over by the window, and the forbidding set of his broad shoulders was formidable as he stood silhouetted against the grey winter sky.

  Amber blanched. She was on the cover of the magazine, for heaven’s sake—the cover! Standing there in front of the Christmas tree in their flat, wearing the gleaming golden dress which afterwards had been discarded so ruthlessly, grinning into the camera and looking all twinkly-eyed and radiant Her left hand was fiddling with the amber beads she wore at her neck, so that her diamond ring glittered like a trophy. Still, it wasn’t that bad. And, although he didn’t like references to his former career, the banner headline simply read: ‘WHY

  LIFE WITH MODEL-MAN FINN IS SO ENGAGING!’

  Amber cleared her throat and addressed ‘model-man’ Finn’s back. ‘Must be an arid time for news if we’ve made the front cover!’ she joked blithely, and then, in a laughable attempt to lighten the mood, added, ‘Our Christmas tree looks nice, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Why don’t you take a look inside?’ he suggested, in a voice so bland it spooked her.

  Amber examined the magazine’s index and quickly turned to page forty. And shuddered. Oh, Lord—why had she done it?

  At the time, reclining against the cushions on their bed wearing a black evening dress had seemed like a bit of fun—but the photographic reality made her cringe. She looked like an overblown strumpet—her breasts pushing forward against the shiny material like two pendulous melons. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Just what did the journalist think he was playing at? How dared he entitle the piece ‘BATHROOM PROPOSAL FROM ADVENTUROUS LOVER!’?

  Amber let her eyes scan the text. It was stomach-churningly bad, and that was being kind about it. Somehow, the journalist had managed to distort everything she had said so that the whole story made her sound like a cross between Cinderella and a hooker, while Finn came across as some seducer of innocent young employees!

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she said weakly, and flopped down into the chair, wincing at another Christmas tree shot, in which she looked completely brainless.

  ‘Have you got to the bit where it tells the readers to...’ Finn put on a bitingly cruel voice as he snatched the magazine from her to read, ‘“Prepare yourself for the Wedding of the Year, when Finn guides the lovely Amber up the aisle on St Valentine’s Day...”’ He turned angry green eyes on her as he spread the magazine over his desk, his fingers recoiling from the glossy pages as if they were contaminated. ‘A Valentine’s Day wedding?’ he demanded. ‘Really? It’s news to me, sugar!’

  ‘But you did mention that we might get married on Valentine’s Day, Finn!’ she protested. ‘You know you did!’

  ‘I also once suggested that you might like to lightly scrape your fingernails over my buttocks,’ he bit back coldly. ‘But I would hope you wouldn’t tell that to a national magazine! Although judging by your other indiscretions—’ His eyes blazed furious green fire as he stared at her, as if he was seeing an entirely new side to her, a side he didn’t like very much at all. ‘Did you tell them I made love to you in the bathroom before proposing?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t!’

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it!’ he stormed, jabbing at a paragraph with his finger. ‘That is what is very strongly implied in this piece. And it’s sordid.’

  She read the paragraph he was indicating and cringed. He was right—that particular part of the article was rather sordid.

  ‘And as for telling them word for word how we met—’ He slowly shook his dark head in disbelief, as though her actions were inexplicable to him.

  Amber had had enough. ‘And is that such a heinous crime?’ she demanded. ‘You don’t work for the Secret Service, you know, Finn! What’s wrong with telling them about an innocent little love story?’

  ‘My private life is supposed to be just that,’ he gritted back. ‘Private!’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered flatly. ‘So it would seem. I’ll remember that in future.’

  But an odd, fractured kind of silence greeted her words, broken only by the glugging of the coffee machine in the corner, and Amber’s heart suddenly froze as she looked into his face and realised just how angry he was

  The mention of the word ‘future’ had produced an icy atmosphere—but surely she hadn’t blown the whole relationship on the strength of one stupid article?

  His face was grim as his green eyes scoured her face, as if looking for clues to why she had done it. ‘And did you have to describe me quite so crudely?’ he demanded.

  ‘I—’

  ‘“Testosterone personified”,’ he quoted in disgust. ‘I was disappointed, Amber—I thought that you of all people had looked at the man beneath, and not just the wrapping!’

  ‘They put words into my mouth!’ she defended. ‘That’s what journalists do, Finn—you know that!’

  ‘Precisely!’ he snapped. ‘Which is why I don’t give interviews. And if you knew that—then you shouldn’t have done either!’

  ‘Oh, change the record!’

  ‘You know that I work in a high-profile industry—and that’s one reason why I guard my privacy so jealously.’ His eyes were glacial now—cold and clear and questioning. ‘I can’t figure out what made you do it, that’s all. Maybe if I could, I might feel a little less angry about it. So why, Amber? Just tell me that.’

  She was quiet for a moment, knowing how important it was that he understood her motives. ‘Because I wanted to make our engagement feel real, I guess.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Well, neither did she, and that was half the trouble. Amber stared at him helplessly, realising that it was better to risk looking a fool and to tell him the truth... anything to banish that cold, hard and unfamiliar look in his eyes. ‘It’s just that the engagement seemed like a one-off production—something that had nothing to do with our lives.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said again.

  ‘I’m trying to explain!’ she told him frustratedly. ‘We got engaged after that party—’

  ‘In the bathroom,’ he bit out. ‘As the whole world now knows.’

  ‘Not the whole world!’ she corrected pithily. ‘Just the readers of Wow! magazine.’ She heaved out a great sigh. ‘You bought the ring and surprised me and it was wonderful, and then...then...’ her voice trembled momentarily ‘...nothing.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You were the one who had wanted to make this great big wonderfully romantic gesture, but afterwards you seemed to act like it had never happened.’

  Finn knitted his dark brows together. ‘How?’

  ‘Well, you never talked about marriage, or wedding plans. We never had the usual type of conversations that people have when they have just committed to each other like that.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Um...’ Amber realised that she was blushing ‘...babies, I suppose—’

  ‘Babies?’ Finn looked at her in surprise. ‘You mean you want to have a baby?’

  ‘Of course I don’t want to have a baby! Well, I do. But not yet! But I assumed that we would both want them some time in the future—that’s if we’re lucky enough to be able to have them.’

  Finn perched on the edge of his desk, his blackdenimed legs spread out in front of him as he observed her thoughtfully. ‘But we didn’t discuss it?’

  Amber shook her head. ‘No. Or where we would live. In fact, we don’t seem to have talked about anything very much for ages. You’re so busy all the time that sometimes I feel I hardly see you. It was as though the whole engagement thing had
never happened—the only reality was the diamond, and after a while I stopped noticing even that.’

  His eyebrows lifted up, disappearing briefly into the thickness of his dark, ruffled hair. ‘And wouldn’t it have been simpler to have just sat down and talked about what was bothering you, Amber? Rather than broadcasting it to the world like this?’

  ‘When?’ she shot back. ‘You always seem so tied up these days. Working all the hours that God sends. Spending hours on the phone to Birgitta, as you seem to like to do so much,’ she emphasised, even as she despised herself for her unreasonable jealousy.

  ‘We’re not back onto that, are we?’ he questioned wearily.

  She ignored the content of his question and concentrated instead on the way he had expressed it. He sounded exhausted—but her question came out sounding querulous instead of concerned. ‘Tell me, have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror just lately, Finn? You look absolutely wiped out.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I leave vanity to the models,’ he told her drawlingly. ‘That’s one of the reasons I gave up doing it for a living.’

  ‘Is it?’ Amber met his eyes. ‘Maybe you gave up modelling because you couldn’t stand taking orders from other people!’ she observed slowly. ‘You make the decisions because you always know best, Finn—or rather you think you do!’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Sure you do.’

  He fixed her with a steady look. ‘So how come you’ve never told me this before?’

  ‘Maybe there was no need to when our relationship was in its first lovey-dovey stages—’

  ‘But it’s not any more? Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps some of the gloss has worn thin and I’m scratching beneath the surface.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And discovering that I don’t much like what I find.’

  His gaze didn’t waver. ‘This is fast escalating into a demonstration of major differences between us, Amber,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think?’

  And then she knew real fear. Fear of having pushed him that fraction too far. Because, sitting poised so elegantly and so nonchalantly on his desk, Finn also looked frighteningly distant. Distant enough to end the relationship? she wondered.