One Wedding Required!

by Sharon Kendrick

  She rolled onto her back and grabbed a tissue from the box on the locker, blew her nose and looked up at him.

  ‘Remember Christmas Day?’ she asked him.

  She saw an unfamiliar impatience on his face. ‘It was three days ago—I haven’t been afflicted with short-term memory loss just yet.’ He frowned. ‘What about it?’

  She tried to keep calm. Nothing was going to be gained by her being crotchety with him. ‘Do you remember saying how grumpy you’d been? How difficult you’d been to live with?’

  His gaze was cool. ‘Did I?’

  Her good intentions flew straight out of the window, and she waved her hands impatiently in the air. ‘Damn it, Finn—you know you did! Are you being deliberately obtuse?’

  The movements she had made caused her breasts to jiggle beneath their thin confinement, and she heard him suck in a deep, ragged breath. Amber saw that his darkened eyes were mesmerised by the thrust of her nipples against the lace, and she wondered if he was going to just pull her into his arms and peel the nightgown from her body, to start making slow, irresistible love to her.

  But he didn’t.

  Amber glanced down at her fingers, which were anxiously knotted together on the snowy backdrop of the duvet, and the diamond which glittered on her third finger mocked her in all its stony-hard beauty. Why on earth had he bothered buying the wretched ring and proposing in the first place? When had Finn last mentioned marriage? she found herself wondering—then despaired of herself for being so submissive. When had she?

  Finn had been flying to Australia, collapsing with the flu and getting up at the crack of dawn to fix Birgitta and Karolina’s leaking ceiling. So what had happened to all her confidence? To all the breezy light-heartedness which had attracted this gorgeous man to her in the first place? She had whittled away at it with all her nagging self-doubts and insecurities, hadn’t she? And no one could deny that Finn had contributed to those.

  ‘Finn—’

  He turned around, the golden cream of his skin as smooth and delicious as the most expensive fudge. ‘What?’

  She screwed up her face in frustration at his indifference. ‘Something’s wrong—I know it is.’

  Wariness flickered across his eyes. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, I know you’re working too hard—’

  He elevated his eyebrows unhelpfully. ‘But not right now, sugar.’

  ‘No.’ She tried again, plucking up the courage to say what had been buzzing her mind with doubts for weeks now. ‘We haven’t really discussed the wedding lately, either.’

  He gave a half-laugh. ‘Well, you have, remember? That illuminating interview you gave to Wow! magazine? ’

  Amber swallowed down a sigh of impatience. ‘You’re not still holding that against me, are you?’

  ‘I’m trying not to,’ he told her truthfully. ‘But to be perfectly honest just the thought of it makes me cringe. It’s ironic, really—I’ve spent the whole of my life forging a persona for myself which has been publicity-free, which is not easy in this business. Not easy at all.’ He paused. ‘And then you come along and blow it all in one afternoon.’

  ‘Are you still trying to make me feel bad?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you how I feel. I can’t help it if you don’t like what you hear. You were the one who asked me, Amber.’

  So did that mean she shouldn’t have asked? Simply pretend that nothing was wrong? But surely that would be no good either. Something was gnawing away at the heart of their relationship, and if she didn’t get to the bottom of it soon...

  She had been intending to ask him whether a spring wedding was out of the question, but one glance at the frosty distance in his eyes changed her mind.

  She played Little Miss Housewife instead.

  ‘Like some more coffee?’ she asked brightly.

  ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ He picked up the discarded plate and began deliberately piling it with all the buttery fragments of pastry. ‘Don’t bother bringing it back in here—I’ll come and drink it in the kitchen.’ He handed her the plate. ‘Do you want to take your rubbish with you?’

  ‘Right.’ White-faced and trembling, she marched out of the bedroom, not wanting him to see the depth of her distress. Today was a holiday, so they could have lain in all day if they’d wanted. No need to go anywhere—particularly in view of his expressed need to rest. So why was he getting up with that sour expression on his face, as if he had the world to run and all the cares to go with it?

  As Amber ground the coffee beans, she felt her composure slipping away.

  Finn took absolutely ages, but at least by the time he wandered out in his oldest pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt—which gave him a devilish look—Amber had recovered something of her self-possession.

  She had her eyes closed as she sniffed at the fragrant coffee, and when she opened them it was to find Finn standing watching her. Some of the coldness had gone from his eyes, and his mouth was kiss-tender, so that hers found itself instinctively responding with a soft, curving smile. What she wanted was to run up to him and hurl herself into his arms, and ask him to tell her that nothing was wrong and that everything was going to be all right. But she didn’t dare.

  She didn’t dare because she was frightened of what the answer might be.

  Instead, she poured them both a coffee, then perched on one of the bar stools. She stared at the winter-flowering jasmine which stood in a pot on the side, deliberately not glancing in Finn’s direction—rather as people did when they wanted to engage a child or an animal. Ignoring them and discounting their unease, knowing it would draw them to you.

  And it did.

  He came over and levered himself up to perch on one of the tall stools opposite hers, tucking his long legs up onto one of the rungs. But he was silent as he picked up his coffee and cupped it between his palms, staring intently at the circling brown liquid as though he were searching for gold in the bottom of the cup. Fear gripped her again, but she forced herself to look at the facts, and the facts certainly weren’t fearful. For some reason Finn was distracted, and she wasn’t exactly helping matters by circling him like a cat preying on a bird.

  If something was wrong then she’d find out what it was soon enough, and in the meantime she would forget weddings and just give him some space. They’d talk about normal stuff instead. Christmas stuff.

  Amber took a sip of coffee and stared at him over the rim of her cup. ‘Have you rung round about New Year’s Eve yet?’

  The pause while she waited for him to answer was so long that for a moment Amber wondered whether he had actually heard her.

  ‘No,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Better get a move on, then! You know people keep their diaries free, hoping for an invite.’

  ‘Yeah.’ But his sigh sounded reluctant, and she knew that she hadn’t imagined it.

  New Year’s Eve at Finn Fitzgerald’s was something of a tradition—the only party he threw all year, and even people who should have known better found themselves clamouring for an invitation. He invited people who amused or interested him, and—since the numbers always varied—no two years were ever the same.

  Except in one respect—that the entertainment never differed, with Finn always playing a couple of pieces on the piano. It had started out as an impromptu session years ago, before Amber had ever gone to work at Allure, and had proved so popular that his guests had insisted on an annual performance.

  Although Finn had talent, he was not a natural performer—that was one of the reasons he had given up modelling. He always played the same two pieces, which he claimed were the only two he could play, and he always finished just in time for the bells chiming in the New Year. Usually he spent the last couple of weeks of December practising the pieces whenever he got the opportunity, but Amber now realised that she hadn’t heard him playing.

  Not once.

  Apprehension gripped her.

  ‘You are still planning to have a party?’

  ‘S
ure. I told you that the other day.’

  Her lips were paper-dry. ‘Just that I haven’t heard you practising—’

  He smiled, but it was a slick, professional smile—the type he sometimes switched on when he was working. ‘That doesn’t necessarily mean that I haven’t been playing, does it? Just that you haven’t been around to hear it.’

  ‘Please don’t patronise me, Finn!’

  ‘Was I?’ His expression remained bland. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was patronising you.’

  She put her cup down with a shaking hand. ‘Are we having another argument?’ she demanded. ‘Two in one morning—that must be a record!’

  He shrugged as though he didn’t particularly care. ‘But adults don’t always agree on every subject, do they? Even ones who live together.’

  But we do! she wanted to shout at him. We agree on almost every subject—or at least I thought we did!

  But something in his eyes stopped her, and Amber had the strong sense of needing to draw back, suspecting that if she pushed him into a corner, he might...just might...

  But she was unable to even acknowledge what was bothering her, and, loathing herself for her compliance, she smiled at him instead. ‘So have you been practising?’ she questioned brightly, her smile so brittle she felt as though her lips might crack. ‘Secretly?’ What an actress she had become! She sounded as though she would be overjoyed if he told her that, yes—he had!

  Was it her imagination, or did Finn look almost disappointed ? Disappointed that she hadn’t risen to the provocation? she wondered.

  ‘No, I haven’t been practising,’ he growled out repressively. ‘Oddly enough, I haven’t really had the chance, in between flying to Australian hospitals and sorting out plumbing jobs!’

  ‘Well, hadn’t you better practise today?’ she suggested mildly. ‘You know how you like to polish those two particular pieces so that you sound like a worldclass virtuoso! It’s your need for perfection, Finn—that’s what drives you!’

  He slammed down his coffee cup and the sound was almost deafening. ‘I’ll decide when I practise!’ he snarled. ‘And it ain’t going to be today—’

  He got up swiftly, his body stiffening as if for fight, and Amber stared up at him, her eyes darkening in alarm. ‘W-why not today?’ she stammered, too concerned to question the outrageously rude way in which he had spoken to her.

  ‘Because I’m going into the office today!’

  ‘But, Finn,’ she objected, ‘you’ve been complaining how hard you’ve been working!’

  ‘No, honey,’ he corrected grimly. ‘You’re the one who has been complaining, not me.’

  Her mouth fell open in the way she had thought mouths only did in cartoons as he strode out of the kitchen without another word.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘URSULA, please—you’ve got to come!’

  Ursula’s sigh was heavy down the telephone. ‘Amber, I can’t. I told you. I’m going on a winter holiday.’

  Amber stared at her frightened, pale face reflected back at her from the mirror which hung in the hall. ‘But you never go on winter holidays!’

  ‘I know.’ Ursula’s voice was grim. ‘I never go skiing, either. I never go on dates. I never pluck my eyebrows or eat breakfast in bed—’

  ‘Well, I don’t advise trying that,’ put in Amber darkly.

  ‘And I’ll be thirty before long—’

  ‘Not for another two years,’ Amber pointed out in some alarm. ‘And you mustn’t start thinking like that! You’re only as young as you feel!’ When Ursula talked about getting old, it made her feel old. And getting older held even less appeal than usual when the whole substance of your future seemed to be shifting like quicksand..

  ‘Whatever,’ said Ursula, slightly dismissively. ‘It’s time I started doing all the things I’ve always wanted to do, instead of constantly putting my life on hold.’

  ‘And is there a reason for this sudden change of heart?’

  There was a pause. ‘There is, but I’d rather not talk about it.’

  ‘Is this something to do with Ross Sheridan?’

  ‘No comment,’ offered Ursula drily. ‘Listen, Amber, I really have to run.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Amber, trying not to sound irritated, though she knew she had no earthly right to be. She just wasn’t used to Ursula being in a hurry with her, that was all. She was the one who was normally dashing to this and that and the other. Ursula was her big sister, who always had unlimited time and patience for her. But not any more, it seemed. ‘I wish you were coming,’ she said, in a little-girl voice.

  ‘But why?’ laughed Ursula. ‘You don’t need me to hold your hand! It’s Finn’s New Year party and you’re his fiancée now. Just think of all the jealous looks you’ll get! All those women casting daggers at you and wondering what you’ve got which has managed to ensnare one of London’s most eligible bachelors!’

  ‘I sometimes find myself wondering that,’ said Amber gloomily.

  ‘If that’s an attempt to get me to sing your many praises, then I’m afraid I haven’t time,’ said Ursula.

  ‘No.’

  Ursula’s voice changed when she heard the hollow little response. ‘Amber, it’s not like you to agree with me—nothing’s wrong, is it?’

  Once upon a time Amber might have said, yes, everything was wrong. But she was a grown woman now, one who had to handle her own life and its inevitable problems. She couldn’t go running to her big sister every time things weren’t going quite to her liking. And anyway—what could she possibly say to the sister she suspected deep down might still be a virgin?

  That Finn hadn’t come near her for days? That his moods had been black and unrecognisable? That she was terrified he was trying to push her away? And that she—terrified and pathetic little mouse that she had become—was afraid to challenge him for fear of what he might say to her?

  She injected her voice with all the enthusiasm she could muster. ‘No,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Why would it be?’

  ‘Exactly!’ agreed Ursula warmly. ‘You’re the woman everybody envies—that’s the Finn effect! Have a wonderful New Year—and I’ll see you when I get back.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Amber quickly, guilty that she had been so caught up in her own problems she hadn’t given a thought to her sister’s plans.

  ‘To Prague.’

  ‘And why Prague?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Ursula lightly. ‘Because it’s there, I suppose!’

  ‘Isn’t that what someone said when they asked him why he wanted to climb Everest?’

  ‘Clever girl!’ Ursula giggled. ‘And there was me, hoping to claim it for my own!’

  Amber put the phone down and wandered into the sitting room. Only it felt like a hotel, not her home. As if she had no real place in it, and what place she had was only temporary.

  Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve and they were having a party. No. Correction. Finn was having a party. Because she had not been involved in any of the arrangements. Not this year. Last year she had ordered balloons and streamers and the most extravagant chocolate cake that many of the guests had ever seen—or so they had claimed. It had been the first time that he had let her help him, and to Amber it had been a statement to the world of how close they had become.

  She remembered the room growing silent as midnight had approached. Finn had got up from the piano and flung open the huge balcony windows, as he always did, and everyone had clustered outside to hear the first mighty boom as Big Ben struck out the first note of the New Year. Remembered how privileged she had felt to be within earshot of the historic clock.

  She had heard it other years, it was true—for Finn had invited her to every party since she had gone to work for him. But last year had been extra special—or rather they had both discovered that their relationship was extra special. Everything had seemed perfect—almost too perfect. They had been living together for almost one blissful year, but Amber had never attempted to define
their unspoken harmony to anyone—not even to her sister, for fear of sounding too smug. Or tempting fate.

  But harmonious it had been, on just about every level, and Amber had known that—had prayed that she wasn’t misreading all the signs. She’d known that she loved him, and had prayed that Finn felt the same way about her. She’d suspected that he did, though he’d never actually said so...at least, not until last year’s party...

  It had been the usual busy run-up to Christmas, and Amber had been approached to be the face for a big campaign, run by a leading Paris-based company called Cassini. Cassini was an international company and they had been looking for the kind of woman who exemplified all their products—from make-up and perfume to jewellery. A woman who could appeal to all their customers, no matter in which country they lived. ‘A truly international woman’ had been the brief given to Finn and heads of the other major model agencies.

  It had been a tall order, and no one had been more surprised than Amber when Cassini had told her that they wanted her to be their new face. She rarely modelled, preferring to spend time in the office side by side with Finn, and she hadn’t even approached Cassini—it had all happened quite by chance.

  The parfumerie boss had arrived one day to have lunch with Finn and had seen the slender woman with golden-bright hair wearing faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt, sitting perched on the edge of a desk munching away at an apple.

  And, in Finn’s own, rather caustic words, the man had been bowled over. ‘Smitten.’

  ‘He wants you,’ Finn had told her, and Amber had arched her eyebrows delicately.

  ‘Wants me?’

  Finn was trying to smile. ‘Oh, not in the biblical sense,’ he drawled. ‘Or, if he does, then he hasn’t dared let on to me. No, he wants you to front the new campaign.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Amber faintly.

  ‘Surprised?’ Finn growled, and she smiled.

  ‘The phrase “knock me down with a feather” springs immediately to mind!’