A Bride at His Bidding

by Michelle Smart

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he said suddenly.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Introduce you to my family as my fiancée when we don’t mean it. I cannot marry you knowing it isn’t true. I cannot make false vows.’ And as he said the words aloud, he knew them to be true, and a weight he hadn’t felt on his shoulders lifted.

  Somewhere, somehow, he had fallen for his poisonous viper of a journalist.

  He could laugh at his old notions about her.

  There was nothing poisonous about Carrie. Prise off the shell she carried herself in and there was a kind, loving, independent, fiercely protective woman. When Carrie loved someone, it was with everything she had. She loved with her whole heart.

  And he loved her with the whole of his.

  ‘Oh.’ She had gone very still beside him.

  He tugged the hand he was holding to his mouth and pressed his lips to the knuckles. ‘Marry me for real.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I am serious. Marry me. For real. Not for six months.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Carrie...’

  ‘The answer is no.’ She pulled her hand from his and shifted away so her back was to the door, staring at him warily as if he were a dangerous dog that could bite. ‘I agreed to six months. You can’t change the terms now.’

  ‘I am not changing the terms. I am telling you I cannot go through with the terms we agreed on. It would not feel right.’

  ‘Why not? Is it because I was a virgin so you feel honour-bound to keep me for ever?’ She spoke slowly, not taking her eyes from his face.

  ‘It has nothing to do with you being a virgin. I admit, I like knowing I’m the only man you have been with...’

  She gave the briefest of smiles, one that did not reach her wary, watchful eyes. ‘Your sexist undertones are coming out.’

  ‘I am being honest with you and I say this with all honesty too—you could have slept with a hundred men and I would still be asking you to marry me for real.’

  In the few, intense weeks they had been together they had seen the worst in each other and the best. She had slipped so effortlessly into his life it was as if she had always been there.

  ‘Okay.’ She dragged the last syllable out then nodded her head. ‘Well, I am telling you, with all honesty, that I will not commit to anything longer than six months.’

  ‘Why not?’ he challenged.

  ‘You have to ask? The whole reason I am here is to put right the awful wrong I did to you but that shouldn’t mean I have to give up my whole life...’

  ‘Do you not feel anything for me other than a debt you need to pay?’ he asked, forcing his voice to stay even, not wanting to jump to conclusions. They had done that enough already...

  But if they hadn’t jumped to their prior conclusions about each other they wouldn’t be sitting there now...

  And he wouldn’t be feeling as if he’d started swimming only to find the water had turned into treacle. The shell he had so carefully prised open was reforming around her. He could virtually see the seams knitting themselves together.

  ‘Are you telling me I have imagined everything that has happened between us?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying any of those things.’ There was an air of desperation in her voice. ‘You can’t just throw something like this at me and expect me to fall in line with it.’

  ‘I don’t want you to fall in line.’ He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘How long do you want to have?’

  ‘Six months.’

  ‘I mean how long do you want to think about it?’ he asked through gritted teeth.

  ‘I don’t need to think about it.’ She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. ‘We marry for six months and then we divorce and I move back into my London house and you live the life you’ve been dreaming of.’

  ‘I don’t want that life any more. Being with you...it has...not changed me but made me see I want someone to share it all with.’

  ‘Oh, so you want a constant companion while you live the high life and I’m here and available and you’ve got to marry me anyway so I’ll do? How am I supposed to do that around work? Or am I expected to give up my job?’

  ‘Did I say any of that?’ he demanded, the anger clawing in his guts finally finding a vent.

  He wouldn’t say he’d expected her to agree to his proposal on a whim but he’d thought—in as much as he’d thought about it, which he hadn’t really considering he’d only just accepted his own feelings for her—she would at least be receptive to the idea.

  He acknowledged his own lie to himself.

  His feelings for Carrie had been like a runaway train from the minute she’d stepped into his office. He’d thought it had been the same for her.

  Had he really got it so wrong?

  Had the closeness they’d developed really just been a figment of his imagination?

  ‘Six months of marriage where we live in London then you can relocate your headquarters to Athens and I stay put. That’s what we agreed,’ she said obstinately.

  ‘What if I were to offer to live permanently in London with you? For ever.’ He laid his challenge down.

  ‘The answer is still no. I do not want to marry you. Don’t you get that? I will pay my debt. I will do six months. And then I will leave.’

  ‘How can you be so cold?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘I am offering to give everything up for you and you...’

  ‘Cold?’ she interrupted. Suddenly she leapt from her perch on the seat and pushed him back so she was on top of him, pinning him down, her little hands holding his wrists above his head, her snarling face above his.

  She’d moved so quickly he’d had no time for defence. If the situation were more humorous and less of a feeling that everything was fraying at the seams, he would have admired her ninja skills.

  ‘Don’t you call me cold!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t you dare! I have spent my life caring for the people that I love and losing them. I nursed my mother for six years and then she was gone. I have loved and cared for Violet her entire life and what good did that do? She’s gone too! She is lost to me. I would give my entire life to have them back so don’t you dare call me cold and don’t you dare ask me to commit the rest of my life to a man who’s been yearning for his freedom and would only break my heart. Yes, Andreas, you,’ she spat. ‘If our marriage was for real you would bore of me in months; that yearning for freedom would still be in you getting stronger and stronger and then what would happen? You’d get your chequebook out and pay me off like all rich men do when something nicer and newer grabs their attention.’

  Andreas stared into her spitting eyes and felt the very coldness he’d accused her of creep into his veins.

  Everything made sudden gut-aching sense.

  He twisted his wrists easily from her hold and snatched her hands, pulling them together to hold her wrists in one hand while he levered himself up with his free hand.

  Then they were staring at each other, enough hate and poison swirling between them to choke on.

  He had been wrong about her. Prise her shell off and she was still just a poisonous viper of a journalist.

  ‘Oh. I get it,’ he said slowly. ‘You still think I’m just a rich bastard who is pre-programmed to cheat and treat women like dirt.’

  Her eyes widened. Suddenly the fury went from them and she blinked rapidly, shaking her head. ‘No. No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you’re not like other...’

  ‘You have said enough,’ he cut in icily, then he dropped her wrists and banged on the dividing window. ‘I’ll get out here. Take Miss Rivers back to the villa to collect her belongings and then take her to the airport.’

  He turned back to stare at her now pale face for the last time. ‘I will arrange for my jet to take you back to London. Your debt to me is over.’

  Then, without a word of goodbye, he got out of the car and strode through the other idle cars to his family.

  Carrie watched him walk
away, her heart in her mouth, loud drumbeats banging in her head. The scratchy panic that had torn her insides into pieces as Andreas had spoken of marriage had gone and all that was left was a numbness, as if she had been anaesthetised.

  She rubbed her wrists, the look in his eyes as he’d let go of them, discarding them as if they were trash, right there in her mind.

  Andreas had looked at her as if she were a toxin.

  He merged into the merry crowd outside the pretty white church without once looking back.

  A separate merry crowd had gathered together to push the broken-down car away. She watched them as if through a filter, seeing but not seeing, Andreas’s hateful look the only thing she could picture with clarity, as she sat there too numb to take anything else in.

  He had never looked at her like that before. Not even when the truth had first unravelled itself.

  She was barely aware of her own car moving until the driver made a slow U-turn in the space that had opened up before them and crunched away from the happy wedding party, just as Andreas had made a U-turn on their plans...

  Their plans?

  There were no plans now, she realised, her heart hammering more painfully than it had ever done.

  Their relationship, such as it was, was over.

  They were over.

  She was still too numb to do more than swallow back a huge lump that had formed in her throat.

  * * *

  Andreas sipped at his single malt as he read through the emails Debbie had decided were worthy of his attention, keeping one eye on the time. An old friend from his Manhattan days, when he’d been a mere employee, was due any minute. As was their tradition, they’d agreed to meet in their old ‘watering hole’, as Frank still liked to call it.

  ‘Can I get you another drink, sir?’

  He looked up from the screen at the young, pretty waitress who had been paying him extra attention since he’d arrived at the bar and settled himself in an empty corner booth. It was still early but tonight was the opening game of the baseball season and this bar was a firm favourite for Yankee fans. He estimated that he and Frank would have an hour of catching up before the place filled up.

  ‘I’m good for the moment, thank you,’ he answered with a quick grin. ‘I’ll let you know if I need anything else.’

  She winked before sashaying away. ‘Be sure that you do.’

  Focussing his attention back on his smartphone, he rubbed the back of his neck and chided himself for wasting an opportunity for a little flirtation.

  This pretty waitress was a perfect example of what he’d been looking forward to all these years: grabbing opportunities for fun when they came along. Andreas was now free to do what he liked with whom he liked when he liked. Natalia had announced at his cousin’s wedding that she was moving in with her boyfriend. A boyfriend she had conveniently forgotten to mention to her protective uncle until she was certain things would work out between them.

  He’d wished her luck and even managed to inject sincerity in his voice.

  Who knew, he thought cynically, taking another sip of his Scotch, maybe it would work for them? And if it didn’t he would be there to pick up the pieces. He’d come to accept that when it came to Natalia, he would always be there.

  The main thing, he had told himself numerous times, was that his freedom had officially arrived. He didn’t even have a fake fiancée to worry about.

  Lord knew what he would do if the rumours about him gained traction. It had been six days since he’d shut the door on the viper and their relationship. He’d ordered Debbie to check in frequently with their media contacts and inform him immediately if the rumours started up again. So far, all was quiet.

  Maybe their brief relationship had been enough on its own to quell the rumours.

  The waitress caught his eye again. She really was incredibly pretty, a true all-American girl with a toothy smile and perfectly blonde hair.

  Carrie’s hair had been blonde the first time he’d met her, their first oh-so-fleeting glance...

  He took a deep breath and downed his Scotch.

  Do not think of her. Not by name.

  It was easier to depersonalise her. Depersonalise her and forget about her.

  Less than a minute after he’d slammed his empty glass on the table, the waitress brought him another over.

  ‘Where are you from?’ she asked, lingering at the table.

  ‘Greece.’ He returned the smile and willed himself to feel something.

  Anything.

  ‘Greece, huh? I’ve always wanted to go there.’

  She’d moved close enough for him to smell her perfume. It was nice. Floral.

  It did nothing for him.

  Carrie’s scent had been evocative. It had hit him in the loins.

  His mind suddenly loosened, memories he’d shut tightly away springing free. The heat of her kisses, the movement of her lips when she spoke, the way she smiled sleepily when she looked at him after waking...

  The way she had cried on his shoulder, her desolation over her sister, the way she had clung to him, as if he were the lifeline she’d needed when her emotions had thrown her out to sea...

  Carrie...

  Carrie...

  Carrie!

  Her name rang loudly in his ears.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Carrie.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  He blinked and saw the waitress looking at him with puzzlement.

  He’d said her name aloud.

  Carrie.

  Scared, terrified Carrie who’d spent her life watching her mother and sister being used and sometimes abused by rich men.

  Her kisses didn’t lie. Her lovemaking didn’t lie.

  Her scared brain did.

  ‘Her name is Carrie,’ he said more clearly. ‘The woman I love. She’s called Carrie.’

  He hadn’t told her he loved her. He’d held that back as the strength and vehemence of her rejection had accelerated, protecting his ego.

  Why had he not recognised the fear in her eyes for what it was rather than just listened to what she’d said? Why had he not laid his heart truly on the line for her?

  The reason for that was simple. As this pretty waitress would no doubt say, the reason was because he was a shmuck.

  He got to his feet, pulling a couple of twenty-dollar bills from his wallet, and thrust them into the waitress’s hand. ‘If a tall bald man called Frank asks for Andreas, tell him I remembered I had to be somewhere else.’

  Hurrying out of the bar, he hailed the first cab that came his way and instructed the driver to take him to the airport.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CARRIE CLOSED HER laptop after her video chat with her sister feeling slightly lighter.

  They had just shared their first real, meaningful conversation since Violet had confessed to her affair with James.

  Violet had done as Carrie had beseeched and confessed her lies about Andreas to her counsellor. It had been at the counsellor’s behest that Violet had arranged the video chat.

  Seeing her sister’s face on the screen, in real time, had been almost as good as the conversation itself. She’d put on weight, no longer the gaunt stick-thin figure who could still fit in children’s clothes. Her complexion was clearer too, although the effect of that was to highlight the scars that had accumulated on her face over the years. Raymond had promised that he would pay for treatment for the scars once she had been clean for a year.

  The man who’d been such a scummy, negligent father had finally come into his own and was doing the right thing by his daughter. He’d even come to the computer and waved at Carrie, which she’d conceded was a big deal for him considering the last time they’d spoken she’d been blackmailing him.

  In all, things were looking good. Much more positive.

  The only dark cloud had come when Violet had asked how things were going for Carrie with Andreas. When Carrie had responded with a prepared airy, ‘It fizzled out,’ Violet had been cr
estfallen.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ Carrie had said, trying her hardest to keep things light.

  Violet had bitten her lips in the exact same way their mother had done. ‘I just want you to be happy,’ she’d blurted out.

  ‘I am happy,’ Carrie had promised, her stomach wrenching.

  Violet had not looked convinced.

  All week Carrie had kept her airy face on, telling curious colleagues that yes, she and Andreas had had a brief romance but that they had decided it wouldn’t work between them long term.

  Her only real gulp-inducing moment had been when the features editor had asked when she would have the exclusive interview written up. She’d forgotten all about that.

  She opened her laptop back up and decided to write the feature now. She had no transcripts of any of their conversations but she knew if she started, they would come back to her.

  She would write it, email it to Andreas for his approval—after all, everything they had discussed had been between the two of them and not for public consumption—and if he agreed, she would send it to the features editor. If he refused she would say he’d pulled out. She would take the blame for it. Happily. She would not have his name tarnished.

  Even if he did hate her.

  She caught sight of the time and saw it was almost one in the morning.

  It was Saturday.

  This was supposed to be their wedding day.

  She took a long breath and opened a new document to write on.

  The time didn’t matter. She’d hardly slept more than a couple of hours a night since her return to London.

  The nights had become her enemy, a time when her brain did nothing but try to think of Andreas.

  And now it was time to slay his ghost. Finally allow herself to think about him properly, write the feature and then spend the rest of her life forgetting about him.

  Oh, but the pain in her chest. It hurt. Really hurt. It was as if someone had punched her right in her heart.

  So she started writing.

  She soon discovered she didn’t need transcripts.

  Every minute of their time together had lodged in her brain.