by Zee Monodee
He looked like … well, anything but a playboy right now.
And this rattled her. Magnus, the clown—she could deal with.
Magnus any other way …?
She blinked and shook her head. Best not to pursue that line of thought.
And best to strike, get the upper hand before she lost it for good.
“So?” she prompted. “Nammy?”
“Nammy is my grandmother, Amelia Trammell.”
Oh, she knew that dragon, though she’d never have suspected her to have a sweet nickname. Well, knew of her—everyone in Daimsbury recognized the dowager-type lady who looked like baking queen Mary Berry, minus any softness in her attitude.
“Nana Amelia. When we were little, we couldn’t handle that mouthful, so it got crunched into Nammy,” Stellan said, a smile and affection obvious in his tone.
Right, these two had grown up together, along with another bloke, Lars—their mothers were fast friends so they’d always gravitated in the same circles.
“What of the cottage?” she then asked, almost choking on that last word because a cottage, it surely was not!
Magnus remained silent for long seconds, his gaze, intense and solemn, fixed on her. If he kept this up, she would start to squirm under such scrutiny. Where was the fool when everyone needed him … and by that, she meant when she needed him. She’d always had a thing for stern men who wore the mantle of responsibility like the righteous cape of a superhero. Magnus had been light years from any potential of that … or so she’d thought.
She didn’t like this one bit.
“The cottage is mine to do with as I please,” he stated. “Provided it is a responsible endeavour, and that I use the money she has bequeathed in that direction.”
It all became a jumble in her mind. He’d brought her here. Talks of her cancer and that other thing her treatment would wreck in her life. Now discussions about responsibility …
“I am planning to set up a non-profit organization that will turn the cottage into a fertility clinic catering to the needs of younger people faced with cancer diagnoses.”
He paused then, and placed his hands on her skinny jeans-covered knees.
Not the first time Magnus had touched her. He’d often held her elbow when he’d opened doors for her at work. Or their hands would brush when they exchanged documents in the office. He’d even kissed her on both cheeks once. In all those instances, she’d felt nothing. Because she’d been dealing with Magnus, the player.
Whereas today … This man—not at all the usual man-child—he was different. Someone else inside the same shell. A soul she could now see, and what she saw worked her up in ways she didn’t want to fathom. All this wasn’t even about the money on his part, because Magnus had a personal fortune that would make a UAE oil prince jealous. Plus, he’d mentioned a trust fund from Nammy—trust money could only be used for a goal, not for personal enjoyment.
Before coming here today, she’d have bet her life with eyes closed if someone had stated she’d ever feel anything beyond affectionate amusement for Magnus Trammell.
“This is going to happen, Megha, whether my family agrees to it or not,” he continued, the pressure of his fingers on her thighs deepening. “If my father won’t see the sense in that, Nammy can still intervene, though I hope it won’t come to that. I already know I have her backing. As for you … We don’t have time to wait in your case, so here’s what we’ll do. The trust will pay for your egg harvesting procedure and then the subsequent annual storage fees. In return, you become the face of this venture and help us with raising awareness as part of an outreach initiative sponsored by Trammell’s.”
She gulped. What he said … She hadn’t even considered anything beyond the fact that she needed to fight to survive, to win over this facking parasite that had laid siege to her left breast. This, before she’d undergone a bilateral mastectomy because her too-small breasts didn’t allow any margin for conservation in a lumpectomy procedure. It had been prophylactic on the right side, as the triple negative result had implied a genetic origin so she was at risk of breast cancer on the other side, too.
To be honest, she didn’t know what she wanted beyond getting a chance to live, to see past her thirtieth birthday. What he asked—it was just too much. Coupled with the fact that she was seeing a different man here … No, she couldn’t do this. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
On a strangled moan, she pushed his hands off and stood, then grabbed her handbag and ran out of the flat.
*
“That went well.”
Not. Stellan, always the one for sarcasm.
Magnus Trammell shook his head and plopped down on the sofa Megha had vacated after he’d stared at the closed front door for long seconds.
What had he done wrong? He’d been meaning to help her, for God’s sake. Did she have to up and leave like that, after swearing the place down? Trust that sharp tongue of hers to never cut any hairs—you got what you deserved from that mouth.
Everything he’d said had made sense, right? She would benefit from fertility preservation. He couldn’t imagine someone this young being deprived of the possibility of having kids in the future through no actual fault of hers. She hadn’t invited breast cancer into her body, the way smoking a pack or more a day could most definitely lead to lung cancer. Nobody knew how or why other cancers just happened, like with her.
More than needing her for his clinic project, he wished to ease her plight. Yes, having her as the ambassador for this venture would be a win—she was a Trammell’s employee benefiting from an initiative launched by that very company, plus she ticked all the boxes for being the ideal subject for such an endeavour.
Seemed she didn’t see it that way, though.
He sighed. “What do I do now?”
Stellan settled more comfortably in his seat. “Give her time.”
He shook his head. “She’s stubborn. She won’t reconsider this.”
In the past three weeks, he’d come to know her. She weighed her options before she made any decision—sound business sense, in fact—and he’d seen her applying this approach to her personal life, as well. For example, many women in her shoes would’ve balked at the idea of losing both their breasts, probably fighting tooth and nail to retain them while removing the cancer. Playing with fire, she’d called it; everything had to go, because she wanted to be rid of the disease.
An all-or-nothing woman. Everything told him he had ended up with her nothing here.
“Then you need a new angle,” Stellan added.
“And how do you propose I do that? I need to have all the bases covered before I bring this to my father. She is perfect for this; I’m not going to find someone better suited. I’m willing to pay for her procedure out of pocket until the money clears once he agrees to the plan.”
“Which you need me to back.”
He peeked at his best mate. “He’ll take me seriously once he knows you’re backing this idea. Like I said, I don’t want to bring Nammy in yet. She can’t fight this battle for me. I have to do it myself.”
Stellan stared at him for long seconds. “Why don’t you trust that he’ll see the sense in there when you bring him the proposal all by yourself?”
Another sigh escaped him. His family thought him a joker. True, he’d never done anything to rectify this state of affairs—that’s what they would think irrespective of what he did. Because his elder brother had cornered that avenue to his parents’ love, that’s why.
His fists curled onto themselves when he thought of Carl, the paragon of all virtues, the ideal son any parent would kill to have. Carl, happily married to his childhood sweetheart who came from a good, proper family; the one with the two adorable kids who always reminded Magnus of mechanic dolls—or zombies, depending on the day; and the one who brought pride to the Trammell name through his career as a diplomatic attaché with the Foreign Office.
No matter what Magnus did or even attempted to do, he’d never to
uch such lofty heights as Carl already had. For most of his life, it had been a case of ‘why bother?’ so he’d let himself fall into the persona of the playboy and the philandering party animal.
And then, it all came down to now. He wanted to change that opinion his family had formed of him, but he didn’t stand a chance. At least not yet. Once past the hurdle of getting his father to unblock the trust money with Stellan’s backing, then he’d try to prove he was made of less vapid stuff.
And the reason why he wished to go to all those lengths? Well, Nammy didn’t suffer fools gladly. Why hadn’t the Grande Dame entrusted any of his other siblings with this money and the cottage? Delicate, caring Elin, his youngest sister, would’ve fitted the bill perfectly to do the ‘responsible’ thing. Even Agneta and Tindra, his other two sisters, would’ve made something of this opportunity. But Nammy had chosen him, and for once in his life, he knew he couldn’t let her down.
Then there was the fact that he wanted another woman to see him not as the fool to be suffered, but as someone she could respect. Witnessing her battle her cancer diagnosis had won his tremendous admiration, and he wished for even a fraction of that to be reciprocated. This would be possible only if she stopped seeing the party boy when she looked at him. There couldn’t be much worse than having someone you looked up to peer down on you with pity or contempt in their long-suffering gaze.
Stellan’s phone rang then, and the bloke broke into a small smile as he stared at the screen. Seconds later, he’d swiped the device, and the massive SmartScreen TV on the wall above the fireplace mantel came to life with a Skype call.
A blond, bearded man with golden tanned skin stared back at them. Lars Rutherford, their other mate. The third Musketeer who now lived on the island of Mauritius in the Indian Ocean where he handled a base of operations for Stellan’s family’s shipping empire.
“Hey, man!” both he and Stellan greeted.
Lars waved, then his girlfriend, Simmi, leaned over his shoulder and said hello.
“So, we got news,” Simmi said with a bright smile.
Magnus and Stellan looked at each other. Could it be …?
Simmi and Lars both grinned, and she waved the back of her left hand in front of the web cam. No mistaking the glittering rock on her ring finger.
“I asked Simmi to marry me.” Lars now grinned like a loon.
“And we can see she said yes,” Stellan stated. “Congratulations, guys!”
“Yeah, guys. Congratulations! Cannot think of two people better suited for each other,” Magnus added with genuine warmth in his smile and in his heart.
“Mark your calendars. We’re gonna be in London sometime in June. You’ll get to meet my wonderful fiancée for real, then,” Lars said as he wrapped an arm around Simmi’s waist and tumbled her onto his lap before soundly kissing her.
“Get a bloody room,” Stellan groaned.
The lovebirds laughed, and Simmi got up.
“I’m off now. Hitting the gym with Annabelle. She says hi, Magnus. Will leave you guys alone, and please behave while I’m gone.”
“Of course, älskling,” Lars stated as he watched her go with googly eyes. He then turned to the camera. “Man, Magnus. If you die today, know there’s at least one good thing you’ve done in your life.”
He’d been the one to arrange the blind date that had brought Lars and Simmi together, with the help of Annabelle, one of his ex-girlfriends and also Simmi’s cousin.
“Mate, you are so totally whipped.” He shook his head, then grew serious. “You’re happy?”
Lars turned solemn. “Yeah. I am.”
“Good.”
A long pause settled on the room, all three men remaining silent.
Magnus could see it on Lars’ face. The bloke had always looked stormy, like he’d rip you a new one if you crossed him the wrong way. But none of that restless energy seemed to bristle anymore on him. As for Simmi, her pale skin had positively glowed, and her eyes had sparkled. They looked in love, like they’d found their other half.
Would he have that one day?
For a second, he didn’t want to contemplate where that had come from. He knew where it originated, for sure, but facing it? He was still too chicken for that. Seeing his best friend happy … Well, a tiny part of him yearned for that, too. Being the party animal could grow old very quickly, and he usually fought to not reach that stage when the bottom of a bottle looked like it would be the best place to lose himself in. He had also never been in love.
“So, guys, we’ve finally managed to coincide our schedules to be in London together,” Lars said.
Simmi worked as the EVP, Legal Affairs, of a huge Mauritian conglomerate. Her diary often proved more hectic than Lars’.
“Where do you want us to meet?” Stellan asked.
“I was hoping the Mayfair house, Magnus. I want your parents to meet Simmi. My mum came down here a few months ago, and Stellan, your parents’ cruise ship was passing by Mauritius the other day so we arranged to have lunch, all four of us, while they were in transit.”
Meeting the family—the other boys’ mothers proved as much Mummy material to each one as his own birth mother. No wonder, given how those three women had been friends all their lives. Stellan’s mother had kept her family between London and Göteborg when her other two besties married English men. Through a stroke of luck, all three got pregnant with boys around the same time, though his mother joined that bandwagon late. However, all three of their sons were born within five weeks of each other, Magnus even coming into the world almost two months earlier just so they could achieve that feat.
“Mum will love to hear that. She’ll start planning a garden party already,” he joked.
Lars chuckled. “So, what have you bums been up to?”
Stellan turned to Magnus, one eyebrow cocked, silently asking if he should divulge the latest happenings.
He nodded softly, and Stellan brought Lars up to speed.
Lars whistled. “Nammy, of course. One thing I don’t get, though. Why this venture?”
Stellan cleared his throat. “It involves a girl.”
“Of course,” their friend replied with a big smile as he settled back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head.
Magnus shook his head. “Cut it out!”
“What does this girl look like?” Lars asked.
“Bollywood bombshell,” Stellan quipped.
“Ooh, now you’re talking.”
“But,” his friend interjected. “This one actually has a brain in working order.”
Magnus rolled his eyes. “Come on. I don’t date just airheads.”
“Name one girl you dated who had active brain cells,” came from the screen.
“So you’re dating her? Weird, because she actually has hips,” Stellan said.
“What? A normal woman and not an anorexic waif?” Lars exclaimed.
He ignored the man across from him and faced the one thousands of miles away. “Piss off. And Annabelle was intelligent.”
“Debatable. I’m really fond of Simmi’s cousin, but I wouldn’t go as far as saying she has a brain in actual working order.”
“The most important question is, are you dating Megha?” Stellan pushed through.
“No!”
“So you’re sleeping with her, then. Change of style for you, I must say.”
“Bloody hell! Of course not!”
“So you mean you are going so much out of your way just to help her? Even paying thousands of pounds for her procedure?”
“As a friend, yes.”
“Magnus, pardon me, mate, but you become friends with a girl only after you’ve had sex with her,” Lars supplied.
He stood, frustration now brimming through him. “It’s not like that with her.”
“Why not?”
Stellan should’ve become a lawyer—he never let up with his interrogations.
How did he explain what he felt for Megha? That he had such an incredible yearning to
help her, to make her life lighter.
He remembered the day he had met her. She’d caught his eye in the shop, where he’d gone incognito as a mystery shopper to find out why their flagship store, started in the seventeenth century by his ancestor, was doing so badly in its sales numbers. The family would never close that first shop, and his father had mentioned wishing to know what was going on there.
He couldn’t say why he’d thought of going. Maybe to impress his dad and show that he could actually do anything besides party. Nammy had also mentioned something along those lines, and this had come just a day after her lawyers had summoned him to their chambers to tell him about the trust. Try as he could, he did his best to never let his grandma who’d always been his champion down, and this time, it had felt more important because she’d trusted him with her treasured cottage.
He’d thus found himself drifting there, and now, he’d say it was fate because he’d met her. He’d been impressed by how she’d handled the potential bomb of the square box—a commitment-averse man like himself knew how to sidestep any potholes, and a square box not containing a wedding ring would warrant a nuclear reaction in any relationship. But the manager had just been eager for a sale, pushing him to buy more expensive jewels when he’d clearly altered his appearance to show that he was a man with limited means. Definitely not the kind of customer service he wanted Trammell’s to be known for.
He’d found the name of the sales girl. Megha Saran. Her earthy beauty, dusky skin, and wide brown eyes had already told him she must be of Indian origin. He’d read all he could about her in her employee file, and had gone the next day as himself this time to ask her to take the reins after he fired that incompetent bastard who’d had to be behind the dismal figures.
He’d begged her to stay on—she was the main human asset of that shop. And that’s when she’d dropped the bombshell.
She couldn’t take a more taxing position, because she’d just been diagnosed with breast cancer.
“She has cancer, guys,” he said softly, his tone sounding pained.
