She fingered the ring Brent had given her earlier today. How different it was from the simple diamond he’d given her the first time. How different their circumstances now. A pang of loss pulled at her heart. She’d been a fool to listen to Isobel that morning. A complete and utter fool. She should have known that Brent would have had his reasons for not telling her of the collapse of his business and finances. She should have trusted her instincts that his attraction to her had never been about her own perceived wealth.
If only he’d known, she thought bitterly. She was entitled to nothing on her own apart from the payment her parents’ insurance policies had made available to her on their deaths. A payment Isobel had topped up and set instructions in place for it to end on Amira’s thirtieth birthday. Oh, sure, Isobel had imagined that Amira would be well married by now, to some scion of New Zealand business with a bank balance to match. But in that, as in so many other things, Amira had failed her grandmother again.
Sure she lived in the Forsythe Mansion and materially she wanted for nothing. However, nothing was actually hers. The token stipends she was paid for her work on the various charities Isobel had spearheaded had been poured into the Fulfillment Foundation. If the truth be known, she was probably in worse financial position than Brent had been eight years ago.
Like him, she had her pride, if nothing else. She had to succeed at this or acknowledge failure in every area of her life. And, as far as she was concerned, that was not an option.
The next morning the papers were live with speculation about the revival of Brent and Amira’s romance. As she sipped her morning cup of Earl Grey tea and nibbled at her toast, Amira let a smile of satisfaction spread across her face. In no time the calls would flood in from the women’s magazines—each one wanting an exclusive. Maybe she’d even be able to forestall Caroline’s departure if she could cover back pay and at least the next couple of months’ wages.
For a moment she wished they’d brought the wedding closer but then quickly discarded the idea out of hand. They couldn’t be seen rushing things or it would arouse suspicion. Certainly the few short months they’d agreed upon could be seen to be acceptable. And then there’d be the wedding pictures to sell as well.
A warm glow started deep inside at the thought of being able to tell Casey and her new family when they’d be going to Disneyland. It would make everything worthwhile. Even the pain of being in a loveless marriage to a man who despised her.
With the anticipated calls of the magazines in mind, Amira changed her voice mail message on her machine, directing all inquiries to her publicist. That itself would confirm the rumors of an engagement she’d seen in one of the papers.
She wondered how Brent was faring this morning. It would probably pay to have him put the same message on his voice mail as well. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.
“Colby,” he answered, his tone clipped.
“Brent, good morning. I trust you slept well now that your development will be going ahead sooner than you anticipated?”
Before they’d left last night he’d told her that the league had accepted him into their exalted establishment and had assured him of their support with his current venture.
“Yes, thank you. I did sleep well, although I could have done without the string of photographers along the estuary walkway when I went for my morning run.” He sounded rueful. “I think until things die down a bit I’ll stick to my home gym. It was time I updated the treadmill anyway. How about you? Pleased with how last night went?”
As she replied in the affirmative, it struck her how empty their conversation was. As if between colleagues, not people who the world would soon believe were lovers. Their engagement was a hollow victory but a victory nonetheless she reminded herself.
“You might want to put a message on your voice mail directing everyone to Marie. As our publicist she’ll relish handling all that side of things.”
“Good idea.”
“By the way, I don’t have any official functions on my calendar for this week. I was thinking it might whet people’s appetites for news if we’re not seen together quite as much. What do you think?”
He hesitated a while before answering. Amira had no trouble imagining the expression on his face as he pondered her suggestion. No doubt he’d be thinking she had a hidden agenda. And maybe she did. A part of her wondered if it would simply be easier not to be reminded daily of what she’d thrown away when she stood him up—be easier not to be reminded of how artificial her life had become.
“Sure, that works for me. With the waterfront job coming together I’ll be pretty full on this week anyway.”
Amira regretted her suggestion the moment they said goodbye and she hung up her phone. She’d thought it would be easier. In reality she welcomed any excuse to see him, to touch him—even if it was only for show. Now she had no excuse to see him during the week, and by his own admission he was busy.
She’d just have to fill her time with other matters, she decided. By the end of the week, Marie had been approached by the major weekly glossy magazines for the rights to an exclusive interview with Brent and Amira. The staggering sums they offered were all much the same with various additional incentives thrown in to sweeten the individual pots.
“So what do you two think? Which magazine do you want to go with?” Marie asked as she stepped back from Brent’s desk where she’d laid out the different offers they’d received.
“Who has the highest circulation?” Brent asked, his face a noncommittal mask.
“This one,” Marie pointed to one of the offers.
“Then we should go with them,” he replied.
“No,” Amira interjected as Marie started to gather up the papers.
“You’d rather go with someone else?” Marie asked.
Amira straightened in her seat, avoiding Brent’s gaze as she chose her words carefully. No matter what she said, no matter how this came out, he’d still think badly of her. She thought about those wages, about the strain her staff was under.
“I’m not satisfied they’re offering enough. Why don’t we play them off one another, like an auction?” she asked.
“An auction—I haven’t coordinated one of those before.” Marie paced back and forth a few times, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I think you’re right, Miss Forsythe. We could definitely lever this higher. I know you vetoed mentioning your past engagement, but I’m thinking we might need to offer them more, perhaps something about why you two split in the first place…?”
Brent rose from his chair in a flood of movement. He gave Amira a cold, hard look.
“Is that what you want? To rake over old coals to get more money?”
His voice could freeze Lake Taupo solid, Amira thought as she gathered her strength to her.
“If that’s what it takes to drive up the price, yes.”
A light seemed to die in Brent’s eyes.
“Then do what you must.”
Marie looked from one to the other. “Oh-kay, I’ll get onto this right away then and get back to you as soon as I have a plan together.”
“Thank you, Marie,” Amira said, her gaze not moving from Brent’s set features.
“I’ll let myself out.”
When Marie had gone Amira spoke.
“I hope this change in plans doesn’t make you want to pull out of the interview.”
“I’ll show up for the interview no matter what you’ve arranged. Just know that I don’t believe you need to do this, Amira.”
“Believe me, I do.”
His expression said it all. He thought she was nothing more than a money-hungry greed machine. He sighed and wiped his hand across his eyes.
“When will it be enough?”
“Don’t you know? It’s never enough. Not for people like me.” She managed a brittle laugh to cover the hurt she felt inside at the disgust on his face. She could never tell him the truth of her grandmother’s hold over her. That even as Isobel’s closest blood
relative she’d never been good enough to win the old lady’s heart, nor the unstinting support that should have been hers by right. That she’d always been held up as an example of her parents’ failures to provide for her properly.
“You know, I’d actually feel sorry for you if I didn’t think it was a total waste of time.”
“I’ve never asked anyone to feel sorry for me,” Amira replied, injecting steel into her tone. “I do what I have to do, when I have to do it.”
“That you do.” Brent turned away from her, his hands clasped at his back as he faced out the window to the estuary beyond. “Is that all for today? I think you should go.”
“Fine, I’ll be in touch after I’ve heard from Marie.”
He didn’t so much as nod in acknowledgment as she left the room, and inside she felt as if another piece of her soul had been shaved away.
Seven
The interview with the women’s magazine went extremely well, and the photo spread showed exactly what it should—a couple in love, with a second chance at happiness.
Amira dropped her copy of the magazine on her coffee table. So why didn’t she feel happy? The publication had sold out within hours of reaching the newsstands and supermarket stands, and Marie had fielded offers from Australia to feature their article there also.
She should be dancing for joy. The money from the interview had already been deposited in the foundation’s account, and the staff’s wages had been paid, together with a generous bonus for their loyalty. Amira pressed a knotted fist against her chest. The hollow ache inside never went away; instead it grew ever more painful.
The smiling couple on the front cover of the glossy magazine didn’t seem real. Maybe that’s because they weren’t real, she reminded herself.
And maybe how she was feeling was due in part to the legal envelope that had been delivered by courier to her here at home the other day. The prenuptial agreement she’d suggested Brent have his lawyer draw up. She’d skimmed through it, then signed and returned it. Oh sure, she knew she should have had her own lawyers give independent legal advice on the document before signing, but it was pretty basic really.
The terms had been set out in black and white. In return for agreeing to marry her, Amira would see to it that Brent received the platinum level entry into the NZLB as she’d promised, together with a sum of money being not less than ten percent of the amount she would inherit under her grandmother’s estate upon marriage. She didn’t see how it could be any simpler. Gerald Stein, the family lawyer, would probably have a heart attack if he knew what she’d just done, but he’d still been away on a much-needed extended vacation, touring the cathedrals of Europe. Besides, she had taken control of her life.
She had offered those very things, Brent had agreed, and now their engagement was out there for all the world to see. Of course all the world also meant that no doubt Roland would soon know that his plans to move into the Forsythe mansion were in imminent danger of being thwarted. She wondered what type of message he’d take to leaving on her machine then. Thank heavens for caller ID.
As if the mere thought of the phone triggered it to ring, it suddenly shrilled in the quiet of her apartment. Despite herself, Amira jumped, her heart racing in her chest. A quick check of the screen confirmed it wasn’t Roland, and with a brief sigh of relief she recognized Gerald Stein’s private number.
“Gerald, how are you? How was your holiday?”
“Wonderful, thank you. But tell me, child, what on earth have you been up to? We must talk—urgently.”
There was a note to Gerald’s voice that instantly set Amira’s nerves on edge. She drew a deep breath before answering.
“Up to, Gerald? Why, fulfilling the terms of grandmother’s will. I suppose you’ve seen the news.”
“Exactly. Look, it’s vital I talk to you before you do anything else, and please, give no more interviews or statements to the press until we’ve spoken. I’ll have Cynthia clear a spot for you at three thirty. See you then.”
Without even waiting for her affirmative he hung up, leaving Amira with a disconnected beep in her ear and a puzzled frown on her face. She’d never known Gerald to be so abrupt, nor to sound quite so harried. Not even when Isobel had passed away, and the two of them had gone way back. In fact, Amira had often wondered if their relationship had ever proceeded beyond the professional boundaries of lawyer and client.
Whatever had happened in the past, it was her future that needed her full attention right now. Amira checked her PDA and made a few quick phone calls to rearrange things so she could make her meeting with Gerald.
She dressed conservatively for the meeting, wearing a pale pink silk blouse under a black suit with a knee-length pencil skirt. Patent black leather high-heeled pumps matched her slim bag to complete the ensemble. She tied her hair back in a long braid that fell down her back in a straight line, bumping against her spine as she walked.
The offices of Stein, Stein & Stein were located in the heart of Auckland City, in one of the few remaining heritage buildings on Queen Street, which resisted full modernization and clung tenaciously to its splendor of yesteryear. As a child she’d always been fascinated by the old wooden paneling that lined the corridors leading to the partners’ offices. On those rare occasions that Isobel had brought her into town, it had always been a treat of magnificent dimensions to take tea with Gerald in his office. Now, of course, Amira realized how narrow her world had been. Her every step guided by her grandmother, her every behavior constantly monitored. Still, as structured as her life had been, it had stood her in good stead. Now she could face down a battalion of New Zealand’s elite and coax sponsorship from them. For all but the Fulfillment Foundation, anyway.
She wondered whether Gerald’s call was related to the problems she’d had with paying the staff. His firm handled the legal issues on behalf of the foundation and had seen to its registration as a charitable trust. But what if someone had brought a grievance against her or the foundation? A deep sense of misgiving plucked at the back of Amira’s mind.
Gerald didn’t waste time getting to the point of their meeting. He was blunt and to the point.
“You have to call off your engagement.”
“Call off my engagement? But why? Gerald, you know I have to marry to inherit. Brent and I have come to an arrangement with which we’re both extremely comfortable.”
Okay, so maybe that was a slight exaggeration, she admitted silently. But they had made an arrangement. An arrangement she would abide by no matter how much it played on her mind, and no matter how much she now wished it could have been based on mutual respect and even love.
“It’s impossible. I’m sorry, my dear, but you have no choice.” A worried frown settled over his watery blue eyes, and he adjusted his glasses on his nose as he reached for the papers lying in front of him on the desk.
“But I don’t understand. You told me that I had to marry to inherit under grandmother’s will. That’s exactly what I’m doing, in,” she said while mentally counting off the calendar, “eight weeks’ time.”
“I can assure you, if you’re going to inherit you will not be marrying Brent Colby in eight weeks’ time.” He swiped his glasses off his nose and cleaned them with a tissue before settling them back on. “Your grandmother was quite explicit. I never saw the need to tell you about her proviso because I never dreamed you and Colby would get back together. You know how Isobel felt about him. And, of course, after your failed wedding…well, enough said about that. Suffice to say I chose not to inform you of these terms because I didn’t believe in waking sleeping dogs. Especially not hard on the heels of your bereavement. That said, I’ve done you a great disservice. I’m terribly sorry, my dear.”
A disservice? He’d withheld a vital piece of her grandmother’s will from her. And all because he hadn’t wanted to upset her? An icy trickle of dread ran down Amira’s spine. What had Isobel put in place that meant she had to break off her engagement with Brent?
“
What proviso?” she said quietly.
“Now, you know your grandmother only had your best interests at heart.”
“Tell me about the proviso,” she insisted in a voice that brooked no further argument.
“Right. Yes. Of course.” The elderly solicitor shuffled the papers before him and lifted one page. He cleared his throat then began to read. “And I furthermore direct that under no circumstances will my granddaughter, Amira Camille Forsythe, inherit if she should resume her previous relationship with the said Brent Colby, or if she should marry him.”
Amira’s heart twisted painfully. This was unbelievable. Her mind struggled to comprehend the ramifications of Gerald’s words even as the sound of his voice died on the air. How could Isobel have made such an outrageous demand? Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d used emotional blackmail to force Amira to withdraw from marrying him eight years ago? And that now, from her grave, she was forcing Amira to marry anyone else?
“Surely that won’t withstand a challenge.” Amira finally managed through lips that felt stiff and frozen.
“It may, and it may not. Either way, do you really have the time to devote to a challenge through the court? And, my dear, while I hate to remind you of this, do you really have the funds at your disposal to mount such a challenge?”
She hadn’t believed it could get much worse, but Gerald’s words were the death knell to her plans. There was no way she’d be able to fund such a legal challenge even if it could be pushed through the court system with any haste. Her body slumped in the deep leather wing chair where she’d perched so many times, legs swinging happily, as a child. The contrast between then and now had never been so evident.
Who would have thought her life would come to this? A marionette still being manipulated by a domineering old woman. Her breath shuddered in her lungs as the enormity of her grandmother’s reach clutched deathly fingers around her dream and wrenched it from the realms of possibility.
Convenient Marriage, Inconvenient Husband Page 7
