“If only I’d known, I would’ve chilled a bottle of champagne,” she sighed. “We’ll make do with sherry.” Maude bustled to a wooden buffet busying herself with small, fine stemmed glasses.
Instead of a smiling face, Nate was confronted with Tilly looking like he just ran over her pet dog.
“It’s better this way,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Her bowed head shook. Before she could reply, he leaned over and planted his lips on hers until he felt them soften.
“Rat bag,” she hissed.
“I’ve been called worse. Now play your part.” He jabbed her ribs with his elbow as Maude turned around, three delicate glasses balanced on a silver platter.
Stepping forward to relieve Maude of the tray, he offered each of them a drink.
He raised his glass towards Maude, “to your health and for your hospitality.” Then turned towards Tilly before adding, “to my beautiful bride-to-be.”
Maude choked on a sob. “I just wish Uncle Jack was still here. He would have loved to have seen Tilly marry.”
Tilly placed her arm around her aunt’s bony shoulders. “He was a wonderful man.”
Nate took in a number of prominently displayed photos. He did not need Sherlock Holmes to deduce they were of Jack. Even aged, Maude’s beloved husband smiled in all the photos, frozen in time with a ruddy complexion and cheeky grin.
Nate scratched his chin. There had been no happy, family pictures in the council estate flat where he was raised. The place had been a dump and his mother had not bothered to make it liveable.
Nate refocussed on Tilly and Maude. His journalist’s gut reaction told him that Maude was street-smart and would see through any pretence. They needed to maintain their story together.
His gaze caught Tilly’s fingers clenched firmly together, the whiteness of her knuckles standing out against the dark colour blue of her skinny jeans. He had not considered just how hard maintaining the façade would be for her. Something unfamiliar curled in his chest. He was still responsible for her. Prying her fingers from the denim, he enveloped them in his own. “Something smells good,” Nate remarked, thereby ending their discussion.
Tilly shot him a grateful look.
Maude blushed. “I hope you like shakshouka. It’s eggs cooked with tomatoes, onions and spices.”
“I like everything.” He rubbed his stomach before planting another kiss on Tilly’s cheek.
The state of the art steel dining table from his London apartment would barely fit in Maude’s kitchen. With his knees virtually under his chin, every time he breathed his bent legs knocked the table causing the water to slosh over the rims of their glasses. “Sorry,” he apologised yet again. The cosiness was a far cry from the clean, clear lines of his architecturally designed apartment.
Maude lowered her cutlery. “Tilly, do you think the reporters will be waiting for you in London?”
Tilly sucked in a sharp breath so Nate replied. “I’m organising security.”
Maude nodded.
“And where will you live?”
“In my apartment. It’s very secure. Tilly has been hounded by the press and my place can offer her the protection she deserves.”
“I’m old-fashioned and don’t approve of young people living together,” she sniffed. “At least you’re engaged.”
Tilly started coughing and Nate poured her a glass of water. “Are you okay, darling?” he gently patted her back.
Her eyes filling with tears, Tilly nodded before sipping the water. “Sorry, something went down the wrong way.”
Satisfied Tilly was fine, Maude turned her attention back to Nate. Her roving eyes looking, seeking. All she needed to complete the inquisition was a metal chair, darkened room and spotlight.
“I was so angry about those reporters. My Tilly wouldn’t have had an affair with a married man. She was raised with morals and principles,” she added with a decisive nod of her head.
“Quite so.” He nodded in agreement.
“How long will you be in Jerusalem?” Maude asked.
His chest tightened with the need to maintain the deceit to Tilly’s beloved aunty. “I wanted to return to London tonight but Tilly insisted on seeing you.”
“Bless you both.” Maude’s smile extended to her ears as she looked at her niece.
His gut clenched at the sight of her obvious joy. He was in this for himself not for being nice.
The older lady continued. “I’m doing a tour tomorrow. I hope you can both come along.”
“I don’t think—” His polite decline was ignored by Maude.
“My dear,” her bony hand covered his, “this place is steeped in history. Tomorrow I will show you where we believe Jesus was crucified and buried. We will follow his final footsteps, see the place where he performed a healing miracle and where his mother Mary was born. Even if you’re not a committed Christian, I’m sure a writer like yourself will be interested to see the places and events in the Bible come to life. It’s here.” She pointed to the floor. “It all happened here.” She leaned back into her chair, her gaze focussed on him. “The Jewish people have been living here since before Christ but us Christians have been coming here on pilgrims for two thousand years.”
“Is that why you chose to stay, work and raise a family here?” Nate asked, forgetting about Tilly and finding interest in why an Australian would want to live away from their family and hometown.
“Of course. This small country is my home. I met my husband here and we had a real affinity for it. We lived in Jerusalem but we also conduct tours in Nazareth, Bethlehem and Galilee.”
“Galilee?” He scratched his head.
“Capernaum is where Jesus performed His miracle of the fish and loaves and the magnificent Sea of Galilee is where He walked on water.” Maude gave him a warm smile.
“Oh,” his heart sank at his lack of knowledge. She may not make him feel stupid but he sure felt it. A vague memory came to mind of the miracles Jesus performed. He had loved the stories and was interested in hearing them be repeated. To a young child with a miserable home life, the ancient times seemed exotic and an exciting place to revisit.
“We’d love it, wouldn’t we Nate?” Tilly turned, firing him a determined look.
“We do a lot of walking so wear comfortable shoes.” Maude leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
“Aunty, in case there is anything in the papers, the press think we’ve been engaged longer than we actually have.”
Maude’s brows shot up. “Why?”
“By extending our relationship we can quash any suggestions that she was with Sebastian,” Nate added, before Tilly could open her mouth. The success of this story-spinning depended on everything, including all details, being aligned.
“Thank you for warning me. I don’t like lying, but if you think it’s best for Tilly.” Maude clucked her tongue against the roof her mouth.
He almost snorted considering the number of lies he had been involved in over the past forty-eight hours. “This way we can protect her reputation.”
The muscles in his neck stiffened as he watched the display of genuine affection being played out in front of him. Growing up, there had never been grandparents, cousins or uncles and aunts. Until his foster parents had taken him and Bea in, when had anyone looked out for him? Maude was kind and thoughtful, a direct opposite to the pathetic woman who was his mother.
Nate suddenly stood as though he had been ejected from his seat like a pilot on a collision course.
“Something wrong?” Maude asked, her face lined with concern.
“No.” Tightness around his chest made it hard to breathe.
He remained straight for a moment longer before he lifted the fallen chair.
The walls of the tiny kitchen seemed to be closing in around him as though the room was shrinking. Unable to leave, he did the next best thing. “I’ll do the dishes while you ladies catch up.”
“No, you’re a guest.” Maude gestured for him to si
t.
Tilly shushed Maude, gently placing her hand over her aunt’s. “Let him, I want to tell you about the resort.” While filling the sink with hot, soapy water, he couldn’t help but overhear Tilly. “I don’t believe any man with dish-pan hands has ever been killed by his wife in a moment of rage.”
Over a pot of tea and homemade shortbread biscuits, Nate learned Maude had two children. A son living in New York and a daughter in Tel Aviv.
“So Tilly was named after your sister?” He carefully returned his delicate doll-sized tea cup to its matching saucer.
He poured himself a refill of the strong brew wishing for a more solid man-sized mug rather than a tiny cup with enough liquid for two large sips.
“Yes, my twin sister died of polio when she was eight.” Maude paused before reaching into her bra for a handkerchief decorated in pink flowers. Blotting her eyes she said, “to this day I still wonder why God chose my sister Matilda over me.”
Tilly placed her hand over Maude’s. “Oh Aunty.”
Nate saw the dark cloud pass across the older woman’s face and his gaze wandered before focussing on the clock.
Tilly continued gently stroking her aunt’s hand with her fingers. Looking at him she said, “As you know, I was born after three boys and named Matilda.”
“Yet you go by Tilly,” he said stretching back into his chair.
“Matilda is popular, now. It’s an old-fashioned name and besides, I preferred Tilly.”
“It suits you.” He caught the flush of pink on her cheek before quickly kissing the nape of her neck.
Tilly noticed that Nate avoided anything remotely personal about himself and successfully steered the conversation back to her or Maude’s family each time it threatened to focus on him.
Recalling his confidence on the beach and his manner when challenging the reporters, there was no way he could be described as an introvert. It seemed he wore his self-assurance with the effortlessness that a man applies his aftershave. With ease.
Perhaps he was reclusive. Weren’t many writers loners?
Then Maude asked, “so Nate, Tilly tells me you’re a writer? Do you write fiction or non-fiction? I’ve always wanted to write a book,” Maude sighed with content.
“Non-fiction.” He sat back in his seat. “Tilly has told me so much about you and your life here, I’m sure there is a book there.” He pointed to her head.
Tilly nodded. “Aunty Maude has received lots of awards from the Israeli Government for all her community service work over the years.”
Nate deserved an award for playing the role of attentive fiancé so well. Not wanting to admit it, but she liked the brush of his warm lips against her skin and the spicy male scent of his aftershave wafting past her nostrils. A couple of times she had bitten her lip to stop herself from taking a giant whiff of his intoxicating scent.
Despite the success of the evening, she had an uneasy feeling about the relaxed manner in which he had charmed her aunty. There was nothing to point her finger at, so perhaps it was the tiredness and the stress from their great escape.
Was it only this morning she had called Nate for help? It seemed like a week ago. She stifled a yawn.
“Come-on sleepy head, we should get going.” Nate said with a determined voice.
“I have a spare bed and Tilly can stay here for the night.” Maude suggested with a wave of her hand.
“I’m sorry Mrs Winters, but I think Tilly should stay at the hotel with its 24/7 security.”
Maude looked at him with a defying glint in her eye. “I have lived here for fifty years – it’s perfectly safe.”
Determined to have it all done his way was written across his face with the skin tightly stretched across his jaw. “The hotel is safer for Tilly.”
Not wanting to have Nate and Maude start a spat, she placed a reassuring hand over the older woman’s. “Aunty, as much I want to stay here, Nate is right. Remember what happened in London?”
“I want you to be safe. Go with Nate but I expect to see you tomorrow.”
“Of course.” She leaned over to kiss her aunt on the cheek. “It’ll be great, won’t it Nate?”
“Sure,” he said through clenched teeth, ignoring her frown and the cute way her hands rested on her hips. Tours really were not his thing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nate yawned before downing the remainder of his double espresso, his body weary beyond belief.
The hackers were gone, but his blog page had had no updates for the past couple of days. That was unheard of. His readers were used to a variety of daily posts. With his email inbox at capacity and his editor calling him on an hourly basis, Nate’s frustration surged.
At three in the morning, he had a lengthy discussion with his newspaper’s editor before making a number of decisions. After writing a detailed blog post about Tilly, he gave his assistants full access so they could review and publish reader comments.
He needed to convince Tilly to return to London rather than gallivanting around Jerusalem on some spiritual tour. He also had to hide her mobile phone less she go on to the internet and discover his true identity. Too tired last night, she had left her phone in her bag before retiring. It had been easy to hide it in his backpack and he had even made sure to mute it, lest it rang out. He just could not take a chance on her reading his blog until he had time to explain.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Nate ignored the continual pings on his phone indicating the arrival of more emails. Until the caffeine kicked in, his brain was functioning on less than three hours of sleep.
A door opening drew his eyes to Tilly stepping from her room.
“Good morning,” he said as she shuffled towards him.
“It’s just morning,” she added flatly, refusing to look at him.
His gaze travelled appreciatively up the length of her legs, over the knee-length denim skirt and short sleeved shirt she wore. “If I’d known my fiancée wasn’t a morning person, I would’ve organised one of these for her.” He raised his empty espresso cup.
“Your fiancée can make her own coffee,” she said with a flippant voice, waltzing right past him.
“I’ve got tickets for London,” he said tentatively. He decided on a soft approach, before physically carrying her, caveman style, to Ben Gurion airport if needed.
She swung around to look at him. “No, not yet,” she pleaded in a soft voice.
“Tilly, I agreed to bring you here, but I didn’t agree to prance around on some…tour.” He could not pretend he was interested in wasting a day here rather than returning to the security of his beloved hometown.
“A day or so won’t make a difference,” she shrugged. “What’s the hurry?”
He bit his lip lest he snap at her. “I want you safe.”
“It’s safe here,” she said with a shrug that made him want to hoist her over his shoulder and find a taxi.
His fingers tapped the granite bench. “It’s safer in London.”
“I want to spend time with my aunt.”
“You had one week with her.” His fingers continued a staccato rhythm on the tabletop.
“Nate.” She crossed her arms, sending him a sulky look. “Being with Aunty Maude is important to me and I’m sorry you can’t see that.”
His voice lowered. “You can come back after we end our engagement.”
A shadow crossed her face before she looked away and took in the breakfast buffet he had ordered from room service.
Hoping to brighten the mood between them, he asked whether Tilly would prefer something more Australian – “Vegemite toast, perhaps?”
“No thanks, this Israeli brekkie is fine,” she replied with a clipped tone before busying herself with a tuna and salad sandwich.
Perhaps some caffeine could make her see reason. “How do you take your coffee?” He popped a pod into the coffee machine. That worked! Happiness rather than annoyance was now etched across her face.
“Milk and one sugar thanks.” She sidled tow
ards him or perhaps it was the coffee she was more interested in?
The machine whirled and a minute later, he stirred in a teaspoon of sugar before handing the latte to her.
“Thanks.” She took an appreciative sip.
“If we’re going to face your aunt and her inquisition, you’ll have to pretend you like me.”
Her shoulders stiffened and he bit back a chuckle.
“You’re cute when you scowl.” He took a step closer to whisper in her ear. “Perhaps I should just kiss some sense into you?”
Her cheeks flamed. Stumbling away from him, coffee sloshed over the rim of her latte glass. “No, that’s not necessary.”
He mopped the spill with a tea towel. “Tilly, we’re in this together,” he said, standing tall.
“Don’t I know it.” She banged her plate down, before rubbing the back of her neck. Giving him a cool glare, she added, “and just so you know, I’m not a virgin and my parents would not insist on me marrying you just because we had sex.” She lifted her brow. “So ponder that, Mr-know-it-all. And next time, you play the over-endearing fiancé, I will imply your manliness is not up to par.” With a toss of her head, she took her sandwich, a couple of hard-boiled eggs and coffee before heading to her bedroom. She could not help the smirk etched across her face seeing him statue straight, his mouth wide open.
Last night, when fibbing to her aunt, tension had gripped her as though a giant fist had twisted her insides into a knot. After fleeing London, she had spent one week with her aunt and had never said a word about Nate, his secure apartment or his over-protective manner.
Worried that Maude would not believe their engagement to be real, she needed to ensure they both played the part of loving married-to-be’s. His over-bearing, stuffy behaviour was driving her to distraction. So were his kissable lips. She dragged in a shaky breath.
At his best, he was most charming.
At his worst, he was still charming.
No wonder she was falling for him. But he was so wrong for her.
Last night, walking back to the hotel, surrounded by the history of Jerusalem, she could understand why her aunty had chosen this old city over the country town of her birth. It was drawing her in. Returning to her every day life in Australia was becoming less appealing. Here, she had a sense of belonging, a sense of being.
Falling for Mr Wrong Page 10
