Marooned with the Millionaire

by Nina Milne

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Pancakes,’ he said with a touch of pride. ‘Admittedly the second batch—the first ones were a disaster. I wasn’t sure what you would want with them, so I thought I’d give you a choice. Bacon, maple syrup, lemon juice, sugar, blueberries—and there’s chocolate ice cream in the freezer.’

  ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.’

  Her expression was a near comical mix of wariness and innate politeness, and he grinned.

  ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to be polite. Just sit down and tuck in.’

  Another hesitation and then she shrugged. ‘OK.’

  Half an hour later satisfaction touched him as she polished off pancake number four.

  ‘I’ll tidy up, then I need go,’ she said.

  ‘Not so fast. There’s been a change of plan.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Frederick has ordered us to take a day off, and I’ve decided to obey the royal command.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t. They’re expecting me at the community centre and...’

  Bracing himself, Marcus shook his head. ‘Actually, they aren’t. Mia is back now, and I’ve asked Mrs Hernandez to help out today.’

  Her green eyes narrowed and her fingers twitched in a clear desire to pick up her empty plate and hurl it at his head.

  ‘Well, I’m going in anyway.’

  ‘Then at least let me tell you what I have planned for the day. First I am going to spend at least ten minutes apologising for my behaviour the other night. Then I want to take you for a day in the Lycander countryside and a picnic lunch. You’ve worked yourself into the ground in the past week and you deserve a day of rest. If you really can’t stand to go with me I could ask Elvira to go with you—or Gloria, or anyone else you want.’

  April stared at him for a long moment. ‘Let’s start with the apology and go from there.’

  Reaching out, he covered her hand with his. ‘I’m truly sorry, April. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I don’t understand why you would give a baby up, because I truly believe you would make a wonderful mother. But I need to trust that you have your reasons—not try to make you feel bad about the decision. Because I do totally believe in your love for a baby.’

  Tears sheened her green eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Her fingers tightened around his. ‘I owe you an apology as well. I overstepped. Your relationship with Louise and Bill is your business, and you’re right. You lived your whole childhood with them; I spent a few hours with them around a dinner table. That doesn’t give me the right to judge.’

  It didn’t, and yet he hadn’t been able to forget her words—had wondered if perhaps he had got it all wrong. Could Louise and Bill have grown to love him? The idea didn’t seem possible—after all, if that were so wouldn’t they have told him?

  ‘Also, I realise now that for you the idea of me giving a baby up for adoption must be even more complicated than it would be for anyone else, and I am truly sorry for that.’

  Marcus shook his head; he couldn’t let her beat herself up any further. ‘I appreciate that—and, yes. of course my circumstances play a part in my reaction. But I do believe in adoption in the right circumstances. In our case our birth parents died and we were very lucky to be taken in by Louise and Bill.’

  ‘Marcus, I am so sorry. It must have been devastating to lose your parents. I thought—’ She broke off, looking confused.

  ‘You thought I’d been taken away from my birth parents?’

  It was fair enough—after all, he’d told her that he’d been an illiterate, foul-mouthed, unloveable street fighter at the time of his adoption.

  ‘I wasn’t—though maybe I should have been.’ It was another question he tussled with. ‘My birth parents were alcoholics, drug addicts, criminals. But—’

  ‘But they were still the only parents you had?’

  ‘Yes.’ And as such of course he’d loved them. For all the good it had done him.

  With the benefit of hindsight, he understood that the path of addiction his parents had ended up on had distorted their ability to feel, to parent, to love. Their need for the next drink, the next hit, had outweighed anything else. But he also knew they had felt something for him, however insubstantial.

  ‘It was complex,’ he agreed now, as he pushed thoughts of the past away. He wanted today to be a happy day—to create good memories. ‘But we’ve been sidetracked. I don’t want today to be about the past, or the future. Let’s live in the moment.’

  She hesitated, her green eyes wide as they rested on his face, and then she nodded, smiled a smile that lit her face. ‘It’s a plan.’

  ‘So...a picnic in the countryside?’

  ‘I think that sounds lovely. I’ll change into something more suitable for a picnic and then let’s go.’

  Twenty minutes later she re-entered the kitchen, a tentative smile on her lips and a sliver of doubt in her eyes.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘I literally grabbed it off a clothes stall a couple of days ago, because I knew I was running low on clean clothes and might not have time to do a wash.’

  ‘I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re beautiful.’

  The words were out before he could stop them—because they were true. The simple sundress, a swirl of turquoise and sea-green, accentuated her slender curves and the length of her legs. But it was more than that; her features were relaxed, and her green eyes sparkled with a luminosity they had lacked for the past days.

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘And please note my gracious acceptance of the compliment. Now, shall I rustle up a picnic?’

  ‘No need. I’ve done it. Well, I went to the supermarket and bought some stuff.’

  To his considerable relief the very kind lady behind the deli counter had taken pity on him and put together a selection she had promised him would be perfect for a countryside picnic.

  ‘Let’s go. I’ve given Roberto the day off, so it’s just you and me.’

  Just you and me.

  The words seemed to echo in the air, reverberating with promise and anticipation, and Marcus threw caution to the wind and reached out for her hand. Hands clasped, they headed for the car.

  As he drove along he could sense April relax as she absorbed the beauty of the Lycandrian countryside—the variety and shades of green hedgerows and leaves, the golden fields and the sun-kissed breeze tinged with the scent of lemons.

  ‘It’s so peaceful,’ she said. ‘It’s almost impossible to believe that we’re only hours away from the city. Where are we going?’

  ‘A meadow with a river running through it and a weeping willow where we can sit in the shade and have our picnic. And I’ve brought a kite.’ For a moment he felt like an absolute idiot, and glanced sideways at her to see if she was laughing at him.

  But her face was illuminated with a smile that made him catch his breath.

  ‘That sounds idyllic. I haven’t flown a kite in years.’

  ‘Neither have I. Louise and Bill brought Elvira here to teach her how and she asked me to come too, so I did.’

  For a moment he revisited the memory, and it occurred to him that that wasn’t exactly how it had happened. First Bill and Louise had asked him and he’d refused—sure that he would be in the way, that he had been asked out of duty. He frowned as he wondered if perhaps...just perhaps... April had a point.

  ‘We’re here.’

  They alighted from the car and he led the way across the fields to the meadow, and somehow once again it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her hand. They reached the weeping willow and spread the blanket out under the sweep of its branches, then unpacked an array of delicacies from the wicker basket.

  ‘This is amazing. Thank you.’ She bit into a parmesan and gruyere cheese straw and rested back against the tree trunk with a contented sigh. ‘One day
we should hire a mini-bus and bring the teens out here. Gemma and Blake and Mia...everyone.’

  ‘We will. Lord knows they deserve some peace and quiet...a break.’

  ‘It will be a long time before life goes back to normal for them and their families, won’t it?’ Her voice sounded sad.

  ‘Yes. But I promise you that the new “normal” will be a lot better than the old one. Frederick and I have been in consultation with city planners and architects, surveyors and construction firms, and it’s all coming together. Safe, proper housing is a priority.’

  ‘I know you will make it happen. And that brings me to something I want to tell you. I’ve decided to drop the story about Axel and Frederick and the night of the tragedy.’

  Relief caused him to smile, even as curiosity prompted him to ask, ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if there is one thing I’ve learnt from this tragedy it’s that Frederick cares about Lycander and every one of his people, and for me to start a sequence of events that might topple him at a time when Lycander needs him would be wrong.’

  ‘What about the truth?’

  ‘I still believe in the truth, and I still believe that the people deserve that truth. I spoke with Frederick.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. Briefly. I told him that I knew but I wouldn’t pursue it—and he promised me that one day he will tell the truth, when the time is right. When he’s had a chance to prove to everyone that he is not the Playboy Prince they once despised. If Frederick did wrong, he’s doing his best to do right now. That’s what you told me once, isn’t it? That if you have done wrong then sometimes all you can do is live as good a life as you can to redeem yourself. So I’ll drop the story.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ he said simply.

  ‘There is also the fact that Brian Sewell is scum. I caught him at the community centre the other day, trying to convince everyone that their poor-quality housing was Frederick’s fault and they should take to the streets in protest instead of setting up shelters!’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I gave him a piece of my mind and Blake and Isaac threw him out. Clearly all that boxing training paid off; he went like a lamb.’

  The sheer indignation in her voice showed. ‘You really care, don’t you?’ he said.

  The words caused her to pause, an arrested look in her green eyes.

  ‘Why don’t you stay?’

  ‘Stay?’

  ‘Yes. In Lycander. For a while. You can base yourself anywhere as a writer, and you could stay on at the centre for a while if you wanted. I know how much help you are there. Perhaps you could even write a piece on the centre...’

  His voice trailed off as he wondered what exactly he was asking.

  Clearly she was wondering the same. ‘Would you want me to stay regardless of whether or not I’m pregnant?’

  Yes. The word exploded in his mind and he shook his head. Of course he didn’t want April to stay. Obviously he wouldn’t mind, because it would make no difference to him. Could make no difference to him.

  ‘That would be up to you,’ he said evenly. ‘But maybe we should wait and see what the test says before we decide anything.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Now, let’s fly that kite.’

  As he unpacked the multi-coloured kite he was tantalisingly aware of her proximity: the light scent of orange blossom, the soft silk of her auburn hair so close as they bent over the kite.

  ‘Would you like to go first?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Soon they were racing across the meadow, both of them whooping with joy as after a few false starts the breeze caught the kite and it swooped ever upward. April reeled out the string with an expert flick of her wrist. It bobbed high overhead with a jaunty dance and they came to a halt, breathless with laughter.

  ‘That’s how life should be,’ he said. ‘Like the flight of a kite, with the freedom to swoop and soar at will.’

  ‘Only it isn’t at will, is it?’ she returned. ‘It’s at the whim of the wind or the person who pulls the string.’

  ‘So you think it’s better to be in a cage of your own making?’

  ‘Yes. At least that way you can minimise the risk of plummeting down to your destruction, or getting tangled in a tree, or quite simply being abandoned by the string-puller.’

  ‘Or you can learn to ride the wind to the best of your ability and live your life with all the highs and the lows.’

  April sighed. ‘OK. We’re not really talking about the kite any more, are we?’

  ‘No. We’re talking about you. You say you want your life to remain as it is, but that way you shut out the possibility of so much—so many opportunities. The chance to write more serious articles, the chance to change other people’s lives, perhaps the chance to love and have a family.’

  ‘I told you. I don’t want that. You of all people should understand that. You’ve ruled it out for yourself.’

  ‘That’s different. You did want it once, or you would never have married Dean in the first place. You did believe in love and happy-ever-after, and I don’t want one man to ruin that dream for you. I don’t want you to be caged in by his actions, to give up on the future you deserve.’

  ‘I appreciate that. I do. But that happy-ever-after—it’s not for me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, April. I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to ruin the day.’ He could see sadness in her green eyes, an ache that made him want to hold her in his arms and somehow make the pain go away.

  ‘You haven’t ruined it. Not at all.’

  Green eyes wide, she edged closer to him, frowned and then swiftly tied the kite string to the branch of a small sapling. Facing him, her head tipped up to meet his gaze full-on, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘I promise. It’s been an incredible day, Marcus, and one I will always remember.’

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. A tendril of her hair whispered against his cheek, her scent tilted his senses—and he couldn’t help himself. Gently he cupped her jaw and lowered his lips over hers in a kiss so sweetly sensual his head spun in sheer giddiness.

  He didn’t know how long they stood there, lips locked in the flower-strewn meadow, surrounded by the gentle balm of the breeze and the gentle call of the birds, the kite still dancing above them in the cerulean sky. But finally she broke away.

  ‘The perfect end to a perfect day,’ she said, with a smile that caught at his chest.

  * * *

  April paced the lounge, unable to sleep, unable to do anything. That kiss had been the perfect end to a perfect day. But now the day was over and night had fallen and soon—oh-so-soon—she would know the answer to the question that had pounded her brain for days. The darkness outside, the deep midnight-black sky with its twinkle of stars did nothing to soothe her.

  How she wished she could stare at those stars and they could tell her the future.

  The click of the door alerted her and she turned to see Marcus silhouetted in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you. That’s why I came in here. To pace.’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep; the waiting is getting to me too.’

  He came to stand beside her, by the enormous bay window.

  April hesitated. ‘I bought a pregnancy test. One you can do early.’

  ‘How early?’

  ‘I could do it now. I’m just too chicken.’

  ‘I think you should do it. We need to know—one way or the other it’s always better to know.’

  He was right: better to face up to the truth rather than hide away from it. She knew that. Yet cold panic cascaded in a clammy sheen over her skin as she faltered out, ‘OK...’

  She took in a deep breath, needing to tell him something.

  ‘But first... If I am pregnant, and if you still want custody when the baby is born, you can have
it.’

  She had come to realise that in this case she could trust her judgement. Marcus was not like Dean. He was a truly good man—a man with flaws, for sure, but his flaws would never permit him to hurt or demean anyone else. He could admit it when he was wrong, he could be strong, and he could be gentle. She knew with all her heart that he would keep their baby safe.

  His face was pale in the light that suddenly flooded the room as the moon pulled out from behind a cloud.

  ‘I... Thank you, April. I swear I will be the best dad I can be.’ He tried a smile. ‘Now, why don’t you go off and then we’ll find out whether there will be any need for me to be one?’

  ‘Wish me luck.’

  With a ghost of a smile she headed for the bathroom, her heart slamming her ribcage in panic-stricken beats.

  The agonising wait seemed eternal, but once the time was up April hesitated, unable to look. The tension was so taut in her tummy that she thought she might buckle with cramp.

  Come on, April.

  She had to know. She couldn’t skulk in Marcus’s bathroom for ever. It wouldn’t be practical.

  And so, with a near-hysterical deep breath, she looked.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MARCUS WAS STANDING by the window when she returned to the lounge. The light was still off, the room lit only by the pale moonbeams and star-glow from without. He spun round as she entered, his hands clenched into fists by his sides, the question in his eyes almost anguished.

  ‘I’m not pregnant.’

  She said the words clearly, woodenly, her emotions numbed, but not so frozen that she didn’t see it—disappointment, zigzagging over his expression in a flash, before he stepped forward with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘That’s a relief.’

  But he couldn’t pull it off.

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ she said, her voice half-question, half-statement.

  Three strides took him to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the room, where he pulled out a whisky bottle.