Blind-Date Marriage

by Fiona Harper

  Bodies swarmed around them and Chantelle was forgotten. But she knew Chantelle wasn’t meant for him, anyway. That was why he’d got cold feet before their wedding. It had had nothing to do with his ability to commit, that was for sure, but she suspected Jake hadn’t woken up to that fact yet.

  No guarantees, that was what he’d said. With love there were no sure things, only risks, and while Jake was fixated on the idea that there were no guarantees for success, there were no guarantees for failure either.

  She lowered her lashes momentarily, and when she looked at him again she took all the barriers down. All her love and longing for him were there for him to see.

  He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. There was a sense of inevitability about all this. They had no choice, really. How stupid of them to have wasted all this time.

  She wove through the moving bodies towards him and he suddenly sprang to life, forging through the crowd too. Finally they stood face to face. It was all she could do to stop herself from leaping into his arms. They were only inches apart, but she held back from touching him. Both of them knew that contact would light the touch paper, and this was neither the time nor the place.

  Her voice came out all low and breathy. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift home.’

  His eyes swept over her, drinking her in. Much more was being said than just words. Body to body, man to woman.

  ‘What about Chantelle?’ she asked.

  ‘What about her? She came here on her own. She can leave the same way. I didn’t bring her. She just…latched on.’

  ‘I know.’

  They both turned and watched Chantelle trying to sweet-talk Benny. All her eyelash-flapping was getting her nowhere. Serena and Jake smiled at each other and he reached for her hand. Her fingers slid into his and her fate was sealed, just as surely as if she’d said I do.

  They didn’t break contact until they reached Jake’s car. The ride home was made in a silence thick with promise. It reminded her of the first night they’d met, when the boundaries of the universe had shrunk to fit the cabin of her dad’s car.

  Her heart throbbed like the engine and her nerve-endings were sensitised. Just watching him drive, watching his firm hands and strong wrists, was sending waves of pleasure crashing through her just as if he’d been touching her.

  By the time the car screeched to a halt she was shaking with need.

  As they climbed the steps to the front door, he caught her hand and pulled her to him. Since she was a step higher than him, they were at eye level with each other. His hands traced the contours of her cheeks, and the look in his eyes made her tremble all the more. It was more than desire, something richer and deeper, which, given enough time and room to grow, might turn into love.

  She drank in that look.

  Then her lashes lowered to her cheeks and she started to close the gap between them, slowly, savouring the ache of anticipation. Jake broke before she did, crushing her to him and claiming her lips with heady need. She clasped her hands round his neck and pulled him closer still, letting him know the heat was raging inside her too.

  They stumbled up the next few steps, Jake guiding her as best he could since she was going backwards. Her back crashed into the front door, but all thoughts of keys and lights were banished from her head by the velvet of his lips upon her throat, burning kisses that set her toes alight.

  She dragged her hands from the back of his head and fumbled in her pocket. The keys felt like ice. They jangled in her shaking fingers as she tugged them free. Jake refused to let her go when she turned to slide her key into the lock. His hands flew under her coat, caressing her through the clingy wrap-over dress she was wearing. One hand delved under the top layer. She gasped hard and almost dropped her keyring.

  Then they were falling through the front door, keys clattering somewhere on the tiles. Coats fell to the floor. Jake’s weight shifted as he slammed the door closed with a foot.

  He pulled away and looked at her, and her heart almost stopped. Such tenderness, such vulnerability. How did this amazing, intelligent man not understand he was nothing like his father? He was too scared to see the truth. Scared of the loss and rejection that might ensue if his fears were real. That fear had kept him a prisoner too long.

  She kissed his nose, his eyelids, his brows.

  I was scared too.

  But she had thrown away her fears and preconceptions and jumped over the precipice. And instead of a terrifying plummet to the death, she was flying—free to love and give herself without reservation. It was glorious.

  She would lead him, step by step, and if they stumbled, they stumbled, but at least they would have tried. She laced her fingers into his and led him towards the stairs. The house was as familiar to her in the dark as it was with the lights on. Jake, however, was blind. But it didn’t matter. She would guide him through the darkness.

  When the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, the pace slowed, as if they both knew the momentous nature of the occasion. No rushing through without enjoying the scenery. Each moment, each touch, was to be savoured, not wasted.

  He stepped towards her and kissed her. His lips were so soft, so gentle, that tears sprang into her eyes. She knew she would never regret taking this path, whatever the future held. Just to experience this bliss once in a lifetime would be enough.

  The tips of his fingers skimmed the contours of her body, and the string holding her dress together tensed, then fell loose. She fumbled with his tie, trembling fingers working through the knot, but she wouldn’t rush. It slid free and landed by their feet.

  She lowered her arms and shimmied out of her dress. It clung to her slightly as it slid down her legs and pooled at her ankles. Jake reached for her, his patience evaporating, and his long fingers slid down her back, sending ripples of delight up her spine.

  Knowing she was in her underwear while he was still fully clothed only served to heighten her desire, making her feel feminine and sexy. The cotton of his shirt grazed the skin of her torso as they clung together, finally overbalancing and landing with a thump on the goose-down duvet.

  Her hands were everywhere. She couldn’t claim enough of him.

  He was the one. She didn’t care which boxes he ticked and which he didn’t. He was the only one. There was no point taking her hunt any further. Any other man would only be second best. He could have her heart on his terms—no strings attached, no regrets.

  She pulled his face close to hers and gave him the sweetest kiss she could deliver. ‘I love you, Jake.’

  He pulled her even closer, his arms so tight it felt as if he wanted to climb inside her skin. She could feel him trembling, his breathing uneven. His voice was warm in her ear. ‘Oh, God, Serena, I…’

  Say it! Say you love me too!

  ‘I…can’t do this.’

  The air rushed cold and barren round her body as he pushed himself away. Suddenly she felt naked rather than sexy, underwear or no underwear. This was no longer abandon; it was humiliation. She pulled her arms and legs into herself and curled into a ball.

  He was panting. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry. I should never have let this happen.’

  Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. His pity stung. She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  She winced.

  And then he was gone, his feet thudding down the stairs, the crash of the front door, the squeal of tyres. She sat up and strained for the sound of his car until it melded with the sirens and the rumble of the city. Then she slid off the edge of the bed and collapsed onto the floor.

  Her foot touched something silky. His tie. She wound it round her fingers and pulled it to her chest.

  No regrets? What a fool!

  She was so stupid not to have seen the signs.

  Jake could do commitment! She’d seen evidence of it in his relationships with Mel and Max, and even Chantelle. The truth was
he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—commit to her, not even for a night. She had offered herself to him and he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to accept her gift. He didn’t want her on any terms at all.

  She pulled the tie to her face. It smelled of him. The fabric was soft on her cheek, where his lips had been only moments before. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to rip it to shreds or wind it round her own neck.

  She buried her face in the duvet and quivered at the thought of her humiliation.

  Her eyelids were stuck together with congealed tears. She stretched them far enough for them to pop apart, lash by lash, then slithered out of bed. Her foot made contact with a soggy tissue, thrown there some time around four a.m. In fact, the whole bedroom floor was a minefield of them.

  She pulled on her robe and fluffy slippers, and bent to retrieve her bra and knickers from the night before with thumb and forefinger.

  She would never wear them again. Who needed a constant reminder of the most painful moment of her life? They would brush against her skin, touch the places he should have touched but had declined.

  I can’t do this.

  She dodged the tissues and left the bedroom. A cup of tea would have to solve all her problems. She certainly didn’t have any other ideas.

  Back at square one.

  Well, back at square minus one hundred, actually. Last time she’d been planning her happy ever after at least her heart had been in one piece, without boot-marks all over it. The weight of all she’d lost lay heavy on her chest. It hurt to breathe, to think.

  Just the slightest thought of him made her stomach roll. Being lovesick had always sounded so romantic before she’d realised it involved feeling physically ill—as if she’d gone ten rounds with a bout of flu and come off the worst.

  She reached the kitchen and wandered over to the sink to stare out of the window. The tint of the sky meant dawn was imminent. A few cups and plates sat in the sink. Hardly enough to bother with the dishwasher. All mind-numbing activities were heartily welcomed for the foreseeable future, so she reached for the washing-up liquid. A puff of air and three tiny bubbles were her reward.

  So she stood and stared out of the window again. The bright daylight colours of the garden were hushed into hues of grey and blue and lavender. Everything seemed so peaceful, so empty. She longed to feel like that. Peaceful. Empty. Not bombarded by her senses. Colours were too bright, noises too loud, feelings too…much. She felt an overwhelming urge to let the cold grey light of the garden dampen them until they were bearable.

  The instant she opened the back door the cold air hit her like a slap. It was wonderful. Anything to give her a split-second relief from her broken heart. She needed more of the same. She didn’t want to think about him, to feel anything for him. She had to numb herself.

  She understood her father’s addictions a little better this morning. It was the only way he’d been able to cope after her mother died. Now she understood how seductive the thought of oblivion could be.

  If only she could escape the gnawing pain, could forget the way his face had looked when he left.

  I’m so sorry.

  She found herself at the old wooden bench under the oak tree and sat down. Its weathered surface was still rough through the thin protection of her pyjamas and wrap, but she didn’t care. She sat facing the blank garden wall and waited for the pre-dawn chill to freeze her heart as it had her fingertips.

  The sun had turned the sky a pale apricot when her father found her shivering.

  ‘Come back inside,’ he said, reaching for her hand. ‘You’ll freeze to death out here.’

  She let him pull her up and guide her back to the house, too drained to argue. ‘It all went horribly wrong, Dad.’

  ‘I guessed as much when I saw you sitting out there. Come on, I’ll make you a bacon sandwich. I know how you love them.’

  ‘But, Dad, you’re a vegetarian. You hate—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s high time I looked after you for a change.’

  He led her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair near the sturdy table. ‘You’re a survivor, you know. You’ll get through this.’ He kissed the top of her head and then started rummaging in the cupboards for a frying pan.

  Serena slumped forward and laid her cheek on the cool wood of the table. She stayed there, just watching her breath mist the surface and evaporate over and over again.

  Getting through this seemed as likely to her as bungee-jumping off the top of Big Ben.

  Jake checked his watch. Two-fifteen. The view from the plane window showed unrelenting grey ocean. He relaxed slightly. He was more than halfway across the Atlantic. Not a totally safe distance, but better.

  He leaned his elbows on the drop-down tray and rested his face in his hands.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’

  He twisted his head to look at the stewardess. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Air sickness?’

  ‘Something like that. It’ll pass.’

  ‘Just press the call button if you need anything.’

  ‘Thanks. I will.’

  He pressed his thumbs into his eye sockets. He couldn’t cope with the thought of how much he’d hurt her. She’d hate him, but he had to remind himself it was better this way. If she had any idea why he’d really done what he had, she’d keep on hoping. If she knew he loved her she’d waste her time waiting for him, instead of finding someone to give her all she needed—all she deserved.

  How embarrassing. He hadn’t cried since he was thirteen and Millwall had lost to West Ham. He sucked in a breath and held it, willing the stinging at the backs of his eyes to stop. He only just made it.

  A few more hours and he’d be in New York. If only he’d stayed away longer last time he wouldn’t have put both of them through this. At least with an ocean between them he could hardly foul up her chances of happiness again.

  The in-flight movie started—an action flick. He needed something to take his mind off Serena. But, five minutes in, things were exploding left, right and centre and all he could think about was her.

  Leaving her had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he couldn’t stay and see her shrivel as all her dreams died. She would be a great mother. He could imagine her covered in finger paint, giving horsey rides to a little girl with chocolate-brown eyes who could wrap her daddy round her little finger.

  Rats! His cheek was wet. He might as well just shove his face in the sick bag and pretend.

  Serena reached for the phone. Finally her fingers gripped it and pulled it to her ear. ‘Uh-huh?’

  ‘It’s nine-thirty. Time to get out of bed!’

  Cass!

  ‘I’m not in bed.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m sitting at my computer, fully dressed: hair combed, teeth brushed—the works.’

  ‘Well…good. I’m glad to see you’ve stopped wallowing. I haven’t heard from you in a fortnight.’

  ‘I haven’t been wallowing; I’ve been busy working on something. And, believe it or not, I’m a big girl, Cass. I can actually get out of bed on my own now and then.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the way you feel…’

  ‘Cass, please! I know you’re just looking out for me, like you’ve always done, but I need to stand on my own two feet. You’ve got to stop fussing over me!’

  ‘I’m only trying to look after you.’ Cassie sounded really hurt.

  ‘I know! And I love you for it. But pretty soon you’re going to have someone else to look after—someone even more helpless than me.’

  ‘Only just.’ Cassie tried to make a disapproving noise, but Serena could tell she was stifling a smile.

  ‘I’ve spent too long hiding behind Dad, pretending I was looking after him, when really I was just playing it safe. It’s time to live my life, take some risks.’

  ‘Good for you! What sort of risks?’

  ‘I want you to arrange another blind date for me.’

  The series of muffled thumps and clunks tha
t followed gave her a pretty good clue that Cassie had just dropped the phone. When she next spoke, she sounded breathless. ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘I’m perfectly serious.’

  It took Cassie a good few seconds to stumble the next few words out. ‘But…Jake…’

  ‘…is gone, Cass. It’s been a month now. I need to move on.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’

  ‘I am. Set it up for Lorenzo’s.’

  ‘Gino and Maria as back-up? Like before?’

  ‘Too right. They’ll tear strips off anyone who even looks at me funny.’

  ‘Thanks a lot! Don’t you trust my judgement?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m covering all the bases. Look how it worked out last time.’

  ‘Good point. Lorenzo’s it is.’

  ‘Talking of Lorenzo’s, can you and Steve make it for lunch tomorrow? Dad and I have an idea we’d like to talk through with you.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing.’

  ‘All will be revealed tomorrow. One o’clock?’

  ‘Sounds good. Look after yourself, sweetie.’

  ‘You too. Bye.’

  Serena put down the phone and wrote the lunch date on the calendar. Tomorrow was four weeks to the day since she’d last seen Jake. She hadn’t actually marked off the days, but every time she looked at the calendar she imagined those little spiky red crosses there all the same.

  She opened her internet browser and clicked on a link in her ‘favourites’ list. A girl could always do with a little retail therapy at a time like this. There, at the top of the list, was the link to the Jacobs Associates website. The pointer hovered over it. She clicked—and sent it to the recycle bin. A wave of sadness hit her.

  It wasn’t that she was over Jake. She just needed to move on with her life. Some important lessons had been learned from the whole sorry affair. The most important being that it didn’t matter if the packaging wasn’t conventional: love and security came in all different disguises.

  She’d been so sure her upbringing had lacked stability—and sometimes it had—but she’d always been loved. She just hadn’t recognised it for what it was. No more judging by appearances. And men were most definitely included in that edict.