A Prior Engagement

by Karina Bliss

  Was there any pie his interfering fiancée hadn’t stuck her finger into? “My, she’s been busy during my death.” He thought he’d kept his tone light but his friends exchanged worried looks.

  “Obviously, you and Jules need time to sort out how you feel about each other,” said Dan. “But we watched her mourn you. She loved you.”

  “Hell, she still loves you,” Nate supplied. “If you’d seen her face when Claire and I told her you were alive.”

  “I’ll bet.” Clearly she’d fooled everybody.

  “Mate, if you have to let her down,” Ross pleaded, “do it gently.”

  Whose side were these guys on? For a moment Lee toyed with telling them the truth...but he wanted to be the one to punish her. “Honestly, I can’t wait to see her.”

  He was alive and Jules was so dead.

  * * *

  “I SEE YOU’RE not wearing Lee’s ring,” Claire said.

  Curling her bare finger farther around the steering wheel, Jules kept her gaze steady on the highway. “Nope.”

  “Still set on returning it then?”

  “Uh-huh.” She’d hoped to avoid this particular discussion.

  They were halfway through a ninety-minute drive south to Whenuapai airbase for her reunion with Lee. And that was plenty to be dealing with, thank you very much.

  In her peripheral vision she glimpsed Claire frowning and tried not to tense. Until today, she’d managed to dodge a heart-to-heart with her best friend, who was fortunately too busy getting her game-fishing venture ready for launch to demand one, particularly with Nate dropping everything to fly to Afghanistan. Jules had expected Claire’s thirteen-year-old to accompany them today, which would have saved her from this conversation, but right now Lewis was sitting in an English exam.

  “Even though Lee wants you to keep the ring?” Jules glanced at her, startled, and Claire added, “Lee told Nate.”

  Bloody Nate. Passing on information to his fiancée. “Even if we’d actually got engaged before Lee left,” Jules reasoned mildly, “it’s been nineteen months since we saw each other. And we only dated six weeks.” At the memorial service, well-meaning people had offered her that argument as a comfort. And she’d imagined the ghost of Lee laughing his ass off because it had been one of her reasons for turning him down. We’ve only known each other six weeks.

  “Don’t give me that,” Claire said sharply. “We grieved our men together. I know how you suffered.”

  How would Claire react once she knew the truth? How would the guys, Lee’s family? She’d never told her best friend that she’d rejected Lee’s proposal. Claire had had enough on her plate after losing her husband. Jules concentrated on the road. “I’m not the priority here.”

  “It’s not like you to give up without a fight.”

  I’m not usually the one in the wrong. The lawyer with a reputation for honesty was about to be revealed as a fraud. “And who am I fighting, Claire?” she challenged. “Someone probably battling PTSD.”

  Accelerating, Jules pulled into the fast lane, overtaking the beetling VW they’d been following for the past five miles. “Lee is in no state to make decisions about us.” The ’59 Cadillac started rattling her disapproval of the speed. Until a month ago, Claire had owned this pink Coupe de Ville and Jules wished to God she still did. Never buy anything for sentimental reasons.

  “I get that you’re protecting him.” Claire opened her bag, grabbed a roll of mints and offered her the packet. “But don’t throw yourself on your sword, Zena, unless you have to. Give equal weight to hope, okay?”

  “Okay.” But her agreement was perfunctory. Hope was a sentiment Jules couldn’t afford. “How’s our time?”

  “We’ve got plenty.”

  The wail of a siren drew her attention to the side mirror, and she returned to the slow lane. A minute later a police car passed in a blur of flashing lights. Lucky they couldn’t ticket a racing pulse. “What time is it?” Jules said before remembering she’d just asked.

  “Nerves kicking in?”

  “Forget butterflies, I have bungee jumpers rebounding up my throat.”

  “If it helps, you look gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.” Jules had changed clothes six times in the attempt to create the effect of pretty but penitent. Eventually she’d settled on a simple black-and-white jersey dress with three-quarter sleeves. The pretty came from a gathered center-front detail that lent her breasts the same generous curves as her hips and accentuated her waist.

  Time to distract Claire. “I listed my house with a real estate agent yesterday.”

  “What? I still can’t understand why you won’t tell Lee you bought a shareholding in the law firm first. He may be happy with a repayment plan.”

  The distraction hadn’t quite worked the way she’d hoped. “He’s lived in limbo for nineteen months. I’m not asking him to put his new life on hold.” In the meantime, she had a thousand dollars in her purse to give him, thanks to a cash advance on her credit card. Racking up twenty-four percent interest wasn’t how Jules liked to run her finances but hopefully it wouldn’t be for long. The house was priced for a quick sale.

  “So what do you want from today?” Claire wasn’t distractible.

  “To see Lee, to make sure he’s okay, to do whatever I can to assist his recovery. I can’t think beyond that.”

  “Does your reluctance to consider romance have anything to do with Mark?”

  It would be so much easier to lie. But look where the lie of accepting Lee’s ring had landed her. “No. Mark and I are done.”

  “Misplaced guilt then, about sleeping with another guy?”

  “No, I don’t feel guilty.” At least not about that. “You can’t cheat on a dead man.” A thought occurred to her. “I’m guessing the guys do, though?” Campaigning to find your dead buddy’s fiancée a new love because you’ve figured he’d want her to be happy was an awkward disclosure. Not as awkward as hers, but still.

  “Squirming,” Claire admitted. “But Mark is your news, not theirs.”

  “Assuming I tell Lee about him.” It wouldn’t have any relevance after her primary confession.

  “You’ll tell him,” Claire said. “But...pick your moment, Jules.”

  “What do you mean?” She shot her an anxious glance. “What do you know?”

  “Nate said to be prepared for a difference in his appearance.”

  “Kyra already told me that.”

  Her friend said carefully, “A big difference, Jules.”

  And Nate was a battle-hardened veteran. Her throat went dry. “Okay.”

  “Apparently Lee’s refusing to talk about his captivity to anyone but professionals.”

  “I can understand that,” Jules said. Keep the good and the bad separate.

  “Do you? The guys are finding it frustrating because they have to guess what his triggers are.”

  “Triggers?”

  “For example, hugs. They’ve worked out he can only cope with brief embraces. He does push-ups and sit-ups several times a day and balks when they suggest he rest. He wants company and within ten minutes makes excuses to be alone.”

  “None of this was mentioned in Kyra’s briefing.”

  “The professionals don’t know him like his friends do.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” Confession might be good for the soul but hers was clearly going to have to suffer until Lee was well enough to hear it. Another siren sounded behind her, then a second
squad car raced by. Jules said reflexively, “What time is it?”

  “Relax, we’ll make it with an hour to spare.”

  Ten kilometers farther, they hit a traffic jam. A truck had lost an insecure load, closing the highway.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY CAREENED INTO the aerodrome fifteen minutes after the plane’s scheduled arrival, by which time Claire had taken the wheel so Jules could concentrate on biting her nails. She had begun to sweat under her armpits, and every tousled curl, so carefully styled this morning, she’d raked flat in her nervousness.

  Encircled by chain-link fences topped with barbed-wire coils, the military airbase proved a vast space of runways and rangy grass, surrounded by a maze of parking lots, hangars, sheds and outbuildings. Which meant she and Claire still weren’t technically there yet.

  By the third military checkpoint Jules was hanging out the window flashing the pass to try and speed things along and almost desperate enough to flash her boobs. Finally the Caddy squealed to a halt beside a corrugated hangar where Kyra waited, looking as crisp and cool as only military personnel can manage.

  “Go,” Claire encouraged her. “I’ll park.”

  Halfway through scrambling out of the car, Jules turned. “What if I say the wrong thing? Do the wrong thing?”

  Claire leaned over and squeezed her forearm. “This is you and Lee. Trust your instincts and remember he’ll probably be as nervous as you are.”

  And therefore depending on her. Jules took a deep breath. “You’re absolutely right. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck.”

  Despite her calm appearance, Kyra overenthusiastically seized her arm the moment she stepped onto the curb. “The plane landed ten minutes ago.” The corporal hurried her the length of the hangar, which was so large it was like walking in the shadow of the moon.

  The hot wind, redolent of pasture and tarmac and the salty marsh of the nearby estuary, whipped under Jules’s dress. She clamped it to her thighs as she matched Kyra’s stride.

  At the end of the hangar they stepped into a buffet of noise from a Hercules’s powerful engines. Lee’s plane was an ungainly aircraft, dark gray with a bulbous nose and big tail bearing the insignia of the Royal New Zealand Air Force. The thundering rumble abated and the blur of movement on the wings resolved into four spinning propellers as they slowed to a stop.

  Some twenty people milled behind a guard of honor-soldiers in full military uniform. “Are those TV cameras?” Jules fumbled on the top of her head for her sunglasses. Damn, she’d left them in the car. “I thought the media were being left out of this?” She spotted three cameras.

  “Only the two major networks and three dailies—Lee opted for controlled publicity.”

  “That’s controlled?”

  “Jules!” Lee’s older sister, Connie, waved frantically from the crowd. Flanked by her three lanky teenage sons and equally lanky husband, Phil, she was a small excitable blonde who verbalized thoughts as randomly as shrapnel. “Look, there’s Lee’s fiancée!”

  A telephoto lens swung in her direction and Jules ducked round the corner of the hangar. “I’m supposed to meet Lee privately.”

  “Really?” Kyra’s brow wrinkled and she checked her clipboard. “That’s not what was requested.”

  A shout went up—they must have opened the aircraft’s door. Oh, God. Jules steadied herself with a palm against the sun-warmed metal. “I’m requesting it now.”

  “Follow me.” Swiveling on her heel, Kyra strode to the nearest building, an unprepossessing bungalow with a wide weathered deck, and flashed her ID. She led Jules into a lounge area and pointed to the picture window. “It’s reflective glass. You’ll be able to see everything but they won’t see you. I’d better advise of the change of plan...it may be a while before you see him. There’s a press conference organized.” She paused at the doorway, smiled. “Good luck.”

  “Kyra, wait.” Jules had to be sure. “Do I fill in the gaps...where Lee has lost his memory?”

  “If it’s pleasant, yes, if not...?” She waited.

  “We had a fight, a bad one. He doesn’t remember.”

  Kyra hesitated. “Reestablishing intimacy requires honesty but...also time and place.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I can hook you up with a therapist if you need—”

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  At a ragged cheer outside, Jules sped to the window, barely acknowledging Kyra’s farewell. Lee had already descended the ramp stairs, which was clear from the row of poker-backed soldiers standing in salute. Reporters jostled for a better view, obscuring hers.

  Heart in her throat, Jules flattened her palms against the windowpane and stood on tiptoe, straining for a glimpse of Lee. But all she saw was a cluster of sand-colored berets with the flaming sword emblem that distinguished the SAS moving past the guard. Maybe when they got to the end...but no... Lee’s relatives surged forward, like ants around a dollop of honey. En masse, the group moved out of sight.

  Disappointed, Jules unstuck her hands from the window and then sat on the L-shaped brown couch and put her head between her knees.

  Not long now.

  She smoothed her dress. Stood up. Sat down. Crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. The air-conditioning whirred softly above her and a cool sweep of air from the vent ruffled her hair. Her hands grew cold, then icy. Jules started to shiver.

  No one came.

  She adjusted the thermostat then walked the room until she’d warmed up. How long did a press conference take? Restlessly, Jules picked up a magazine, Aviation Today, from the functional brown coffee table. Putting it down again, she wandered to the window, where she could see the Hercules was being unloaded with military efficiency. After a couple of minutes, the nervous energy sizzling along her nerve endings propelled her to pace.

  Claire had set them up on a blind date, luring Jules with the promise of a six-three blond god. Caught up at work, she’d arrived late then, too, and spotted Mr. Fun Times, leaning his elbow on the bar and flirting with a bunch of tipsy women.

  Ugh. Indisputably gorgeous, but with a lazy self-assurance and a self-congratulatory whiff of “lay-dees’ man” that had set Jules’s teeth on edge.

  Backing up to leave, she’d been hit on the rump as someone pushed their way in through the swinging doors. Lee had loped over as she was brushing off her assailant’s apology. She’d shaken Lee’s hand firmly, commended him on finding a happy hunting ground and bade him adieu, only to find herself being steered toward the bar to buy him a drink.

  By way of apology, he’d explained, for both her tardiness and the assumption that he was a crass, dumb-as-a-rock asshole that hooked up with other women while waiting for his date.

  Turned out the tipsy women had ditched husbands and kids for a girls’ night out and the flirting was strictly in fun. Jules had bought him that drink; in fact, she’d bought them all one.

  He’d asked if she believed in love at first sight that very night. “Hell, no!” had been her stance then, and was still her stance now.

  She could hear his reply as if he’d said it yesterday. “Then remember that this was our beginning.”

  Somewhere a door slammed. Jules glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes had passed. Licking her dry lips, she walked to the water cooler and fumbled for a plastic cup, knocking half a dozen to the floor. Calm down, deep breaths. She crouched to retrieve them and carefully replaced them in the holder before filling her cup, watching
the oxygen bubble rise with a deep gurgle. Raising the cup to her mouth, she turned.

  Lee stood in the doorway.

  Jules started, splashing icy water onto the industrial-grade carpet. She ignored it.

  He wore the SAS’s dress uniform—olive military-style jacket, brass buttons shining. Sunglasses covered half his gaunt face. Lee took off his beret. “Hello, Jules.”

  Carefully, she put down the cup. “Hello, Lee.”

  A minute ago if she’d been asked to describe him in one word she would have used dazzling. His smile, his looks, his charming personality. He reminded her of summer. Except there was nothing of summer about him now. If she’d seen him on the street she wouldn’t have recognized him.

  More frame than flesh, his hair had darkened in captivity to a light brown. The military uniform juxtaposed oddly with the thick stubble covering his jaw. He could have been a pirate after six months at sea, desiccated, hollow cheeked, the bones of his face bladed. His nose had been broken and mended badly. He wore reflective sunglasses that hid his reaction to her.

  Jules could feel the muscles around her mouth twitch and spasm as she struggled to match his composure.

  Be strong. Be brave. Except... Her face crumpled, like a clay cliff weakened by incessant rain. “Oh, Lee.” He sucked in a breath as she went to hug him and his hands shot out and caught her by the elbows. Jules hesitated. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” But his voice was hoarse.

  “I’ll be careful but let me...” Stepping forward, she leaned her forehead against his jacket, gently, blindly. “I have to make you real.”

  With a muffled oath, he released her elbows, his arms clamped around her shoulders and he bowed his head over hers. For long seconds they stood there. He smelled of dry-cleaning chemicals, exhaustion and himself.

  Jules closed her eyes, conscious that she could break herself on this man still. The thought galvanized her into action.