by Cara Colter
The music started. No Elvis, there was no sense testing his mother’s newfound equilibrium with that.
No, it was the soaring and falling notes of Pachelbel’s Canon.
The chatter quieted, and a hush fell over the filled seats, letting the music fill the garden area of the yard.
First, Chelsea came out. She was beautiful in a short aquamarine dress. Brand glanced at Reed beside him, and saw everything he felt for Bree in that other man’s face.
Chelsea, like Bree, had come in to herself, and she radiated the quiet confidence of a woman well-loved.
A hush fell over the back garden as Bree stepped out of the house and slowly came down the steps. At her side was her stepfather, Mike.
Brand had to swallow, and then swallow hard again.
He had never seen a woman as beautiful as his soon-to-be wife.
The dress, of course, was exquisite. Her sunshine-on-sand hair was up, and threaded with flowers, her shoulders were bare, and the dress fit tight to her slender form, and then flared out at her waist in a cloud of white that floated around her and behind her.
But it was not the dress that stole the breath from him. Bree was so radiant she put the sun to shame. Everything in the garden faded: the music, the flowers, the guests, their mothers, her stepfather on her arm. Everything faded, until it was just her. Until the whole world was just her.
Coming toward him, with the entire future shining in her clear eyes.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Cara Colter
The Wedding Planner’s Big Day
Housekeeper Under the Mistletoe
Soldier, Hero...Husband?
The Pregnancy Secret
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Surprise Baby, Second Chance by Therese Beharrie
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Surprise Baby, Second Chance
by Therese Beharrie
CHAPTER ONE
ROSA SPENCER HAD two options.
One: she could get back into the taxi that had brought her to the house she was currently standing in front of.
Two: she could walk into that house and face the man she’d left four months ago without any explanation.
Her husband.
When the purr of the car grew distant behind her she took a deep breath. Her chance of escape now gone, she straightened her shoulders and walked down the pathway that led to the front door of the Spencers’ holiday home.
It could have been worse, she considered. She could have bumped into Aaron somewhere in Cape Town, where she’d been staying since she’d left him. And since they’d lived together over a thousand kilometres away in Johannesburg, Rosa would have been unprepared to see him.
Since she worked from home most days, she would have probably been wearing the not-quite-pyjamas-but-might-as-well-be outfit she usually wore when she ventured out of the house during the week. Her hair would have been a mess, curls spiralling everywhere—or piled on top of her head—and her face would have been clear of make-up.
Exposed, she thought. Vulnerable.
At least now she was prepared to see him.
Her gold dress revealed generous cleavage and cinched at her waist with a thin belt. Its skirt was long, loose, though it had a slit up to mid-thigh—stopping just before her shapewear began—to reveal a leg that was strong and toned: one of her best assets.
Her dress made her feel confident—after all, what was the point of being a designer if she couldn’t make clothes that did?—as did the mass of curls around her face, and the make-up she’d had done before she’d got onto the private plane her mother-in-law had sent for her.
She hadn’t seen Liana Spencer in the four months since she’d left Aaron either. And perhaps that was part of the reason Rosa had agreed to attend a birthday party that would put her face to face with the man she’d walked away from.
The other reason was because of her own mother. And the birthday parties Violet Lang would never get to celebrate.
Rosa took another breath, clinging to the confidence she’d fought for with her dress. It was a pivotal part of the armour she’d created when she’d realised she’d be seeing Aaron again.
She needed the armour to cloak the shivering in the base of her stomach. The erratic beating of her heart. The combination of the two was so familiar that she didn’t think she’d ever truly lived without it. Though that hadn’t stopped her from running from it all her life.
The door of the house was open when she got there and Rosa slipped inside, thinking that it would be easier than to announce her arrival by ringing the bell. There was nothing to indicate a celebration on the first floor—just the usual tasteful but obviously expensive furniture and décor—though that wasn’t surprising. Liana usually went for lavish, which meant the top floor. The one where the walls were made entirely of glass.
It offered guests an exceptional view of the sea that surrounded Mariner’s Island just off the coast of Cape Town. Of the waves that crashed against the rocks that were scattered at the beach just a few metres from the Spencer house. And of the small town and airport that stood only a short distance away from the house too.
Rosa held her breath as she got to the top of the stairs, and then pushed open the door before she lost her nerve.
And immediately told herself that she should have escaped when she had the chance.
There was no party on this floor. Instead, it looked like it usually did when there were no events planned. There was a living area and a bed on one side of the room—the bathroom being the only section of the floor with privacy—and a dining area and kitchen on the other side.
There was an open space between the two sides as if whoever had designed the room had decided to give the Spencers an area to be free in.
But in that open space stood her husband. Only her husband.
And the last thing Rosa thought of was freedom.
His back was to her, and she thought that she still had the chance to escape. He didn’t know that she was there. If she left he wouldn’t ever have to know. What harm would it do?
Except that when she turned back to the door it was closed. And when she looked over her shoulder to see if he’d noticed her she saw that Aaron was now facing her, an unreadable expression on his face.
‘Running?’
‘N-no.’ Be confident.
His mouth lifted into a half-smile. ‘No?�
�� he asked in a faintly mocking tone.
Her face went hot. The shivering intensified. Her heart rate rocketed. But, despite that, she was able to offer him a firm, ‘No’.
‘Okay,’ he replied in a voice that told her he didn’t believe her. And why would he? Hadn’t she run from him before? Without the decency to explain why? Hadn’t the anxiety of that decision kept her up night after night?
Guilt shimmered through her.
She ignored it.
But ignoring it meant that her brain had to focus on something else. And—as it usually did—it chose his face.
Her eyes feasted on what her memories hadn’t done justice to over the last four months. His dark hair, dark brows, the not-quite-chocolate colour of his skin. The mixture of his Indian and African heritage had created an arresting face, his features not unlike those Rosa had seen on movie stars.
But his face had more than just good looks. It spoke of the cool, calm demeanour that had always exasperated her even as it drew her in. He rarely let his emotions out of wherever he kept them, so they seldom claimed the planes of his face.
Except when he and Rosa were having a conversation about their feelings. Or when they were making love. There’d been nothing but emotion on his face then.
‘Where is everybody?’ she asked in a hoarse voice.
Aaron slid his hands into his pockets, making his biceps bulge slightly under the material of his suit jacket. Her breath taunted her as it slipped out of her lungs. As it reminded her that it wasn’t only Aaron’s face that she was attracted to.
It was his muscular body. It was how much taller than her he was. It was his broad shoulders, the strength of his legs, of everything in between.
He’d always been thrilled by the curves of her body. But his hands were large enough, strong enough, that she’d always thought he wouldn’t have wanted her as much if her curves hadn’t been as generous.
Aaron took a step towards her.
Which was no reason for her to move back.
But she did.
‘Well, if I’m right—and I probably am—everyone’s here who’s supposed to be.’
‘I don’t understand. It’s just you and...’ She trailed off, her heart thudding. ‘Did you—did you do this?’
‘Oh, no,’ Aaron replied, and took another step towards her. This time she managed to keep her feet in place. ‘Why would I want to see the wife who left me with no explanation?’
‘Great. Then I’ll go.’
She turned to the door again, ignoring her confusion. She’d figure it out when she was off the island that reminded her so much of her husband.
The island where he’d taken her months after her mother had died. Where he’d got down on one knee. Where he’d told her he couldn’t imagine life without her.
Where they’d spent time after their wedding. Lounging in the sun at the beach. Lazily enjoying each other’s bodies as only newlyweds could.
Where they’d taken holidays. When life had become too much for her and Aaron had surprised her with a trip away.
The island where he’d held her, comforted her, loved her on the bed that stood in the corner, its memories haunting her. Overwhelming her.
Yes, she’d figure it all out when she was away from the island. And far, far away from her husband.
A hand pressed against the door before she could open it. She swallowed and then turned back to face him.
Her heart sprinted now. Her body prickled. The scent of his masculine cologne filled her senses. Memories, sharp and intimate, could no longer be held back.
Again, she tried to ignore them. But it was becoming harder to do.
‘Why are you stopping me from leaving?’ she managed in a steady voice.
‘Did you think you were just going to walk in here, see me, and then...leave?’
‘I thought I was attending your mother’s sixtieth birthday party.’
‘Which I would have been at too.’
‘And we would have seen each other there, yes. But you’re the only one here. I’ve seen you. Now I want to leave.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
He inched closer. ‘You’re not the slightest bit curious about why you and I are alone here?’
‘Sure I am. But I’m also pretty sure I can figure it out on my way to the airport.’
‘The airport?’ His lips curved into a smile. ‘Honey, the airport’s closed.’
‘No,’ she said after a beat. ‘No, it can’t be. I just got off a plane. Your mother said it would be waiting for me when I was done here.’
His smile faded. ‘She lied. Your flight is likely to be the last one until Monday. The airport’s closed this weekend.’
Panic thickened in her throat. ‘All weekend?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised, Rosa,’ he said mildly. ‘You know Mariner’s Island doesn’t work the way the rest of the world does.’
‘Yes, but...but it was a private plane. Yours.’
‘It still needs somewhere to take off from. To land at. And since the airport’s closed we won’t have that until Monday.’
She ducked under his arm, put distance between them. But it didn’t make breathing any easier. ‘So...what? Your mother just decided to leave her guests stranded here until Monday?’
‘Not guests,’ he corrected. ‘Just you and me.’
‘Did you know about this?’
‘No.’
‘Then how did you not suspect something was off when the main route off the island would only be viable again on Monday?’
‘She told me that the party would be going on for most of the weekend.’
‘And you believed her?’
‘Yes,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s not unusual for one of my mother’s parties to continue for an entire weekend. You know that.’
‘Okay,’ she said, and lifted the curls off her forehead with a shaky hand. ‘Okay, fine.’ Her hand dropped. ‘Then I’ll take a boat home.’
‘It’s too late to get one tonight.’
‘I know,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’ll take one tomorrow morning.’
‘There’s a storm warning for tomorrow. Starting tonight, actually.’
She looked beyond the glass walls, saw the dark clouds rolling in. Her stomach tumbled. ‘That’s fine.’
‘It’ll be a rough storm, Rosa. It’s anticipated to last until tomorrow evening at least. Do you still want to take a boat?’
‘Yes.’
He laughed softly. ‘You’re so determined to get away from me you’ll take an almost two-hour boat ride in a storm? Even though you get sick when the water is calm?’
She hesitated. ‘I’ll be fine.’
His half-smile mocked her. ‘I’m sure you will be.’
He was right, she thought, and hated herself for admitting it. Hated him for being right.
Except that what she felt in that moment was anything but hate.
Confusion, yes. How had this happened? Had Liana really orchestrated this on purpose?
Guilt, of course. She’d walked away from him. From their relationship. She hadn’t even said goodbye.
Anger, absolutely. She hated feeling trapped. It reminded her of her childhood. Of being caught in her mother’s world.
But hate? No, she thought, her eyes settling on Aaron again. There was no hate.
‘Why are you so calm?’
‘I’m not,’ he replied in a tone that gave no indication that he wasn’t. ‘But I know my mother. And I know this scheme is probably well-thought-out. Much like the first time we met. Or don’t you remember?’ His voice was soft, urgent. ‘Have you run away from the memories too, Rosa?’
She didn’t reply. There was no reply she could give. She couldn’t tell him that she hadn’t been running away fr
om him, not really, but saving him. From the anxiety, the stress, the worry of being with someone who was terrified of losing the health of their mind, their body.
Rosa had spent her life looking after someone like that. She knew the anxiety, the stress, the worry of it. She knew the guilt when the fear became a reality.
She’d saved him, she thought again. She’d saved him from going through what she’d gone through with her mother’s hypochondria. She’d saved him from having to take care of another person. From having it break him.
The moment she’d felt that lump in her breast, she’d known she couldn’t put him through all of that. So she’d walked away. Had tried to move on.
But the memories wouldn’t let her. No, the memories were always, always there.
* * *
‘Great,’ Rosa said loudly. ‘No one’s here.’
But that didn’t make sense. Her mother had told her there was a Christmas ball for cancer patients that night. Had asked Rosa to be her partner at the ball.
Of course, Rosa had agreed. Her father wasn’t in Cape Town, though she doubted he would have agreed to accompany her mother even if he had been. Irritation bristled over her, but she forced her attention to the matter at hand. She’d spent enough of her time being annoyed at her father.
The room was decorated as if there was supposed to be a ball. A large crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, white draping flowing from it to different spots on the walls. It lit the space with soft light, brightened only by the small Christmas trees in each corner of the room that had been adorned with twinkling lights.
There was only one table at the end of the room, standing next to the largest Christmas tree Rosa had ever seen, with champagne, canapés and desserts spread across it.
‘Am I early?’ Rosa wondered out loud again.
But, like the first time, she got no response. Throwing her hands up, she turned to try and find someone who could explain what was happening. As she took a step towards the door, it opened and her breathing did something strange when a man joined her in the room.
‘Who are you?’ she blurted out.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Aaron Spencer. Who are you?’
