by Joanne Hill
Who’s bright idea was it to have a full on wedding cake for a party of four? As if it were rubbing it in that this wasn’t a real wedding, that they weren’t a real couple, a man and woman in love; that there’d be no point saving part of it for the first year anniversary because there wasn’t going to be a first year anniversary. They could have just gotten married in a registry office, but Daniel had said they needed a decent tale to tell his grandfather. A tale with details like food and flowers and a venue.
“Smile,” Claire said, and Mel shot Daniel a quick glance, but he was focused on Hugh and the camera, his mouth stretched tight.
“For Pete’s sake, smile. Both of you,” Hugh ordered again. She stretched her mouth in to something she hoped resembled the smile of a woman in love. Alongside her, Daniel tensed. She didn’t have the nerve to see if he’d made it past the grimace stage.
Hugh checked the photo on his digital camera, gave them the thumbs up, and Mel removed her hand from Daniel’s.
“That was over the top,” she said briskly. “Especially considering no one much will ever see the photo.”
Daniel suddenly reached around and cupped her chin. He forced her to look straight into his eyes, the shades of blue grayer than they were before. “My grandfather will see it. Marriage is important to him, a wedding is important. He understands why he can’t be here.”
“So he knows we’re getting married today?”
Something flared in his gaze. “Of course. Did you think I was going to bowl up to him with a new wife he knew nothing about?”
That was exactly what she had thought.
Daniel dropped his hand, his expression closed. “Every wedding should have photos.”
Mel blinked as her chest tightened. Even if it was fake.
They flew back down to Sydney in the private jet. Mel selected a classical music channel, adjusted her headphones, flicked through the copies of Vanity Fair and Cosmopolitan, and glanced frequently across at Daniel. Her groom. Her husband.
He and Hugh were in deep discussion and she found herself entranced by the play of movement on Daniel’s face. His forehead frowned in concentration, eyes narrowed and focused. His focus and drive were admirable, but he was the most uptight man she’d ever met. It was as if he couldn’t relax, didn’t know how to relax, didn’t even want to relax.
How could a person live like that? His entire existence appeared to be one that revolved around work and the days she’d worked at Christie Corp had confirmed that. There had been no hint of scandal, of salacious gossip, and there had been no hint of anything remotely light hearted and fun about him. It was common knowledge he had dated but the dates appeared to be nothing more than someone to accompany him to official business functions and corporate dinners. It was so dull no wonder the tabloids weren’t muck raking around him.
He and Hugh were sharing a bottle of wine between them, and Daniel had just topped his glass when he suddenly set it down, his face blanketed in fury. Mel went still, and stared. His body went ramrod straight and she could lip read enough to know he was swearing. Furiously.
He rose angrily to his feet to head away from the main passenger area. With barely a delay, Hugh followed.
Mel pulled the earphones from her ears and glanced around. Across the aisle Claire was reading a copy of Vogue, headphones nestled over her ears, and behind them the celebrant was snoozing. The wedding papers were locked in the satchel on the seat alongside him.
A moment later, Daniel stalked back, his face still dark with fury. He shot her a grim smile, hesitated, then returned to his seat.
Mel inhaled sharply. What on earth had happened? Hugh soon followed but avoided eye contact with her. The seat belt sign came on and she quickly checked but she hadn’t taken hers off the whole trip.
She glanced over at Hugh again, but curiously they were now deep in discussion, and life appeared normal again. Daniel had taken off his jacket, and loosened his tie, and some of the tension had gone from his face although from Hugh’s gesticulation, something was still amiss. Business issues are not my problem.
Mel glanced out the window at the stunning view below. They were approaching the northern suburbs of Sydney, and the jet continued its descent.
The landing was smooth, and as they exited the plane, two sedans were waiting to take them home.
The celebrant came over with a white cardboard box. “Don’t forget the most important part,” he reminded them.
Mel took the box. “What is it?”
“It’s your cake, silly,” Claire called out, blowing a kiss, as she, the celebrant and Hugh climbed into the first car.
Mel wasn’t a kissy type of girl but she blew a kiss anyway, and thought she noticed an amused curl to Daniel’s lips. Then she climbed in the back seat, holding the box with the cake carefully on her lap, and prepared herself for her new life with her new husband.
Daniel set the bags on the tiled floor of the apartment and with a smile she couldn’t decipher said, “Welcome home, Mrs Christie.”
She considered the label. Mrs Christie. It didn’t sound like her at all.
“You can stick with calling me Mel,” she told him as she put the cake box down on the marble counter. His mouth widened in an amused grin that drew her breath away. As soon as the smile had appeared, it vanished.
“I want you to treat this home as your own.” His voice was all business again. He led the way, forcing her to follow, and with each instruction she felt like a five year old on her first day of school being shown which peg to hang her coat on.
“I’ll take you down to your suite.” He led her down the corridor and gestured to the first door.
“That’s mine,” he said but he went straight past it. A few yards down, he stopped, and gestured to the solid wooden door opposite. “This is your room, Mel. I hope it’s satisfactory.”
He turned the handle, pushed open the door and stepped aside for Mel to enter.
The second she stepped inside the room, she was blindsided.
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed, as she paused in the middle and scanned the room to take everything in. There was a queen sized bed, exquisite contemporary furnishings, and floor to ceiling glass doors that opened onto a private balcony with views back across the city. She opened one door to find a walk in wardrobe. Stunned, she stopped as she saw her own clothes hung up and neatly stacked.
She spun around. “My things?”
“Patsy has taken care of everything.”
“So Patsy knows we’re married?”
He nodded, scratched his chin. “I’ve told her there are complicated issues surrounding the marriage, and that you need your own space. Hence your own suite.”
“And she brought that I was this pathetic unstable nutcase?”
“Of course.”
Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and he said, “You know what I mean. She never heard of you until forty-eight hours ago so she’s fully aware there’s something extraordinary about this. She won’t delve any deeper, nor will she speak of it outside these walls.”
“You have that much trust in her?”
“I pay her to be trustworthy, yes.”
The next door led to the bathroom, a white marble room with shower and spa bath.
She came back out to her room to find him watching her expectantly.
“It’s lovely.” It was a palace.
“Good. There is one other guest suite, and you’ve seen the living areas. I’ll leave you to get settled. I’ll be in the lounge.”
When he left, she changed out of her white dress into a floral skirt and snug cream t-shirt, and after she’d freshened up, she went down to the kitchen where Daniel was seated on a swivel stool at the breakfast bar, on the phone. He beckoned her to join him, and poured juice into two glasses.
She said, “I notice you don’t have an office at home.”
“That’s because I leave my work at the office and often stay late or head in early, particularly if I’m calling abroad. Christ
ies are workaholics. It’s in the gene pool.” His face shadowed. “Although it appears to have by-passed my brothers.” He glanced at his watch. “Would you like to rest? Or we can have something to eat. Patsy will have left meals in the freezer we can heat up.”
Strangely she didn’t feel tired or hungry although she’d been on the go since dawn. The wedding had been at eleven-thirty, lunch at noon, she’d snacked and it was now only five o’clock.
“No, I’m fine. Um…” She wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “I’m not sure what I’m meant to – do.”
He frowned. “Do?”
“As your wife. I don’t have a job. I’m a wife in name only. What do I do?” She managed a grin. “Am I allowed out in public?”
His eyes flashed but she couldn’t tell if it was with humor or something else. “I think we can allow that.”
Her eyebrows shot up and he sighed heavily. “I’m kidding, Mel. You’re a free woman – within reason.”
The “within reason” was a euphemism for the marriage contract Hugh had drawn up with thankfully short paragraphs of clauses. The “Do’s and Don’t’s” Mel thought of them now. Sex was out of the question, even though she secretly wondered, who would know if they broke that clause, and still applied for the annulment?
Daniel said, “We can have dinner in a few hours but first of all, we make a visit.”
“Who to?” But even as she said it, she knew.
“My grandfather.”
Sir Arthur Christie was dying.
Mel clenched her hands at her sides and walked nervously towards him. He sat in a wheelchair in the vast lounge of what could only be described as a mansion, situated with views to the city from the exclusive suburb of Vaucluse.
Sir Arthur had been discharged from hospital yesterday back into the expert care of twenty-four hour nursing staff, his regular housekeeping crew, and the companionship of a Jack Russell terrier who lay beside the wheelchair, his brown and white head resting on his paws. One ear seemed permanently pointing in Sir Arthur’s direction, and one eye open, watching the comings and goings.
“Hello Barnaby,” Daniel said in a tight voice. He gave the dog a half-hearted pat, and the dog gave a soft woof.
“This, as you figured, is Barnaby,” Daniel explained, in a voice which said he didn’t care for dogs. “And this, Mel, is my grandfather. Arthur.”
The man who had been like a father to him. A stalwart of Australian business. Mel’s nerves compounded as she stepped right up to the wheelchair, unsure what to do or say considering she had never met a man who’d been made a Knight of the British realm before.
Daniel injected some enthusiasm into his voice. “Grandfather, this is Melinda. My wife.”
Arthur Christie’s hair was white and thinning, but she imagined even in his early seventies he’d have cut a fine figure. “The blushing bride,” he commented.
She recalled photographs she’d seen of him on the internet in his younger days. Broad shouldered with thick luscious black hair like his grandson, although not the height of Daniel and his brothers. Daniel had commented impassively they had inherited that from their mother’s side of the family.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Mel hesitated. What was she to call him? Sir Arthur? Grandad? Mr Christie?
“Call me Arthur,” he told her, his eyes bright.
He looked her up and down with approval. “So you’re the girl who finally snagged my grandson.”
Daniel’s arm went round her waist, and she hesitated a second before doing likewise. He drew her closer to him, his body warm and hard against hers. Their hips touched. Sparks jolted through her.
“This is the one,” Daniel mused, an amount of merriment in his voice indicating it was impossible he was feeling as affected by their closeness as she was. Which, she supposed, was something else that boded well for the duration of the marriage.
Daniel had explained on the way over that Sir Arthur believed they had eloped because of family problems on her side. Mel’s blood pressure had rapidly risen as he’d told her this. His brothers were a whisker off bringing down the family name and she got the crazy relatives? But she had to admit it was a believable explanation as to why they both wanted to keep the relationship secret. She could only hope Sir Arthur wouldn’t think she’d inherited the crazy genes as well.
Daniel moved away as a nurse came in to monitor Arthur’s blood pressure and Mel knelt down and patted the dog. She stroked his back, his tan and white hair wiry beneath her palms; his small body lean but strong. Every so often he glanced towards Arthur, as if to reassure himself his master was okay.
The floor creaked, and Daniel hunkered down beside her. She continued to stroke Barnaby’s back.
“Sometimes,” he muttered, “I think this dog is the only thing keeping my grandfather alive.”
His jaw was tight, his mouth grim, as he reached out and gave an imitation of a pat.
He surged to his feet suddenly, and went to stand by Sir Arthur’s bed, his hands on his hips as the medical staff did their checks.
Mel continued stroking Barnaby but her gaze was focused on Daniel.
He reached to his neck, ran his hand around the back of it. He arched one tense shoulder.
An unexpected wave of longing swept through her. She could go over, reach up and massage his shoulders and he would moan in appreciation while she worked the tension out of his muscles. Don’t think like that.
Did he ever have needs? Would he seek out the physical companionship of other women? A thought struck her and she stopped patting Barnaby. Was that what he’d planned all along for the duration of this “marriage?” She mentally kicked herself. It hadn’t occurred to her to make that a condition. If they weren’t having sex, if they were having this “marriage” annulled, surely he wasn’t going to throw it in her face and indulge in liaisons? Not that she should care what he did.
She drew in a sharp breath. Except there was a problem. She did care what he did.
It had all happened so fast and she’d begun to trust Hugh, and had let him take over the fine print on the agreement. After all, she didn’t have to do anything, and she would get a very handsome check in return. When the lovely old man in front of her died.
Her heart began to race. Suddenly, it seemed obscene. Her payment depended on Sir Arthur dying.
What had she done? Why had she not thought this thing through like any intelligent woman?
You were meant to have learnt a lesson from Max.
She rose from Barnaby, but she stood up too fast and her head began to swim. She walked quickly to the window, bracing her hands on the window sill. She shut her eyes tight as her head returned slowly to normal.
A glass of cold water was pressed into her hand and she looked up. Daniel stood inches away, his brows drawn together. “What happened? You’ve gone pale.”
She took the glass with thanks. “I stood up too fast, that’s all.”
He looked relieved, as if one sick person on his hands was enough.
“Too much excitement for one day,” he remarked. “I should have insisted you stay back at the apartment and let you have more time to adjust. We’ll leave soon but I need to have a quick word with my grandfather before we head away.” He hesitated and concern shimmered in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She smiled. “Positive.”
He gave her a curt nod, but already his mind was focused on his grandfather. Sir Arthur was being helped back into bed now, and Mel looked hastily away to give him privacy. She looked back out the window, at the view of the Harbor Bridge peeking between the trees. She’d driven through Vaucluse a few times, but she’d never stopped off. She’d never known anyone who lived here. And here she was.
She forced herself to breathe. Her life had changed over the last forty-eight hours in ways she could never have planned for, and she just needed to keep a handle on it. To stay sane. To remind herself that at the end of it, she could help her mother out more than either of them could ever hav
e dreamt.
She just had to keep her attraction to Daniel under lock and key because the last thing she needed was to develop real feelings for him. She did not need her degree in psychology to know that loving a man like Daniel Christie, with his background, his family, his responsibility – well, she’d seen the fallout from lesser pressures in her practicum, and later, working in the field. The vista in front of her began to blur and she knew that if anyone was going to get hurt at the other end, the odds are it was going to be her.
Daniel watched Mel move sliced chicken around on her plate. She made no effort to eat. She hadn’t been the same person, the same Mel, since they’d arrived home. The last thing he wanted was to endure silence like this night after night for the next few months. He set his fork down on his plate with exasperation. When it was just himself, he welcomed silence, welcomed the peace it gave to deal with his thoughts. But if dinner was going to be like this every damned night, he’d take to eating out or staying even later at work than endure this kind of torture. Because there wasn’t just silence in the room, there was tension and he hated this kind of tension. He barely remembered his mother but he remembered the silences between her and his father. Remembered how awful and confusing it had been.
Although, he acknowledged, right now he only had himself to blame. He watched her dissect a sliver of chicken breast. Had they made a shockingly bad mistake? Was this all going to go to hell in a hand basket? She finally took a mouthful of chicken, glanced up, caught him watching, and swallowed.
No. He stabbed his potato, cooked expertly, as usual, by Patsy. Mel had panned out in every way possible. Hugh’s checking had been exhaustive and she had every incentive to keep up her end of the bargain – for whatever reason. What she did after their marriage was terminated, he couldn’t care less about. Although he couldn’t help speculating. He watched as she stabbed a single pea. The pea bounced off the fork, and she had another go at impaling it. Would she travel, buy a new car, splurge the lot on high fashion, start a business?
