Forgotten Marriage

by Paula Roe

  Now walking under the bright canopies draped across George Street, she watched Finn wander past the stalls and keenly study the array of gifts and unusual local wares. People pressed around them, but for once Ally’s mild claustrophobia dissipated as she observed Finn.

  His wide back, strong shoulders, the graceful stride, the confidence. She saw people—especially the women—respond to that. A girl selling old photographs smiled flirtatiously. An older woman touched his arm in response when he asked about her art. The woman’s husband chimed in with a grin and a handshake. Finn’s favorite-celebrity persona was well-deserved, she thought as she watched him bestow smiles and conversation. Adoring subjects apparently weren’t confined to Denmark.

  She slid her gaze downward to his lean waist, then to that perfectly formed backside and muscular set of legs.

  She’d loved touching him. Couldn’t get enough of running her hands over his well-shaped thighs, the ridges of his stomach. Like a blind man craving the touch of recognition, she’d marveled at the dips and planes of his body. Especially his…

  “Ally? You still with me?”

  She snapped her gaze up to meet his direct green one and felt her whole body heat up. “Yes?”

  He nodded to the piece of carved wood he held. “This looks familiar.”

  Reality check. “You were fascinated with aboriginal art. You couldn’t get enough of it. I had to stop you after the third didgeridoo.” Her smile came unbidden. “When we met, you’d just been on an outback trek with some friends.”

  “How did we meet?”

  “You were helping a friend start up a courier company.” She remembered the day with disturbing clarity. A powerful rainstorm. Her broken umbrella. Clapping eyes on the most gorgeously confident Danish man she’d ever seen. And to balance that confidence, he’d been perfectly charming, exuding an aura of a man in command of his future. His life. There was something regal about him that drew people’s eyes and caused them to linger.

  “I had to courier my boss some suits in Hawaii. He was on leave,” she clarified, “with his latest entourage of bimbos. They were Armani.”

  “The bimbos?”

  “The suits.” She smothered a grin. “I told you he was cheating on his wife and you offered to lose them en route.”

  “The bimbos?”

  “Enough about the bimbos. I’m talking about the suits!” She laughed this time, which made him laugh, too. Incredibly, she felt the gentle tug of their lost camaraderie and welcomed the lightheartedness after the morning of gut-churning angst. And when he chuckled, that warm familiar sound made her breath come out a bit quicker. “I must have a sign on my back saying ‘will do anything for a paycheck.’ Landing crappy bosses is my forté. The next one in the editorial department—”Harassed then demoted me, she nearly said. Instead she finished lamely, “—was just as bad.”

  “So you quit.”

  “Yep. I hate the rigid nine-to-five thing.”

  “You’re too creative.”

  She gave him a surprised smile. “I like being outside, not locked in an office all day.”

  “See?” He spread his hands wide. “We do agree on something.”

  Since when had he hated the office? “Must be a first.”

  He grinned, familiar creases bracketing his eyes and snagging something deep and hot inside. But her smile faltered when he leaned in to murmur, “We weren’t incompatible with other things, elskat.”

  Then he turned back to the tables, selected an intricate soap-stone carving of the Harbour Bridge and studied it carefully.

  Control yourself, Ally, she cautioned. Do not touch the merchandise. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

  She suddenly felt as if she’d landed on the Go to Jail square. Permanently.

  She’d been a mystery to him. He’d admitted as much on their first date. Who would’ve thought someone with Finn’s pedigree and social circle would want Alexandra McKnight, daughter of a drunk and an irresponsible mother who’d never grown up? His stepmother had been right—she had nothing to offer that he couldn’t find anywhere else.

  Long-forgotten pain made her breath falter. Becoming adult Ally—calm and detached about the whole situation—would be the hardest test of her life. So if she needed to stop herself from going completely crazy, if she let impulsive Ally creep in on occasion, and imagined tracing those laugh lines, running her hands over his face…indulging in a small fantasy from the past…well, no-one would know except her.

  I can do this. I will do this. Then he’ll go and I’ll be free.

  A lump formed in her throat and it suddenly felt hard to swallow.

  “How’s that memory? Anything happening yet?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  On the pretense of examining a hand-blown glass near Ally’s elbow, Finn glanced at her. The knee-length denim skirt, platform sneakers and babydoll pink shirt made her look like a college student, not someone in her late twenties. But the shirt’s stretchy material hugged a body that screamed woman. It was a shirt that flashed skin every time she reached for something. He’d found himself staring at that tiny expanse of curvy tanned waist as if she was the first woman he’d seen in ten years.

  He caught a hint of scent as she leaned across the table, so close her hair brushed along his arm…something fresh and floral…before she quickly straightened.

  He’d only had a brief taste of her, but like an addict he craved more. More of her skin, more of her scent. More of that silken velvet hair, which was still a riot of curls, as if he’d only just finished dragging his fingers through it.

  He could see why he’d been drawn to her, why she intrigued him so much now. If his situation weren’t so dire then he would have taken time just to enjoy her, to savor her.

  He shook his head. Waxing poetic over a finished relationship? Damn if this situation hadn’t managed to mess up his mind already.

  “I’ve been reading up on your condition on the Internet,” she said as she replaced a photo frame on the table. Her shirt settled back, covering up the source of his rapt attention. “Let’s have lunch and you can tell me what you know.”

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If he did, he might end up voicing that obscene thought that he wanted her for lunch.

  Seven

  Ally decided on the Lowenbrau Keller, a casual wine-bar restaurant with open-air tables, friendly waiters and good food. And more importantly, no memories of Finn.

  Having him sitting across the table in the flesh, studying her from behind impenetrable sunglasses and haloed by the sun, was enough to handle without suffering the flashbacks, too.

  After they had ordered, Finn removed his glasses and handed her a piece of paper. She took it warily. “What’s this?”

  “I made a list.”

  “Of what?”

  “Questions. About us.”

  She slowly unfolded it and began to read.

  Finn noticed the way her lashes swept down, brushing her cheeks like a pair of tiny dark fans against the apricot skin. He wondered if he’d ever kissed the smattering of dusty freckles across the bridge of her nose. Whether he’d ever compared the taste of her skin to something edible. And whether it had lived up to the promise of her scent. Lime? Mandarin? Something fresh with a hint of floral—like her hair.

  Finally she laid the paper on the table. “Where’d you come up with these? Favorite food? Color? Time of year?”

  Finn shrugged. “It’s a starting point.”

  She leaned back. “Anything with pasta in it, pink and spring. And despite my best efforts, I’m not a creature of habit. I never drive the same way home, I frequently channel-surf and—” she lifted her hand, palm facing her and gave her fingers a wiggle “—normally paint my nails different colors. Which is why I frustrated you.”

  You’re still frustrating me. “Because I’m so organized.”

  “Bingo. I try but I can’t fight my genes. I am chaos. You are order.” She poked her
finger at the paper. “This is so you. I should’ve expected a list.”

  Finn felt unease prickle the back of his neck at her familiarity. “What about our mutual likes? Dislikes?”

  “You liked shoes off in the house. Coats hung on the rack. You loved soccer and socializing. And judging by the time you spent at work, you loved your job. I liked to spend a whole day reading a book, I frequently ignored my closest friends for months and—” she gave a small laugh “—I let my clothes fall wherever I took them off.”

  Lust exploded as his imagination shot into overdrive, at the thought of her stripping down to her underwear. Something pink and shiny with lace…

  “I remember leaving my shoes at the front door once,” she elaborated, oblivious to the fine line she trod. “You used it to start an argument about why I should be neater. You nearly broke your neck falling over them,” she challenged, lifting her eyebrows.

  “Opposites attract,” he murmured.

  “So they say.”

  “Any other differences?”

  “I liked solitude. You craved company. I was more spontaneous and you were the Planner From Hell. You had a schedule for everything—holidays, work, exercise. It drove me nuts.”

  “Yet we took off on a backpacking trip.”

  “Maybe I was rubbing off on you.”

  “Hard to believe we didn’t end up killing each other.” He smiled.

  Just when he’d finally let himself believe that maybe he had this situation under control, her smile disappeared.

  “We’d argue but we always made up.” She glanced away as a gentle flush bloomed across her cheeks. “But our marriage was based on a lie. I thought you were someone else—just a regular guy.”

  “I am a regular guy.”

  “A regular guy,” she repeated incredulously. “Right. A workaholic millionaire who featured on the front page of every national paper in Denmark. Who owns a castle and dated supermodels.”

  “I’ll not apologize for my family or the European press, Ally,” he growled. “You, more than anyone, know that’s not the total of who I am.”

  I don’t know who you are now, Ally thought glumly. Focusing on polishing her cutlery for the third time, she felt his eyes dissect her every move.

  Finally she smoothed out the tablecloth and rested her elbows on the top. “So how is your memory supposed to return?”

  “Since I’m such a ‘special case,’ as the doctors say, I’m not entirely sure. The executors have given me until the end of May, so the more time we spend together, the better our chances.”

  Ally gave an inward groan. Another month, tops, and she’d be unable to hide her pregnancy any longer. And the more time she spent skipping merrily down memory lane the more her hormones would go haywire.

  Of all the dumb things to do, agreeing to this had to take the cake. Adult Ally wanted to get it over quickly, but impulsive Ally ached to touch him, wanted to drag out the moments to see if he still felt as good as he once had when she had the full intimate rights of his wife.

  Impulsive Ally—or should that be crazy Ally?—wanted him—his warm body, his wild lovemaking, his hot, wet kisses—without giving a single thought to the morning after.

  And that scared her because it would be so very easy to give in.

  He was interested. The heat behind his eyes was as familiar as his arousal had once been beneath her fingers. A guarded wanting, cultivated from spending his life in the limelight, under public scrutiny. As if he were unsure who was watching but a little unable to control his desire anyway.

  Despite the doomed situation, it was still as thrilling to the primitive woman in her now as it was before.

  To hide the rising heat in her face—not to mention other parts of her body—Ally refocused on the list of questions, scanning the neatly typed page while her breath returned to normal.

  But it hitched again as she went down the list. “Some answers you’re not going to like.”

  His eyebrow kinked up questioningly.

  “This one. Did we ever cheat on each other.”

  Those brows took a dive. “Did you?”

  She shook her head, swallowing the stab of hurt. “Not me. You.”

  Eight

  “Are you sure?” he demanded.

  Ally nodded sadly.

  “Who?”

  “One of your Danish friends—the daughter of some count. She had a huge crush on you.”

  Her reply was cut short with the arrival of their appetizers. As soon as the waitress left, he said, “Go on.”

  “There’s not much more to tell.” She picked up her fork and started picking at her avocado salad. “You thought it was flattering. We argued—as always—especially about what you told her when she admitted her attraction.”

  “What did I say?”

  “If I recall correctly, ‘If I wasn’t married to Ally, things would be different.’”

  “I see.”

  She shook her head. “No, Finn, you didn’t see. You didn’t see how this sounded to someone who had feelings for you. It wasn’t a gentle letdown. It was a promise. It was like you were just passing time with me and that she could be the next in line after we broke up.” She tasted remembrance in her mouth, bitter and sharp. “You were giving her hope, permission to pursue you.”

  “Wait—did I sleep with her?”

  She shook her head and forced her voice low, starkly aware of their public location. “Being unfaithful is more than just physical. If your mind had been on our marriage you would have let her down. But you gave her belief there was a chance. You were furious when I wanted you to cut all contact with her. That—” she swallowed convulsively “—just confirmed you and I were doomed.”

  Finn opened his mouth to argue but the look on her face had him shutting it.

  There was no doubting the barely suppressed hurt shadowing her eyes, the tightness bracketing her mouth. She was telling the truth.

  A gentle throb started behind his eyes. The more he discovered about himself, the more he didn’t want to know. Was he responsible for destroying their marriage with his selfishness and arrogance?

  He remembered his friends exchanging strange looks, their barely hidden alarm when he said or did certain things. It was beginning to take on a whole new meaning.

  He’d been forced to take a long hard look at his life, at what made him tick and who he’d become.

  I’ve changed. Whatever I was before, I’m different now.

  Confusion bubbled up inside but he forced it down. Now, here, isn’t the place to do this.

  So they ate in silence, until their plates were cleared and the main course was served.

  He stared at his food and realized he wasn’t that hungry after all.

  “How’s your steak?” she finally asked.

  Finn pushed his plate over. “Try some.”

  She hesitated, her expression wary, as if he’d offered to strip naked and dance on the table. Then she took her fork and stuck it in a piece of his filet.

  Finn watched her slowly slide the shiny prongs between her lips and an almighty shot of lust stabbed him below the belt, bringing his groin to sudden and painful attention.

  She chewed slowly. “Mmm, that’s good. Here, try mine.” She wound her fork around her spaghetti and proffered it.

  Riveted, he watched her hand cup under the fork when a strand of pasta unraveled, the way she parted her lips as he took the food in his mouth. The way she gave him a tentative “good, huh?” smile and nodded as he chewed.

  And the food could have been sawdust for all the attention he gave it.

  “Great.” It lodged in his throat, a mass of tastelessness, and he reached for his wine to swill it down. “So,” he began, desperate to get back to neutral territory, “tell me about your family.”

  He knew it was the wrong topic when she glanced away.

  “There’s nothing much to say. My father’s dead, my mother lives her own life. The most important person in my life is my grandma, who is c
urrently on a three-month cruise in the South Pacific. End of mystery.”

  Hardly. “Tell me more.”

  “We’re here to discover your past, not mine.”

  He paused to search her face intently. “What are you hiding, Ally?”

  She said nothing, just sat back in her seat with a panicked expression.

  For one second Finn thought she was going to run. He watched as she shifted uneasily in her chair, her hands tightening convulsively around the arms.

  “Nothing.”

  Then she closed off her expression and focused on her plate with misplaced intensity.

  Emotion and duty grappled for top honors until weariness engulfed him, forced him back in the chair. He just wanted him memories back so he could rectify a grave injustice, didn’t she understand that? But he also found himself wanting to erase the distress in her eyes. She looked like someone who laughed often, the creases around her eyes and sensual curved lips made just for it. But since he’d arrived he was well aware she had barely managed a smile.

  Indecision tugged him in a thousand different directions, sending that familiar ache into the base of his neck.

  He opted for safe ground instead. “When did you decide to write full-time?” He felt the fledgling headache ease a fraction.

  She glanced up. “So you didn’t save my e-mails? No,” she amended, shaking her head. “Why would you?”

  “There’s nothing on my computer.”

  She nodded sadly and Finn felt his good intentions bite him in the rear. “You sent back our wedding photos, all my letters—”

  “Not all of them.”

  “No,” she conceded. “And I’m wondering why.”

  “And I’d love to tell you. But, you know…” He tapped his head.

  Covering her small smile at his black humor, she took a sip of water and rolled it around her tongue as if savoring a particularly good vintage. Finn dragged his gaze away from her mouth. Since when have I been so fascinated by a woman’s mere body movements?

  “I quit my job last week,” she said. “I worked at Bliss magazine for the past two months, editing, writing in-house articles. I also wrote their book review column.”