by Nicola Marsh
‘Settling down isn’t all bad.’ Frank’s genuine smile alleviated the tension between them. ‘Happens to the best of us. Just ask your brother.’
Archer winced as he saw Travis doing the Time Warp with his bride. Trav gawky and awkward, Shelly laughing so hard she clutched her sides.
‘Think about what I’ve said, son.’ Frank nodded towards Callie, who glanced up at that moment and waved. ‘You’d be a fool to let a woman like that slip through your fingers for the sake of a footloose, fancy-free lifestyle. Times change and so do we. We move with them or get left behind.’
As Callie moved towards them, Frank chuckled and nudged him in her direction.
Archer didn’t know what to think. His head was spinning with what he’d learned; his heart was reeling from the possible truth.
Did he dare give up one dream to trust his heart and follow another?
CHAPTER TEN
‘I’VE never had a Christmas like this,’ Callie said, staring at the table in amazement.
Covered in crisp white linen, crimson tealights, vases filled with decorative baubles, sparkling crystal, shiny silverware and tiny handmade wreaths sprinkled with silver glitter, it stretched from one end of the marquee to the other.
‘Trav and Shelly wanted a combined Christmas-wedding theme, but I think Mum commandeered the decorations.’ Archer pointed overhead at the liberal mistletoe hanging from strategically placed hooks. ‘She’s always gone the whole hog with Christmas. It’s the same every year.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Callie cleared her throat, embarrassed by the sudden surge of emotion making her want to cry. ‘You’re lucky.’
He must have caught her hint of whimsy and he clasped her hand. ‘How do you usually celebrate?’
‘Low-key,’ she muttered, instantly ashamed of her bitterness.
She’d tried to take her mum on day-trips, especially on special occasions like birthdays and Christmas, but Nora had deteriorated so fast over the last few years it had become easier to stay in.
Her mum had been so distressed last Christmas that she’d made Callie promise not to do it again.
So celebrations these days consisted of snuck-in takeaway Thai and luscious chocolate cake from Brunetti’s, carols on her iPod and a lot of forced cheerfulness when neither of them really felt like celebrating.
Even their gifts had gone the way of practical rather than indulgent. That hadn’t stopped her buying an e-reader Nora could swipe with a fingertip, special organic cream for her crêpe-like skin, and her favourite chocolates this year.
She’d ordered online a few days ago, when she’d been flushed with happiness after her escapades with Archer at the beach.
If she was going to live in the moment, she wanted her mum to also.
Now, with her heart deliberately sealing itself off and her impending departure in the morning, she wondered if she’d been foolish and frivolous.
‘Guess it’s hard celebrating when your mum’s so sick.’
‘Yeah.’
He stared at her with blatant curiosity and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. What better way to ruin their last evening together than to rehash her dysfunctional family’s past? Especially in the face of his familial warm and fuzzy perfection.
‘You don’t want to talk about it?’
She shot him a grateful smile. ‘I’d rather focus on this.’
She waved towards the table as the first guests trickled in from the other entry. ‘It’s really beautiful.’ On impulse, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks for coercing me into accompanying you to this wedding.’
He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘Sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.’
That motto applied to girls too, and for tonight she’d drink, dance and be merry. And later, she’d spend an incredible night in Archer’s bed, hoarding away memories she’d always cherish.
She hadn’t had the opportunity last time, had deliberately banished their time together courtesy of his abrupt break-up. And she’d had more important things to worry about since, like her mum’s illness.
Yet for all her reservations about getting involved with him again this week she was glad she’d done it. The last seven days had shown her that the guy she’d thought she’d known in Capri she hadn’t known at all. Archer was caring and intuitive, and he had vulnerabilities like the rest of them, and discovering his hidden depths had guaranteed she fell for him.
That was another thing she was glad she’d done: confronting him with her feelings. While she still wished things could have been different, the outcome wasn’t unexpected. How could a guy who’d been emotionally shut off from his family for years commit emotionally to her, when realistically they’d known each other for only two weeks eight years apart?
‘There is a way you can thank me properly.’
‘How?’
He slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. ‘Look up.’
‘Beautiful hand-crafted wood beams, red-gum panelling—’
‘Mistletoe,’ he murmured, a second before he kissed her—a ravishing, soul-reaching melding that left her breathless and clinging to him when he eased away.
It was only then that she registered the hoots and claps of the Fletts.
She blushed, while Archer waved towards the clan, squared his shoulders and escorted her to pride of place with the rest of the family at the head of the table.
As he pulled out her chair and caressed the back of her neck, a sliver of longing lodged in her shielded heart.
What would it be like to belong to a family like this? To be surrounded by love and laughter? She’d never known it, and she’d never felt her deprivation so acutely as now.
Her dad had done that to her—taken away any semblance of a happy family upbringing—and while she’d given up on him a long time ago it was moments like these when she could easily throttle Bruno Umberto.
She could thank him for her dark hair and eyes, her love of pasta and her quick-fire temper, but there was little else Bruno deserved her gratitude for.
The self-absorbed man who’d now married four times, who lived life on the edge and loved the same way, had breezed in and out of her life like a flitting butterfly.
Since Nora had been diagnosed he hadn’t been near them, and the odd e-mail didn’t cut it.
The genetic testing had proved she hadn’t inherited the mutated gene from her mum. Luckily she hadn’t inherited something far more deadly from her father.
His selfishness.
She’d be there for her mum whatever it took, whatever she had to sacrifice, however much it hurt.
‘You’re kinda spaced out.’ He waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Everything okay?’
She dredged up a dazzling smile to fool him. ‘Fine.’
She’d ensure everything was fine tonight, for come tomorrow their dalliance would be over. But for a fleeting moment she wished she had Bruno’s selfish streak and could demand this wasn’t the end.
‘Hey, surf dude, when are you going to introduce us?’ A tall, broad-shouldered guy who had the Flett blond good-looks sat next to Archer and jostled him.
Archer grinned and elbowed him back. ‘Callie, this is my cousin Jonesy.’ He draped a proprietorial arm across the back of her chair. ‘Jonesy, this is my friend Callie.’
‘You’re a stunner.’ Jonesy reached across Archer and shook her hand vigorously, his smile goofy rather than leery.
‘Thanks,’ she said, grateful when Jonesy started interrogating Archer about wave conditions for the upcoming season.
Friend.
He’d introduced her as his friend, and while it might be the truth it sounded so distant after what they’d shared.
All her one-on-one pep talks with her voice of reason meant nothing in the face of reality.
Mistletoe kisses, passionate love in the sand dunes and cuddles on the balcony aside, she was right back to where she’d been in Capri.
Wishing for a miracle.
; Wishing for him to love her.
After what she’d been through with her mum, she’d given up on miracles a long time ago.
What could be so different now?
But she wouldn’t waste her life pining. She’d move on ASAP.
Starting first thing in the morning.
* * *
Archer couldn’t figure it out. One minute Callie had been kissing him with all the passion and exuberance he’d come to expect from her, the next she’d retreated.
Not that it was obvious to anyone but him. She danced and giggled and ate two pieces of red velvet wedding cake, apparently having a ball.
But he could tell. Every time she glanced his way he saw the shadows. Fleeting, willow-o-the-wisp flickers of...what? Pain? Regret? Disappointment?
He’d wanted to ask what was wrong on their drive home, but she’d been trying hard to fill the awkward silence, chatting non-stop about his family and the ceremony and the exchanging of gifts. And he’d been happy to let her talk, still trying to assimilate the truth behind his dad’s secrecy all those years ago.
He’d wanted to thank her for encouraging him to swallow his pride and give his family a go, for making him see beyond his anger and resentment. But she hadn’t stopped talking. Anything to avoid silence.
Yeah, there was definitely something wrong. Or maybe she just felt weird about their impending departure tomorrow?
Not that she should. He had it all figured out. Make tonight a night to remember, wake up with her in his arms Christmas morning, then talk to her when they arrived back in Melbourne.
He had a rough plan that he’d come up with over the last few hours.
His dad was right. His pushy brothers were right.
Callie was a keeper.
He’d be a fool to let her go.
He hadn’t figured out all the logistics yet. He’d never done a long-distance relationship. Hopefully with a little help from her they’d figure out how this would work.
The thought of having her in his life made him want to ditch the tux, grab his board and head for the beach—but to celebrate, not to escape. He wanted to crest a wave, ride a tube, to see if anything could beat the adrenalin rush of realising he didn’t have to lose Callie.
Not this time.
‘I know you said no gifts, but I’ve got you something,’ she said, strolling towards him on the balcony before sliding onto the love seat next to him.
He shook his head. ‘Should’ve known you wouldn’t listen,’ he said, wondering what she’d think of his gift when he presented it to her tomorrow.
He’d arranged it online ten minutes ago, as part of his grand plan, while she’d been ‘turning back into a pumpkin’—her words, not his—exchanging her dress and up-do for T-shirt, leggings and a loose ponytail that left tendrils curling around her face.
She looked tousled and tired and casual, and she’d never looked so beautiful.
‘It’s nothing big. I brought it with me. Didn’t want to be caught empty-handed. It’s not much.’
She was bordering on babbling, and he covered her hand with his to calm her. ‘It’s from you. I’ll love it.’
Darting a nervous glance at him, she gnawed on her bottom lip, her nerves puzzling. It was only a gift. Then again, considering the yearning he’d glimpsed when his family were handing out gifts after the wedding, and the way she’d clammed up about her family celebrating the Christmas holidays, he figured maybe presents were a big deal for her.
He took his time, tugging on the gold ribbon, fiddling with the knot, sliding his finger under the sticky-tape.
‘Hurry up,’ she said, practically squirming with impatience.
‘I see you’re a rip-it-off-in-one-quick-move girl,’ he said, putting her out of her misery by tearing the paper in three broad strips to reveal something that snatched his breath with the same surreal, suffocating sensation he’d had being caught in a rip once.
‘What—? How—?’
He remembered the day they’d stumbled upon the tiny glassblower’s cottage as if it was yesterday. It had been their third day together in Capri—a day filled with swimming in a pristine ocean, sharing grilled calamari and fresh bread for lunch, indulging in a decadent session of afternoon delight, before strolling hand in hand through the cobbled streets.
They’d laughed and jostled and snuggled, typical holiday lovers, and discovering the cottage with exquisitely made glass figurines had made Callie’s day. She loved that kind of thing, and he’d indulged her by going in, surprised by the wizened old guy who looked about a hundred creating mini-masterpieces.
The porpoises had caught his attention because he’d seen some during his first major competition, and he’d labelled them his good luck charm ever since.
He’d commissioned a Californian artist to carve a replica of these little glass guys a few years ago, and it took pride of place in the entry hall of his Malibu home.
A home that, like the rest of them, he barely visited.
‘You thought it was cool when we went into that glassblowing shop in Capri, so I went back and bought it. I was going to give it to you that last day, but...’ She trailed off, not needing to finish.
He’d acted like a jackass, deliberately saying stuff he didn’t mean before he let another person get close. Easier to depend on no one and avoid the ultimate let-down.
‘Reading too much into a holiday fling...nothing more than a bit of fun...lighten up before you scare off more guys.’
The words came back to haunt him. Come tomorrow he’d make amends and say the words she wanted to hear.
He had all night to work on his delivery. When he wasn’t making love to her, that was.
‘I was a jerk.’
‘Yeah, but you were right.’
He didn’t like her emotionless tone, or her shuttered expression as he turned over the delicately intertwined frolicking porpoises.
‘I can’t believe you’ve kept them all these years.’
She ran a fingertip along their fins, a soft, wistful sigh escaping her lips. ‘I actually forgot I had them. Then, when you showed up and bossed me into coming here, I thought they’d make an okay Christmas gift.’
‘An okay gift?’ He stared at her in disbelief. Was she being deliberately blasé or did this really not mean anything to her?
She’d kept something so special all these years, something he’d specifically wanted, and she was acting as if she’d given him a pair of woollen socks.
‘It’s a trinket from the past. Nothing more.’
She shrugged, and the first fingers of doubt crept around his dream of a relationship and strangled it.
‘I’m glad this time we had the foresight to know this was a fling and nothing more. No expectations that way. No feelings get hurt. Nice and clean.’
Her brittle laugh set him on edge.
‘What did you say back then? A short time and a good time?’ She interlaced her fingers through his. ‘It’s certainly been that, Archer Flett. Consider this a thank-you gift too.’
Gobsmacked, he let her take the porpoises and place them on the glass-topped table beside them before clambering onto his lap. Her arms snaked around his neck, tugging his head towards her, her lips meeting his in an explosion of need.
There was nothing tender about the kiss. It was pure desperation, heat and passion and fear. Fear of the future? Fear of farewell?
Whatever, now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. He had a million questions to ask her.
In the morning.
For now he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.
He might not be able to eradicate the immature stuff he’d said in Capri, but he could sure as hell let his actions do all the talking now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CALLIE wasn’t proud of what she’d done.
She should have told Archer the truth last night. And she shouldn’t have snuck away in the early hours. Or made Tom complicit in her deceit.
She had to give him credit for not spill
ing her secret. She’d half expected Archer to confront her about her plan to abscond once she’d asked Tom for a favour at the wedding.
But Archer hadn’t suspected a thing.
She’d had her chance to say goodbye and she’d taken it. Several times during the night, with each erotic encounter surpassing the last.
It had been subliminal, knowing it would be their last time together. She’d imprinted every whispered word, savoured every caress, treasured every touch.
If Archer had been surprised by her wild enthusiasm he hadn’t shown it. He’d responded in kind, taking her to heights she’d only ever read about in novels.
And then she’d left, creeping out at 5:00 a.m.
Thankfully Izzy had been asleep in the back of the car, and after a few less than subtle questions Tom had given up interrogating her.
The Fletts were a loyal bunch, for not once had Tom discredited his brother, apart from saying he was a nong for letting her get away again.
She’d had to give him something to shut him up, so she’d settled for a semi-truth. They’d already said their goodbyes last night. They were happy to resume their respective lives, and she had to get back to her mum on Christmas Day.
All perfectly respectable, perfectly legitimate reasons...for running out like a chicken.
The truth was she couldn’t face the long car ride back to Melbourne with Archer—couldn’t face the awkwardness of another goodbye.
This way they could resume their old relationship—e-mailing for business—and avoid any mess.
He was flying out today, so he wouldn’t have time to worry about her early departure anyway. He had things to do, places to be.
Things and places that didn’t include her.
That was why she’d given him the porpoises. She’d lied about that too, telling him she’d forgotten about them.
As if. She might have banished her memories of their time in Capri, but every now and then, when her mum had a particularly bad day and Callie felt lonely, she’d take them out of their recycled cardboard box, cradle them in her hand and remember...
Remember that special time in Capri, wishing she could have one ounce of it again.
