Authors: Robyn Thomas
He grinned as Mike’s wife chimed in with her I-told-you-so, and he hung up.
When he approached Beth she held her phone out of reach.
“It’s generic, I promise.”
His arms were longer than hers and getting the phone off her was easy.
I’m OK. Have alternate shoulder 2 lean on 2nite. Turning phone off. <3 always Beth
He’d expected a butt-out tone, but her message was reassuring and she ended it with
love always.
They could delete that, surely?
“The sign-off is inappropriate.”
“Why? Because I’m engaged to you?”
“Because he’s engaged to Skyla.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “Skyla knows Brad and I are friends.”
“Friends?” He almost choked on the word. “When your ex-husband calls you every hour
eighteen months after your divorce
, and you have to check in with him to avoid an impromptu visit late at night, it’s time to call the cops for a restraining order.”
She laughed. “Brad has a hard time letting go. That’s his issue. But it’s not because of romantic love. It’s not like that at all.”
He made an encouraging sound, needing her to open up more.
“We’re down to one parent between the two of us. When my father died, my mother and I pulled together with Brad’s family
to get through it, and Brad and his mother drew strength from us when his father died. It’s getting harder now. Each loss is greater and this is a bad time because Brad’s about to get married and Skyla’s out of town. I’m assuring him that I’m fine because he’ll come over if he’s worried and it just doesn’t feel right to lean on his shoulder while she’s away.”
Jake’s throat contracted to the point of pain, his lungs burning because he’d forgotten to breathe. Beth’s emotions were affecting him more than they should. “Why is his shoulder the best one to lean on?”
She reached for the phone, her fingers trembling. “Why am I the best choice for a fiancée?”
The comeback was impressive. She’d straightened her spine and lifted her chin, but an air of fragility hung over her and it was enough to loosen his tongue. Unfortunately she spoke first.
“Skyla’s would be just as good, but she was called away on an urgent business trip.” She hesitated. “By you?”
“The plan was to get Skyla out of town so I could kick Brad out of your house and publicly announce my engagement to you. In a few days’ time she’d return to a doting fiancé who’d been cut off from his ex-wife.”
Beth stared at the unsent message on her phone, then studied him, her full lips twisted into a half scowl. “Wow, you sound like you need to clarify some things with Brad. You’re welcome to call and invite him over.”
I don’t want him anywhere near you.
“Send the text, Beth. If you need a shoulder tonight, you can use mine.”
She pressed a button on the phone, then covered his hand with hers. “Whatever it is that you’re thinking about me and Brad, you’re wrong.”
“Any chance you have a room for me?”
Two hours later, he was still reeling from Beth’s particular blend of caring-irreverence when she knocked on his bedroomdoor. He couldn’t allow his half sister to marry a man who was still hung up on his ex, but after meeting Beth he could appreciate Brad’s dilemma. Beth should have “impossible to get over” tattooed on her forehead. Or somewhere more discreet. Maybe—
She appeared to be generous to a fault and that made him suspicious. He circled one finger to indicate the entire room.
“You’d do all of this for a distant relative?”
“I would, and I’d feed them too.” She brought in a loaded butler’s tray and set it on the low filing cabinet beside his bed.
He toyed with the crusty bread beside the bowl, long-forgotten memories of home crashing through his defenses. “Tomato soup?”
“Not
English
enough for you?” she said in the worst English accent he’d ever heard. “What do you want for nothing? I would’ve planned ahead if I’d known you were coming.”
He looked at his dinner tray then back at her. “Is there more?”
“More soup? Or another course? This isn’t a hotel.”
The urge to laugh was strong, but he kept a straight face. “I was hoping you’d join me.”
She tilted her head to one side, and he held his breath at the possibility of her turning him down. For eight years he’d yearned for a taste of normality, believing there’d be a day, a moment, when someone would overlook his fame and make him earn their approval.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll join you. I’ll go make another tray.”
He explored the cavernous, dimly lit hall while he waited for her and felt an odd jolt of anticipation when she appeared with a tray identical to his.
“Where would you like to eat?”
She was too busy peering into his room and didn’t even notice him standing there. He reached for the tray. “Let me get that for you.
Her startled laughter jiggled the tray so much, it was a wonder her soup didn’t spill.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be in the hall. Every other man I know would be polishing his empty bowl with a chunk of bread by now.”
And that was funny?
“I feel like you’re the host and I’m a guest.” She walked past him and settled on the floor at the end of his bed as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“This brings back memories from my childhood,” he said. He handed her one tray, then reached for the other. “I usually go out of my way to avoid anything that reminds me of my family, but I don’t feel that way tonight.” She didn’t comment and her silence allowed him to continue. “I haven’t been in a real home for eight years, and I can’t stop touching things. Books, photos, handcrafted furniture, even the clutter on the desk.”
“Make yourself at home.” She smiled. “It sounds glib, but I mean it. I love it here. It’s the best place there is and I’m happy to share it.”
If it was mine, I’d want to keep it all to myself.
He sat beside her on the floor, his eyes drawn to her sparkly toenails. They had tiny pictures on them but he couldn’t quite make them out. Dragging his gaze back up to safer territory, he saw that she was floating chunks of bread in her soup.
“It’s tomato.” She smirked when she caught him staring.
“There’s no other way to eat it.”
He shook his head. “I’m sure I’m going to wake up and find myself still on my plane.”
She tossed a piece of bread into his bowl. “If waking up on a private plane is your biggest concern, I’d say you’re doing all right.”
As they ate in companionable silence, he assessed the spacious room with its rich timber paneling and glassed-in bookcases.
Sleeping on the sofa bed in here would be worth it, because the heavy furniture reminded him of his father’s den in Cambridge.
Along with the soup and Beth’s company, the room itself was comforting.
When they’d both finished eating, Beth speared him with a look. “Do we need to discuss what will happen next or is it more of a wait-and-see type thing?”
“It’s out of our hands.” He yawned as jet lag caught up with him. “My publicist will be all over it as soon as it goes public. We could be in for a busy time tomorrow.”
…
“Tomorrow? Right. Sure.” Beth tried to hide her dismay as she realized Jake wanted to go to bed. Since her mother’s death, the nights had been endless as she lay awake wishing for the impossible. She usually ended up sitting on the edge of her mum’s empty bed, holding a conversation with thin air. That probably wasn’t a good option with Jake in the house, but she couldn’t rule it out completely.
She cleared her throat several times because her voice refused to cooperate. “Good night, Jake.”
He gave her the sort of compassionate look people give when they’re lost for words. She fled. An early night would serve her well, and maybe Jake’s presence down the hall would be comforting.
It wasn’t.
When she wasn’t missing her mother, she mourned her father, her grandparents, and Brad’s father. Happy memories blurred with tragic ones as her pillow got soaked with tears. Thank goodness she was here tonight in the house that’d witnessed the best and worst moments of her life. The single sleeping tablet on her dresser mocked her, but she couldn’t take it with a stranger in the house.
Exhausted and hollow, so alone that she ached, she dozed and woke in a restless cycle. “Eleven o’clock. Twelve o’clock. One o’clock.” Annoyed at the sound of her own voice counting the passing hours, she slipped out of bed and pulled a fleecy cardigan on over her pajamas. She padded down the softly lit hall, past her mother’s room, and into the kitchen.
Keen to avoid the soup dishes and the dismal remains of her earlier burned dinner, she headed for the commercial kitchen on the other side of the hall. The crew from Maid-to-Sparkle had cleaned it after the wake, and its gleaming metallic surfaces welcomed her. There wasn’t a single trace of her mother in this utilitarian space. She could lose herself here. She flipped her MP3 player on and pressed random, relaxing as familiar music wafted out.
Dragging a heap of goodies out onto the counter, she cleared her mind and set her creative impulses free. The sweet scent of apples, raisins, and cinnamon battled with the comforting aroma of egg and bacon pie when she caught sight of a colorful reflection in the window.
“Miss Carlisle in the kitchen with Mr. Olsen,” Jake said.
She spun to face him.
He surveyed the loaded counters with raised eyebrows. “Is there a reason we’re up at this hour?”
Guilt settled over her as she took in his sleep-mussed hair and drowsy eyes. He was delightfully rumpled and his feet were bare beneath faded jeans and a Manchester United shirt covered in signatures.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. She could’ve easily sketched him in the time she’d spent staring. “Did I wake you?”
He snagged a stool from near the wall and carried it over to the counter. “You want a seat?” When she shook her head at his offer, he sat on it himself. “The smell of a cake my mum used to make when I was a kid drifted in and I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It’s tea cake, right?”
Beth pressed her finger against her lips before she could stop.
“It’s a secret family recipe I’m not supposed to have. Caramel apple cake.”
His lips twitched. “Did you steal it?”
“Not personally.” She laughed at the partial truth. “I got Brad to get it for me. His family has a cookbook they hand down from one generation to the next—once they’re certain the new daughter-in-law is an indispensable member of their family. I’ve never dared to ask, but I think the only way to get it is to produce an heir. Brad copied this recipe when no one was looking because it’s my favorite.”
Jake looked more amused than horrified. “That explains the cake, but what about the rest of the food? It looks as if you’re running a soup kitchen.”
“That’s too accurate to be a wild stab in the dark.” She frowned. “Something’s wrong here. I couldn’t place you when you turned up at my door, with the world’s most recognizable hair, yet you seem to know everything about me. How come?”
He spread his hands wide. “Your ex-husband loves to talk about you.”
“Not to strangers.”
He went very still and a guarded look came over his face.
“I’ve spent a lot of time talking to Skyla recently.”
“But why have you been discussing me? Skyla’s usually very discreet. I don’t even know what she does for a living. She seems to spend most of her time writing letters. I’ve always wondered how she earns so much for doing so little.”
“Skyla works for Five Awesome Emperors. She has the ability to write personal replies to our fans that we’d be proud to have written ourselves. We can’t afford to lose her. Finding someone who is competent and gets along with every member of the band is almost unheard of.”
“So you think she’ll resign from her job if she’s not happy in her personal life?”
Why does it feel as if there’s something you’re
not telling me?
“We all agreed that someone should look out for her. She lost her mother and stepfather in an auto accident years ago so she doesn’t have any family, and working from home here in Melbourne means she has no colleagues to rely on either.”
He pushed out of his seat and spoke in a tone laced with disgust. “She and Brad are about to tie the knot, yet she jokes about him not being able to go sixty seconds without mentioning you. I’ve talked to Brad and it’s worse than I imagined. Her husband-to-be is still preoccupied with you. There’s nothing he doesn’t know about your habits and your whereabouts and what remains on your to-do list for the wedding. He knows when you last ate and slept.” He threw her earlier words back at her. “How come?”
Feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, she curled her fingers over the edge of the counter and tried to steady herself. “That’s why you’re here? To distract me so I won’t have a fling with Brad before he remarries? What makes you think—?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s him.”
“Stop worrying. Brad’s a pain in the ass most of the time, but I love him
like a brother.
We got married because it was an adventure and our families expected it. There was no leap of faith and no chance of heartbreak, yet it was doomed to failure right from the start. Neither of us were happy, so I pulled the plug and we went back to being friends. Best friends.”
She summoned a smile and ordered her shoulders to lift in tandem. “I’m the wedding planner, the ex-wife, the maid of honor, and the groom’s best friend, but I’m not a threat. If you’d shared your concerns with Skyla, she’d have told you that and we could’ve avoided this nightmare.”
“The engagement
nightmare
could have been avoided if you’d taken care to limit how much time you spent with your ex-husband.”
Picking up a spatula, she sliced a generous wedge of caramel apple cake. She set it on a clean tea towel and spoke. “Brad’s like my shadow, impossible to get rid of but relatively benign. I don’t encourage him. There are days I can barely tolerate his constant presence, but I know he’s transitioning from one marriage to the next. It will get better. He and Skyla are planning a two-month-long honeymoon and I think that distance will be good for him— and me.