Just Breathe (22 page)

She stepped into the lift, pressed the button, recalling the day a nurse hit the alarm by her bed and medical staff pounded into her room to treat her for a heart attack. Turned out it was only broken.

The doors opened and Ethan was there, t-shirt, baggy pants, eyes dark enough to disappear in. She stepped into his arms and clung to him like she’d needed to cling to someone all those years ago. Then she pushed away, remembering she taught herself not to do that.

‘Hi,’ she said, trying for breezy, hoping to gloss over her sudden desperation.

His brow creased. Somewhere between bewilderment and concern. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Yeah, sure. So where’s your landing pad? I don’t think a helicopter would fit on the deck.’ She moved through the apartment, putting distance between them.

‘Actually, the guy three doors over has a landing pad down by the water.’ He opened the screen, led her to the railing and pointed to the square of concrete through the trees. ‘The Prime Minister dropped in there the other day for lunch.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Not this time. We had Hunter Valley beef and red wine. Very civilised.’

She laughed. It felt good. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, kissed her mouth. His lips felt good too. Soft, confident, inviting. She eased closer. His hand found hers on the railing. It was large, warm, strong. She remembered the feel of the splint on her broken pinkie, the ring finger taped to it, the one they’d cut her engagement ring from. Like an omen.

She stepped away again. ‘I, um, would you mind if I had a drink?’

Another frown. ‘Sure. Water or champagne?’

‘I’m thinking both.’

In the kitchen, she gulped down water and ordered her memory to bugger off. It didn’t listen. As Ethan peeled foil from a champagne bottle, she thought about drinking coffee through a straw when she couldn’t sit up. He poured two glasses, passed her one. She toasted him from arm’s length and leaned against the marble bench as she swallowed hard.

He sipped. ‘Is there something wrong?’

Yes. No. Everything was perfect. It just wasn’t safe. ‘Low blood sugar. I get a little antsy when I haven’t eaten for a while. Haven’t showered yet, either.’

‘Oka-ay. Let’s eat then.’ He took a cheese platter from the fridge and led her back to the deck. ‘Two, four, six, eight.’

She ate hungrily. The harbour glowed under a final burst of light from the setting sun. If only her head would shut down for the night too.

‘How’s Arianne?’ Ethan asked.

His words sent her crashing back to the hospital. Memories leapt out of their boxes and bounced around like ping-pong balls. ‘She’s good.’ Her heart was suddenly loud, thudding hard against her ribs. ‘She’s, um …’ she gasped, couldn’t breathe, ‘… going home …’ – whoa, so dizzy – ‘… tomorrow.’ She squeezed her eyes shut.

‘Dee?’ Ethan’s voice sounded far away.

She put a hand to her face. It was hot and damp. ‘The hospital … it was so … and I …’ Don’t let it happen, she told herself. You do not want a panic attack.

She struggled to her feet, sucking in a breath. ‘Excuse me a minute.’ Then she bolted from the room.

Stumbling in the hall, Dee found the gym. The mat was still there from her workout. She threw herself down, crossed her legs, closed her eyes and breathed. Just breathed. Slowly in. Slowly out. Until she could fill her lungs and feel her heart slow. That was better. Nearly there. She clasped her hands together on the mat, placed her head between them, and slowly, slowly raised her feet off the ground. A headstand took enormous mental and physical strength, required total focus and courage not to fall and break your neck. As Dee lifted her body into a straight line, she felt the belt of muscle around her belly pull taut and the wave of concentration push out everything else in her head.

She held the pose until her arms started shaking then began the slow descent, bending at the hips like a lever until her toes reached the timber. Then she folded into a ball, Pose of the Child, letting her body and mind settle, her muscles relax.

‘Dee?’

Ethan’s voice made her jump. He was in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, shoulder on the jamb.

‘How long have you been there?’ she asked.

‘Long enough to be impressed.’

She shot him an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry. I would’ve preferred you didn’t see that. It hasn’t happened in ages.’

‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘The hospital got to me. I just needed to … breathe.’

He watched her for a drawn out moment, his eyes deep, dark pools. She thought of the way
she’d run from the deck, how he must have found her balancing on her head and hoped he wasn’t thinking how he could get rid of the lunatic without a scene.

He crossed the room, helped her to her feet and folded her into his arms. ‘Breathing is good,’ he whispered. His mouth, when it found hers, was gentle. The fuel-injected passion of the night before gave way to a tenderness that made her melt against him and forget the panic attack that had almost won. Her heart pounded but in a good way. Her arms were around his neck as he picked her up, carried her next door, laid her on his bed.

As she disentangled herself, a waft of dried perspiration reminded her of the four classes she’d taught. ‘I should shower first.’

He trapped her beneath him. ‘No. You smell good. You smell
real
.’ He kissed her neck, her throat, pushed away the strap of her top, kissed the width of her shoulder. ‘You
taste
real.’ He drew her top over her head and ran a hand over her belly and the soft outer flesh of her breast. He traced the contour of her jaw, laced his fingers into her hair. ‘You’re more real than anyone I’ve ever met.’

Much later, Dee stepped out of the en suite shower and contemplated the weird energised/exhausted feeling. And the way her memories had crawled back to their boxes. In the bedroom, she considered the clothes scattered on the floor, picked up her top, smelled it and dropped it again. In the manic state she arrived in, she forgot to bring the clothes she stowed in her car earlier. Ethan’s t-shirt hung lopsidedly off the bed post. She smiled at the memory of tossing it with abandon and unhooked it.

She found him in the kitchen, checking the contents of a wall oven. ‘Nice shirt. I’ve got one just like it.’

She tugged at the hem high on her thigh. ‘I know it’s a cliché but I’ve left my other clothes
in the car.’

He lowered his eyes to her bare legs. ‘I’m a sucker for a good set of clichés.’ He shut the oven door. ‘Since we couldn’t have breakfast on the deck, I thought we’d have dinner out there instead.’

She heard her own voice from two nights ago.
All I’d need is a lovely man who’d cook dinner for me at the end of a long day.
This was perfect date material and part of her wanted to skip through the kitchen. But the part that filed and stored her memories was feeling bruised and wary. You don’t want a perfect date, it told her. A perfect date might make you want more.

Ethan stacked plates and cutlery on a tray. ‘My housekeeper is a bit of a health nut so she went all out when I told her I wanted vegetarian. I’m guessing you like Indian.’

‘So you didn’t cook this?’

‘Sorry to disappoint. The only thing I can do in the kitchen is turn the oven on.’

Well, it wasn’t
perfect
if he didn’t cook it himself. ‘There’s no shame in that.’

Outside, a huge moon hung over Sydney Harbour, leaving a long stripe of light across the water. The March evening was mild and tinged with salt. They spread bowls across the table, sat either side of the corner, knees touching. Dee lifted a thick strand of hair and tossed it over her shoulder. He made a sound in his throat.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘That thing you do with your hair.’

‘What about it?’

‘It’s very … sexy.’

Her hair? A slow smile worked its way onto her mouth. ‘You mean like this?’ She tossed hair over the other shoulder.

‘Exactly like that. Almost as good as when you pull it out and shake it loose.’ He kept his eyes on her face as he edged a knee between hers. ‘So what happened at the hospital?’

His question was so unexpected, she spoke without thinking. ‘I was so lonely and hurt and broken in there and there’s no medicine for that. You just have to live it.’ She glanced at his face, realising her mistake. ‘Oh, you meant today? Right, well, Arianne’s doing great and going home in the morning.’ She tossed her hair again, hoping to distract him from her first answer.

‘What happened at the hospital the other time?’

She looked away. Did she really want to talk about it? So soon after wrangling the memories?

His hand moved to her bare thigh, sliding slowly upwards, finding the scar where the surgeon repaired her broken leg. He ran a finger gently back and forth across its silvered surface. ‘Was it after the car accident?’

The gentleness in his voice brought her eyes to his. Perhaps if she unpacked the boxes carefully and didn’t make any sudden movements, the memories would behave. She took a breath. ‘I don’t remember much about the accident but the three months in hospital were a nightmare.’

‘What happened?’

‘Everything hurt. I had cuts and gashes and little broken bits all over the place.’ She lifted her hand and wiggled her crooked pinkie. ‘I broke fingers and ribs, my leg, my back.’ She pressed her palm to her chest. ‘But heartbreak is the real killer.’

‘Heartbreak?’

She’d forgotten she hadn’t covered that part of the story. Hadn’t really intended to. It was just that heartbreak always seemed part of her injury list. ‘My fiancé …’ She shook her head.

Ethan took her hand, curled warm fingers around it. ‘Dee, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you lost someone in the accident.’

‘Oh, no, he didn’t die. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s alive and being a total arsehole to some other woman right now. No, he left me.’ She smiled tightly. ‘The day after I was told I’d need surgery on my back and that it was entirely likely I’d never get full use of my legs again. Great timing, huh?’

‘What a bastard.’

She watched as Ethan’s jaw clenched and unclenched, encouraged by his anger on her behalf. ‘Yeah, well, I fell to pieces. Lots and lots of little pieces. Like an enormous jigsaw puzzle. Amanda and I used to do them when we were kids. We got one with three thousand pieces once and it took the entire Christmas holidays to finish. Anyway, we had a system. We started with the edge bits and put the frame together, then little by little filled in the rest of it. The picture would be on the box and we’d use a magnifying glass to try to match up the pieces.’ She folded her forearms on the table. ‘After Anthony left, I felt like a million-piece jigsaw puzzle with no picture to go by. I had no idea what my life was going to be like after that and I couldn’t find a goddamn edge piece to save myself.’ She knuckled a tear from her cheek.

Ethan reached over and wiped one from the other side. ‘Did the surgery work?’

‘I wouldn’t have it, and that created a whole bunch of other problems. Mum went nuts, spent days and days trying to talk me into it. But I was a mess, crying all the time and kind of drug-addled and all I knew was that I was in no condition to make a decision about major surgery, especially when there were no guarantees.’

She dragged a hand through her hair at the memory. ‘God, it was so hard watching Mum deal with me falling apart. She was in such a hurry for me to get better. I guess she figured the
quicker that happened, the quicker I could get on with my life and forget everything. But you can’t fast track heartache. You just have to wait it out. All I needed was someone to sit through it with me. In the end, I had to shut everyone out, stop listening, sift through all those puzzle pieces and live through it my way. It hurt Mum, I know, and she doesn’t agree with how I’ve put myself together, but I’m okay with it now.’

Ethan put a finger under her chin and gently kissed her lips. ‘I like all your pieces exactly where they are.’

As she looked into his dark eyes, she wasn’t sure what or why, but something inside her sighed and let go. She kissed him back, slowly, deeply, mmm’ing quietly as his hand slipped under her t-shirt. This moment would require her undivided attention. She tilted her head as Ethan nuzzled her neck, brushed away the small finger of concern that tapped her gently on the shoulder. The one that wanted to know how the moment would end.

Dee’s eyes snapped open. She felt Ethan’s arm around her waist and smiled.

Then frowned. Something was wrong. No, not wrong. Missing.

She hadn’t gasped. For the first time in ten years she hadn’t woken with a spike of anxiety. Wow, it felt good. She slid out from under Ethan’s arm, rolled onto the yoga mat beside her bed and enjoyed an energised/exhausted stretch in the early-morning gloom. Big circles with the right leg. Big circles with the left. Great sex was good for flexibility.

Ethan rolled to the edge of the bed, one naked shoulder draped over the side. ‘It might be more fun if you did that in here.’

She grinned. ‘How did you enjoy slumming it?’

It was the first time he’d stayed at her apartment. He’d had a work thing on last night, said he’d see her tomorrow so she went to bed early. Pam rushed in some time after eleven, flustered and excited, saying Ethan Roxburgh was at the door.
The
Ethan Roxburgh. Dee walked out in her PJs and led him back to her room, closing the door on her flatmate’s shocked face.

Ethan dropped a hand over the side of the mattress and ran a finger along her arm. ‘The bed’s a bit hard but the company’s excellent.’

In the last twelve days, they’d been together more nights than apart. It was energising and exhausting and a little terrifying. She’d figured two weeks would do it – put her crush to rest and satisfy the itch that hadn’t been scratched in a long time. Like Leon said: it fit neatly into her two-week ‘future’.

The problem was that the intensity of the attraction hadn’t abated. Had, in fact, blown out of proportion. A crush on steroids. She wanted it to hurry up and burn itself out so she could
walk away when she needed to. Because she
would
need to. No point kidding herself Ethan wouldn’t look at another Roxburgh Girl just because he’d spent a few hot nights with a horny yoga guru.

‘You’ll probably want to go home to shower,’ Dee suggested. ‘I’m not sure your pampered body can deal with the water pressure here.’ She watched him ease out of bed, pull on boxers, flex his broad shoulders in a yawn and felt the urge to hold on a little longer.

She was brewing coffee when he finished in the bathroom and was ready to leave. ‘Will I pick you up here or at the yoga school tonight?’

He was taking her to the opening of an art exhibition, their first outing together since he’d burned her nun’s habit. Publicly, they would pretend it was another business opportunity, to keep the media in the dark. Privately, she got to go home with him.

‘At the yoga school,’ she said.

‘By the way, I checked the invitation and the dress code’s cocktail wear and lounge suit.’

‘I’ll have to find time to raid Amanda’s wardrobe.’ Even as she was working through the logistics of squeezing a trip to her sister’s into her schedule, a part of her was wondering if her own clothes in a sea of Roxburgh Girl potential might not push Ethan towards the inevitable.

Ethan edged in behind her, swept aside her hair and spoke whispery words in her ear. ‘Don’t go as Amanda. Go as the real you. I like the real you.’

Her belly tightened in pleasure and anxiety. She slid out of his hold, looking for mugs in a cupboard. ‘Coffee?’

‘No, thanks. I have to go. And, speaking of finding time, tell Graeme Paffe if he’s going to keep taking up so much of yours, he should cough up with some consulting fees.’

She was meeting Graeme this afternoon to look at his latest yoga clothes. His free samples
were great and she was learning heaps about the clothing industry, but it ate into her day. ‘He hasn’t finalised the designs yet.’

‘Your time is valuable, Dee, and at the moment he’s getting it for free. The whole point of business connections is to make them work for you. Tell him you’ve got a tight program and he’ll have to get in the queue behind your
paid
jobs.’

She grinned at the way he said it. Being in high demand was kind of fun. The yoga DVD was being shot next week, the script writer had her on speed dial and Damon the Director kept dragging her out to look at locations – which was flattering and exciting but required last-minute rearranging of classes, placating of students and begging replacement teachers to help her out. So far, she owed a favour to everyone she’d ever worked with.

Apart from Arianne and Howard. Poor Arianne was banished to her bed, except for the occasional cautious trip down to the yoga room, where she’d sit cross-legged and watch a class. And Howard looked as harried as Dee felt. Running the school, teaching the other half of Arianne’s students as well as his own and caring for his dangerously pregnant partner was taking its toll. Dee helped out where she could, counting the takings, doing the bank drop, popping upstairs with milk and vegetables and tofu and anything else she thought might cheer Arianne up.

And while she hadn’t officially got her shit together, Dee could now say she was on the way. She had enough money to buy a low-priced sofa – if only she could decide which one was right for her.

Dee crossed the kitchen, stood on tip-toe and kissed Ethan on the throat. ‘Graeme will have to queue for real after today. I’m cancelling everything while the DVD is shot next week.’

‘Then kiss me again before you run out of time.’ He wrapped her up in a sudden moment
of passion before leaving.

After Patrick, Dee dropped in on Arianne for five minutes before the intermediate class, skipped a coffee to deposit the takings, drove across town for her 11 a.m. private, then grabbed a piece of fruit for lunch while she bought groceries for Arianne.

At one, Dee arrived at Lucy’s office, glad the younger Roxburgh was still clueless she was sleeping with her brother. She had no idea how Lucy would react but, as she was having enough trouble keeping her own responses in check, she didn’t need Lucy’s to complicate matters.

Lucy slammed the phone down as Dee walked in. ‘Bloody Ethan. Don’t you want to strangle him?’

‘Something like that.’

‘He’s decided he’s sick of being a slave to the job and won’t schedule any meetings after 7 p.m. It’s a midlife crisis, I tell you. He’ll be growing his hair and buying another sports car any second now.’

Dee smiled to herself, pleased Ethan was making time for himself. Was sleeping with a hippie part of a midlife crisis? How long did a midlife crisis last?

‘It’s normal to feel good after sex,’ Arianne said.

‘I don’t mean the sex,’ Dee said. ‘I mean feeling elated all the time is weird. It’s making me nervous. I’m worried it might make me attached. Do you think you can get too attached to being elated?’

Arianne watched her from the bed. ‘I think you’re thinking about it too much. Elated is nice. Enjoy it. And whatever happens, happens.’

‘Nu-uh. I need to be more careful than that. I’m not falling to pieces over a man ever again.’ Dee twisted her hair into a knot, pinned it, pulled it out again. ‘What do you think – up or
down?’

‘Down. Didn’t Ethan say it looked sexy like that?’

‘But I don’t want every man there falling at my feet.’ They both laughed out loud, like it was therapy.

‘I’d go mad here if it wasn’t for you,’ Arianne said. ‘And I don’t mean just the laughs and the food. Thank you for everything you’re doing with the school. It’s so frustrating not being able to help.’

‘Then you should take some of your own advice. Don’t think about it so much. Just let it happen.’ The door rattled downstairs. ‘Well, that’s my five minutes off this week. That’ll be Ethan.’ Dee picked up her bag and dropped a kiss on Arianne’s forehead. ‘Don’t get up. I can see myself out.’

‘I’m never sitting down again after this baby’s born,’ Arianne called as Dee was shutting the front door.

The party was at a small art gallery in the city, crowded and swanky – Roxburgh Girl territory. Most of the women and some of the men looked like they were auditioning for the role. Dee had taken Ethan’s advice and gone as herself. Now she was here, she figured she might blend in with the artistic types, although she suspected her swirly peasant skirt, t-shirt, waistcoat and flat sandals weren’t weird enough.

With a glass of champagne and a large bruschetta, Dee trailed Ethan through the crowd, bumping into him when he stopped to greet a group of guests. She juggled her drink and food into one hand so she could shake with the other, sploshing a cascade of champagne onto her skirt. Moving on, she stuffed bruschetta in her mouth to avoid another juggle and spill, still chewing as Ethan halted again.

‘Dee, this is my Aunt, Grace Roxburgh.’

Uh-oh, bruschetta mouth. She smiled, tried to swallow once, twice – and choked.

Dee put a hand over her mouth, attempting a dignified ahem. It didn’t work and within seconds she was fighting for breath and her face was pounding. Ethan landed one firm thud in the centre of her back, knocking her two steps forward onto his aunt’s expensive shoes. The bruschetta went down and she sucked at the air with a desperate, noisy gasp.

Aunt Grace gripped Dee’s forearms to steady her then manoeuvred her off her patent leather pumps. ‘Well done, dear. Best entrance I’ve seen in years.’

Dee blinked at amused blue eyes. ‘Thanks, I’ve been rehearsing all day.’

The older woman’s laugh was loud and gutsy. She looked Dee over like a business proposition, studied her face then offered her a hand to shake. ‘Delighted to meet you, Dee.’

A photographer appeared at Ethan’s side. ‘Mr Roxburgh, can I get a picture of you and your companions?’

Ethan shot Dee a discreet glance, raising an eyebrow at his aunt.

‘Why doesn’t Dee stay here with me while you go find some people who want to be photographed?’ Aunt Grace said, linking her arm in Dee’s and steering her towards the artworks. ‘And what do you think of this rubbish?’

Dee knew nothing about art but waved a hand nonchalantly. ‘Oh, it’s rubbish. Never touch the stuff,’ she said, and was pleased to hear the other woman’s throaty chuckle.

Aunt Grace was excellent company for a swanky party. She was irreverent and opinionated and funny. They toured the paintings while Grace entertained her with shocking stories about artists and buyers.

When they’d run out of art, Grace said, ‘So what do you do, Dee?’ then held up her hand
like a stop sign. ‘No, don’t answer. I hate that question. I much prefer to know who a person is than what they do. Who are you, Dee?’

She’d been called a lot of things lately – guru, model, self-employed, consultant, hopeless with money – all of which didn’t seem to come close to describing her. ‘I’m a yoga teacher.’

Grace seemed disappointed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re another one who insists on being defined by how you earn money.’

‘No, actually, my job is defined by who I am. I
am
a yoga teacher. I’m also fortunate enough that a few people want to pay me to do it.’

Grace took a long look at her and nodded in approval. ‘The Roxburghs have always been defined by their business interests but it’s not
who
they are. Even when you marry into it, like me, it’s a challenge to define yourself. They all have terrible trouble finding people who can see them for who they are, not what they do.’

Behind Grace, a man with a camera backed up, about to walk right into her. Dee pulled her aside, watching as the photographer arranged a group shot, Ethan front and centre, book-ended by twin Roxburgh Girls.

Grace huffed. ‘Those photographers are a nuisance. Ethan believes in the value of publicity but I prefer to keep a low profile.’ She took Dee’s arm and moved further back. ‘That wife of his didn’t know the meaning of low profile.’ She made another disgusted sound. ‘Never had any idea there was more to him than his job. I cracked a bottle of bubbly when that marriage broke up.’

Dee glanced at Ethan. The details of his divorce were never revealed in the media. She thought of all the Roxburgh Girls he’d been photographed with, how he kept himself hidden behind his business persona, wondered if he’d decided marriage was a place he wouldn’t visit
again.

He rejoined them finally, apologising for being so long. ‘I had an ambulance on standby but you obviously kept Dee away from the food,’ he told his aunt.

Grace laid a hand on Dee’s. ‘I enjoyed our conversation. Much more enlightening than the art.’

‘Yes, much more.’

The crowd had thinned and guests stood in small groups, their quiet conversations a constant hum broken occasionally by laughter.

‘I haven’t had a chance to look around,’ Ethan said. ‘Do you mind doing it again?’

‘Not at all, but I’ve got to warn you, your aunt’s commentary is a hard act to follow.’

They made their way slowly around the room, standing side by side in front of large canvases. It was contemporary and weird and Dee didn’t understand most of what she saw, but being with Ethan was a buzz. Although trying to behave like business buddies was like trying not to eat chocolate once you’ve put it in your mouth. They kept their hands to themselves, averted their eyes, but it didn’t stop her thinking about peeling his shirt off or that little round muscle just under his ribcage or …

‘Mr Roxburgh.’ A photographer stuck his head between theirs. ‘Would you mind if I grabbed a photo of you and your guest?’