The Wrong Sister (23 page)

“You truly can’t.”

“I truly can—I’ve cleared it with Captain Svenson.”

“What?
You don’t just
do
that, Christian!”

“There’s an Air One return ticket, booked in your name, waiting for you at the airport in Naples,” he continued, unperturbed. “I’ll meet you at Marco Polo in Venice. Dinner, bed and breakfast in a private little hotel. Bring your high heels.”

Fiona couldn’t stop the shuddering sob that escaped. She stared wildly around in the half-light. Everything looked exactly the same as it had moments before. The same bedcover and curtains. The same family photos on the wall beside her. The same robe hanging behind the door.
 

And yet everything had changed. Suddenly her world had more color and vibrancy, more air and light and music.

“Venice,” she repeated in a far-from-steady voice.

“It’ll be our first proper date. I told you at the Lodge I’d come up with something better than a dining room full of people and separate beds afterwards.”

So he had. She remembered his teasing comments well.

“And it’s truly all arranged?”

“Set in concrete. Can you write this down? Your check-in time is one-forty-five to be safe. Captain Svenson confirmed you’re docking quite early that morning.” He stayed silent for a moment and then added, “We have to talk, Blondie.”

“It’ll be a wonderful treat. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Tuesday, then. Don’t worry—I’ll find you.”

But first there was Auckland, and her parents.

Christian responded to the cabin attendant’s courteous goodbye and strode across the air-bridge into the terminal building. There was no sign of Doctors Rebecca or Greg in the arrivals lounge so he headed down the escalators to the baggage-claim area and waited for his black case with its distinctive blue ribbon knotted around the handle. Jan had done that for easy identification among the sea of mostly black luggage. He’d blessed her practicality every time he traveled.

As he reached for it off the baggage carousel, his mother-in-law trotted up, a little out of breath.

“Christian, thank heavens. The parking’s terrible today. I was afraid I’d miss you.” She pecked at his cheek and looked around for a trolley.

Christian hefted the bag, carried it across to the nearest vacant one and added his briefcase.

“How’s my Nicky doing now?” Rebecca asked as they walked out into the humid autumn air. “Coming to terms with...the situation?”

It seemed his mother-in-law could barely bring herself to say her daughter’s name. Christian wondered if that would make his request easier or not.

“Nic’s doing okay. Asking for Jan less, now she’s settled with the new nanny.”

“Poor little pet. So the nanny’s working out well?”

“Better than Kathy. Monica’s a big placid girl who seems to have no travel ambitions. We’ve probably got her for as long as we need her.”

Rebecca sighed. “And you?” she asked.

“Getting by. Some days easier than others. I’ve some new photos of Nic in my phone for you,” he added by way of distraction. “What’s Greg up to today?”

“Golf at last. His first opportunity in weeks.”
 

“So I have you all to myself for a while?”

She shot him a shrewd sideways glance.

“That sounds serious, Chris. Is everything...?”

“Everything’s fine,” he hastened to assure her. “But now Jan’s gone and a little time’s passed by, I’d like to talk to you. Without Greg would be good.”

“Now you
have
got me worried,” she said, indicating her car was to the left.

Christian swiveled the trolley and they set off over a pedestrian crossing in the huge parking area.

“No, just some medical information I need. I’ve been looking up breast cancer on the web and the statistics are pretty horrendous. If Jan had that BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene—”
 

“She didn’t,” Rebecca inserted swiftly.

“Didn’t?” The relief rushed through him so fast he almost lost his footing on the flat white painted lines. He could have danced and yelled with happiness if he hadn’t been so swamped with conflicting emotions.

“Of course she didn’t. If she had, I’d probably be dead too, the age I am.”

“Yes, it said half by 50 years.”

“There you go then,” Rebecca said with a wry grin.

“You know for sure she didn’t?” he persisted, the relief still threaded with a twisting hot wire of worry.

“I’m a doctor, Chris. Not an oncologist, maybe, but I have plenty of useful connections. Don’t you think I explored every possibility? That
we
explored every possibility? Greg and I went through everything.”

“It said one in six women at moderate risk was likely to get breast cancer sometime in her life?”

“And how did they define moderate risk?”

He shrugged.

“Exactly. Quite a number of women get it at the very end of their lives. By then their metabolism is very slow, the cells generally don’t mutate fast, and the disease is mostly controllable with medication. It’s something they live with, rather than die from.”
 

She indicated they should turn again, and he steered the trolley around.
 

“Anyway, Jan wasn’t even at
moderate
risk. She was young and healthy. She didn’t smoke. She breast-fed Nicky, which helps. She certainly didn’t have the BRCA1 or 2 gene. She just had the bad luck to contract some horrible invasive incurable variant of the disease.”
 

Christian heard the tremor in her voice and gave her a few moments before he asked the question that was always on his mind; the question that really terrified him. “So where does that leave you and Fiona and Nicky?”

Rebecca dredged up a shaky smile, and linked her arm awkwardly through his.
 

“I’m fine. Fiona’s fine. We’ll make sure Nicky’s fine too, later on. You’re a dear boy to worry about us all.”

He slumped down over the trolley handles and bowed his head with gratitude. Perhaps at last he could begin to hope again?

They walked on in silence a little further and Rebecca surprised him with her next question. “How do you like my new toy?” she asked, beeping her remote at a smart yellow convertible with DOC BEC registration plates.

“Bit racy for you, mother-in-in-law?” he suggested, finally unable to suppress the smile of joy that kept trying to spread itself over his face. He lifted his bags off the trolley and stowed them away.
 

“Greg thought I needed a treat by way of consolation. Not that a car could ever replace a daughter...”

Christian shook his head. “Never in a million years. His idea for the plates, I presume? I like it.”

A faint blush stained Rebecca’s carefully made-up face.

“People wave and toot at me now…”
 

He laughed and enjoyed the mental picture it conjured up. Doctor Rebecca was a quiet and conservative woman. Having her bright yellow transport noticed and acknowledged amused him.

“No exceeding the speed limit then,” he teased, knowing his broad grin was out of all proportion to the joke of the DOC BEC plates.
 

“It’s easy to drive this too fast—the old one was much better behaved,” Rebecca admitted with a guilty smile.
 

Her cheerful comment was almost lost on him. He was still processing the fact of Fiona not being at the horrendous risk he’d feared. Fiona was safe! Nicky was safe! His family dream was again a possibility.

Fiona walked into his arms without stopping. Simply crashed against him, dropped her overnight bag with a soft thud, wrapped her arms around him, and tilted her mouth up to his. If anyone watched or commented, Fiona and Christian were so lost in each other they were unaware of it.

His fingers ran through her hair. Her hands kneaded the dense muscles of his back. They drank in the taste and scent of each other as they stood pressed together in a dimension far away from the raucous arrivals lounge.
 

“You’re thinner,” he said, once their lips finally parted and conversation was possible.

“You’re harder,” she countered, tilting her pelvis and giving him a suggestive push.

“Not wrong there,” he agreed, scooping her bag up and holding it across his body with a sizzling grin.

“I’ve been pining away,” she teased, slipping an arm around his waist and turning to walk with him to the terminal exit. Joy sang through every fiber of her being.

Venice was silver with springtime. Silver sky over silver water, with the silhouettes of the distant city strung golden across low-lying islands.
 

They stood hand-in-hand as the sleek white water-taxi sped toward the shimmering outlines of domes and towers.

“Why Venice?” she asked, wondering if maybe he’d brought Jan to this magic place. She couldn’t bear to think of her sister’s intrusion into a time she hoped would be solely theirs.

“Because I want this to be special for us. I thought we should be in the most romantic place on earth.”

Fiona sighed happily and laid her face against his shoulder, breathing in the beloved scent of his skin through clean cotton.
 

“You’ve been here before, Chris?”
 

“Haven’t managed it, for some reason. Always wanted to visit. It’s a treasure I’ve been saving—and now I know why.”
 

He cupped her face up to his for a small sweet kiss.

“I suppose you’ve seen it dozens of times?” he asked, a rough edge of jealousy obvious in his voice.

“But never with you. And I’ve never stayed overnight on land here.”

He stroked her cheek, apparently satisfied.

The water-taxi entered one of the canals. They travelled along close to the ancient walls of the
palazzos
and emerged into the glistening lagoon. The imposing church of Santa Maria della Salute was dead ahead, domes soaking up the sun and reflecting it back in ravishing golds and pinks.

“I can’t believe the lack of traffic,” Christian said, gazing around in fascination.

“Incredible, isn’t it? Nothing but boats. No cars, no buses. Just the water-taxis and tourist gondolas and the
vaporetto—
which is their public transport—and all the other little boats.” She nestled closer to him. “Where are we staying?”

“A very discreet hotel, ideal for lovers.”

The water taxi deposited them at the private pier of one of the ancient
palazzos
. From the tiled entrance lobby Christian led her up a magnificent marble stairway, past dramatic old paintings in ornate frames, and to a heavy timber door. He produced an old-fashioned black key and handed it to her with a flourish.
 

“Your key to paradise, I hope, S
ignorina
?”

She smiled and slid it into the lock. When the door swung open, she gasped with pleasure.
 

The room was large, high-ceilinged, and appeared to be furnished in a style that was centuries old, although a quick inspection of the attached bathroom and the generously-sized bed soon assured her it was luxury all the way. The walls glowed dusky copper, the ceiling was darkly timbered. Lavishly embroidered cream curtains danced at the open doors to their private balcony.

Christian pushed the fabric aside and beckoned her out into the sun. Together they leaned on the surround and watched the water-traffic in the canal below.

“Another useful railing?” he suggested, raising a wicked eyebrow.

“We might end up in the water,” she countered, thinking back to the night they’d embraced so passionately on the cottage terrace. “And even in the wee small hours, far too public, I suspect.”

“Whereas,” Christian suggested, drawing her back into their room and pulling the doors closed, “this is both dry and private.” He settled her against him so their bodies notched together.

“We’re made to fit,” she whispered as his lips started a leisurely exploration of her face. He kissed her eyelids as they fluttered shut, progressed over her cheekbone, and then outlined the bow of her sensitive top lip with the tip of his tongue.

Fiona moaned with pleasure. The endless frustrating months without him had all been worth it if this was her reward. She’d ached for the warmth of his kiss and the scent of his body and the sound of his voice. Their five-day affair had been incandescent. This extra night of love was a precious unexpected gift.
 

Her lips curved against his smile.

“I want to take you slowly,” he said in a husky whisper. “I want to turn you on so thoroughly you’ll remember this for the rest of your life.”

I’ll remember you forever
,
Christian
.

The butterfly brush of his mouth moved gently on her swollen sensitized lips. She tried to increase the pressure but he drew fractionally away, teasing her with tiny nips and nibbles as he slid his hands to the waistband of her denim skirt and released the fastenings.

“Christian,” she breathed. “You’ll kill me. I’ve been waiting so long...”

And still he proceeded with the utmost restraint, holding her close as he worked her skirt down past her hips; not allowing her to hurry him.

In desperation her fingers grabbed for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling them out of the buttonholes so she could run her fingers—and then her lips—through the soft mesh of hair that covered his chest.
 

Christian groaned, cupped her face in both hands, and lifted it away from his flesh so he could dispense with his shirt. He toed off his shoes and turned aside to close the curtains. Fiona stepped out of her skirt and sandals. Dim seclusion shrouded them.

“You’ve been in the sun,” she said, enjoying his darkly tanned chest and shoulders as she backed toward the bed, eyes intent on his.

“It’s been a good hot summer. But so cold without you, Blondie. Take your top off for me. A sexy little strip-tease...?” One dark eyebrow winged up before he unzipped his jeans, pushed everything down, and kicked the bundle away. He stood there buck naked and beautiful, cock damn near vertical. Fiona’s mouth watered as she eyed the plump succulent tip. Her lips and tongue longed to close around it, and suck and slide until he surrendered. She grasped the hem of her T-shirt and began to peel it off, gathering the soft fabric up to reveal the flimsiest of bras.