Daniel's Bride (8 page)

“Mum,” Mel began. “If we could afford it, would you want to
live in your own place again, with people coming to help when I couldn’t be
there?”

“Of course I…” Her mother stopped suddenly, focused on her
tea. “Melly, it’s best for me here while I can stay here. I’ve got all the help
I need.”

“I know, but if I won the lottery or something, that would
be your dream, wouldn’t it?”

“This is fine,” her mother said simply.

She was saying it to make Mel feel better. Mel cast her gaze
over the shabby furniture and her gaze lingered on a patchwork quilt she’d made
for Ellie when she’d been seventeen and had been completely obsessed with
patchwork everything. It had been so well used it was starting to fall apart
and she’d planned summers ago to make a new one but never had. The quilt was
covering a chair, one of the pieces Ellie had brought with her when she’d had
to leave the small flat she rented. The furniture had been old to begin with.
Now it was all just older.

“It is good here,” Mel agreed. The staff were lovely and that
was important, knowing there were people who cared for her mother when she
couldn’t be around to do it. But how much support would Ellie get if Mel
couldn’t pay the bill? Ellie’s sickness benefit paid the basic room but Mel
paid for things like the satellite TV, and that balance was now the subject of
letters addressed to her and marked confidential.

Those letters scared her.

Mel shook all thought of them away and held out the plate of
cake. “Have more cake, Mum, it’s delicious.”

Her mum took a piece. “You spoil me,” she said.

“I wish I could spoil you more,” Mel sighed, even as her
heart dropped in her chest with a jolt of sorrow on its heels. There was so
much more she could do. A state of the art wheelchair, cutting edge treatment,
luxuries like facials and fashion, a box seat at every game Ellie’s beloved
team played. Her own flat, on a ground floor with easy access and all the
mobility aids to make it easier. Her own backyard with a gardener to keep it
beautiful. And deep down, she wanted to do it, needed to do it. Her mother had
sacrificed for her, could have had a wonderful career, traveled, maybe even met
the love of her life. But she’d given birth to Mel, and the bright future had
drifted further out of her reach as she’d raised her only child on her own.

Mel owed her; she owed Ellie her life. She at least owed her
a nice roof over her head now Ellie couldn’t work to support herself.

And all it required, she thought dully, was a little thing
called money.

Mel stood in the foyer of the Bondi Beach penthouse
apartment as Daniel buzzed her in.

She heard a sound behind her and spun around. The elevator
doors had closed and the lift was descending. Leaving her here. Alone. It was
too late to back out now.

She turned back to face the apartment door and inhaled
deeply.

What the heck are you doing, she muttered. It was like being
the Fiddler on the Roof. She was struggling to keep on living and keep her
balance and not fall off in a changing world, and boy, had that world changed a
lot recently. The question was would she succeed?

The front door swung open, and the latest change to her life
– or trying to put a positive spin on it, saviour – stood there. He folded his
arms across his chest, his gaze skipped from her sneakers to her black skirt,
to her bright green top, and then his gaze settled on hers.

She discreetly did the same. The top button of his white
shirt was undone, and he wore no tie. His black trousers fitted snugly around
lean hips and powerful thighs, and he towered over her. You would look twice at
him, just as she’d done at the beach. She, on the other hand, was short,
possessed a tendency to plumpness, and had been awarded looks no one would look
twice at.

She straightened on a sudden jolt of realization. Which
meant she was quite possibly exactly what he wanted. Someone plain and
inconspicuous, someone who wouldn’t tempt him physically while they had to
“pretend” to be husband and wife.

He glanced at his watch. “What can I do for you, Mel?”

“If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”

He beckoned for her to follow him. But surely a man like
Daniel, a man who reeked virility just by breathing, would want the benefits of
a live-in relationship? Like a bed mate to ensure the time passed pleasantly?

Yet it was the one thing she was not prepared to compromise
on. The annulment would be the safety net.

She followed him through to his lounge. Out of the corner of
her eye she spotted views, but didn’t allow herself to get side tracked. The
sooner this was over the better. She took a breath, the longest hardest breath
she had ever taken so she didn’t faint right into his arms like the virginal
imbecile he no doubt considered her to be.

“If you still want to marry me, I accept.” She added
quickly, “As per the discussion at lunch. The –” She held up her hands and did
quotation marks. “Marriage of convenience.”

His gaze didn’t flicker. Surely he hadn’t found someone
else, and she’d now been rendered obsolete?

This had the potential to be the most embarrassing moment of
her life, coming a very close second to being jilted. She managed a nonchalant
shrug. “I’m easy either way.”

She thought relief crossed his face, a flicker at the corner
of his mouth, but it remained for the most part impressively impassive.

He nodded. “Good.”

Good? “So? You’re agreeable?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” Phew. She said, “Shouldn’t we shake on it or
something?”

His mouth curled in a smile, and he held out his hand. She
stared at the long tanned fingers, the powerful wrist, the masculinity of him, and
it struck her again that she might be getting herself into more trouble than
she’d bargained for. Hands like that evoked images of touching and feeling. She
would see them every day.

For you, Mum, she whispered, as she took his hand to seal
the deal. He squeezed, and warmth infused her skin with a series of tingles
that automatically made her tug her hand away. Instead he gripped it tighter
and pulled her close.

He murmured, his voice low, deep and tinged with danger, “I
think we can do better than that.”

He dipped his head, brought his lips to hers, and kissed
her.

The firm softness of his mouth, the scent of him, the divine
taste of him, sent what had to be desire pulsing through her body. Whatever it
was, she hadn’t felt it with Max. Now, it was all she could do not to wrap her
arms around him, pull him closer, and press her body up against his. Her heart
raced in her chest. What was happening?

He pulled away, dropped her hand and took a step back.

Cold air swirled between them, rapidly damping down the heat
that seconds ago had surged through her. She stared into his eyes, eyes that
stared back at her with shock. And desire?

She went still. Had he felt the same emotions she’d felt
from this kiss?

She blinked to clear her mind. It wasn’t possible.

He took a step back and glanced at his watch. “We don’t have
much time.”

Her breath was still labored, and her mind a blaze of
confusion. “Time to do what?”

Any composure he had lost he appeared to have regained and
it was all business. If there’d been any desire, it had clearly been fleeting.
An aberration.

He reached in his pocket for his phone, and began to punch
in a number. “To organize a wedding.”

It didn’t feel right, but then what had she expected?

Mel put her hand to her chest, over the lump of sadness at
the fact that her mother, a born romantic, had no idea her only daughter was
getting married, that no one knew she was getting married except for a handful
of people she’d known barely a week. Thinking about it was enough to make her
question her sanity yet again.

She’d only ever lied to her mother about one thing and it
had been a lie by omission, when she’d avoided telling her the full story
behind Max leaving. It would have sent Ellie into a plummeting depression and
if she knew the truth about
this
, the same thing would happen. Mel
glanced at her left hand, at the bare fingers and flexed them. What an irony
that for a woman who hated deception, who abhorred being lied to, she was about
to do the very thing to the person who mattered most to her.

She glanced out the window at the perfect vineyard, from the
discretion-guaranteed private hotel in northern New South Wales. In a few hours
they would return to Sydney by jet. She would be Mrs Daniel Christie.

It would be worth it, she told herself. Living this lie for
the next few months would be worth it.

She turned away from the window and glanced at their two
“guests”; Hugh and his daughter, Claire. Claire seemed nonplussed by the whole
quick and dirty wedding business. Mel wondered if she had been made aware this
was not a real marriage at all.

Next to her, Daniel said, “You look lovely.”

In front of them was the marriage celebrant. He was a friend
of Hugh, and had flown up with them in the private jet in what Mel thought of
as the package deal.

She focused back on Daniel. He gave the compliment in a
matter-of-fact manner, and he was probably being nice, but she’d thought she
looked pretty darn good.

“Thank you.” She had purchased the dress, an Australian designer
label, off the rack at an upmarket store in Double Bay; a soft white dress that
fit her body closely yet even managed to knock a few pounds off her hips and
stomach. The hotel stylist had arranged her hair in a swathe of loose curls
swirling around her shoulders and she’d been presented with a bouquet of
perfect pink and white roses.

She looked very bridal.

And very virginal.

Which, she thought on a sharp intake of breath, she would
stay, even though tonight was their wedding night. Even though kissing Daniel
Christie had told her there was no way on this earth she was immune to him.

She glanced at her future husband as he stoically faced the
celebrant. In profile, Daniel was impossibly handsome. His jaw was lean,
tanned, chiselled to perfection. Her gaze slipped. His suit was black with a
pristine white shirt and black tie. His shoulders filled the jacket and his
dark hair touched the tip of his shirt collar. But possessing good looks when
you were uncompromisingly arrogant … she would have to grit her teeth and bear
the next few months.
For you, Mum.

The celebrant cleared his throat, Mel turned to him, and he
beamed a smile of welcome at them both. Alongside her, Claire whispered, “You
make a beautiful bride.”

Butterflies played havoc in her stomach.
What sort of
wedding was this?
She whispered shakily, “Thank you.”

Nerves rippled down her spine then back up again. She felt a
nudge at her side as Daniel looked down with a questioning glance as if to say,
Are you ready?

No.
But she was as ready as she’d ever be. She slowly
nodded her head at him, and he turned to the celebrant and gave the go ahead.

Sixty seconds later, they were husband and wife.

“I present to you, Mr and Mrs Daniel Christie,” the
celebrant announced, and Hugh and Claire clapped with enthusiasm. “You may kiss
the bride.”

Heck. She’d forgotten about that. She’d had trouble getting
the kiss that sealed this whole scenario out of her mind.

She turned to Daniel, about to say, a peck on the cheek will
be fine. Instead he looked down at her, and a smile curled at the corner of his
mouth.

She frowned. He gripped her shoulders gently, pulled her
close, and bent to brush his lips over hers.

Again, she was struck with shock. His lips were warm, not
too full, smooth and soft, yet with a degree of harshness that denoted,
strangely, possession. That was different.

He pulled slowly away, and she stared into his steel blue
eyes. She swallowed. “I…” Her voice was a croak.

His hands dropped from her shoulders.

“Mrs Christie,” he said in a smooth voice, the epitome of
control. “Welcome to the family.”

The wedding breakfast was a feast. Oysters, champagne and
even, of all things, a wedding cake.

Mel stared at the cake, and for the first time since she’d
walked into Daniel’s apartment, regret pooled in her stomach so fast it hurt.

It’s only a damned cake. She blinked back tears. But it was
more than that. Hugh ordered Daniel to stand next to her, and produced a bone
handled knife.

“Daniel, hand on the knife,” he instructed. “Mel, lay your
hand across Daniel’s.”

Mel put her hand over Daniel’s, his rough skin beneath her
smooth palm. Two hands, one cake.

Who’s bright idea was it to have a full on wedding cake for
a party of four? As if it were rubbing it in that this wasn’t a real wedding,
that they weren’t a real couple, a man and woman in love; that there’d be no
point saving part of it for the first year anniversary because there wasn’t
going to be a first year anniversary. They could have just gotten married in a
registry office, but Daniel had said they needed a decent tale to tell his
grandfather. A tale with details like food and flowers and a venue.

“Smile,” Claire said, and Mel shot Daniel a quick glance,
but he was focused on Hugh and the camera, his mouth stretched tight.

“For Pete’s sake, smile. Both of you,” Hugh ordered again.
She stretched her mouth in to something she hoped resembled the smile of a
woman in love. Alongside her, Daniel tensed. She didn’t have the nerve to see
if he’d made it past the grimace stage.

Hugh checked the photo on his digital camera, gave them the
thumbs up, and Mel removed her hand from Daniel’s.

“That was over the top,” she said briskly. “Especially
considering no one much will ever see the photo.”