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‘For which you think you deserve brownie points?’
His smile verged on the indolent. ‘You’d paint me as a careless rake?’
She managed a imperceptible shrug. ‘If the cap fits.’
A waiter delivered coffee, and Xavier settled the bill.
They emerged onto the boardwalk to crisp cool air and an indigo sky sprinkled with a light dusting of stars.
Romy retrieved her cellphone and keyed in a series of digits, gave her location and ordered a taxi. Only to give a startled exclamation as the cellphone was taken from her hand and the call cancelled.
Anger rose to the fore as she shot Xavier a venomous glare. ‘How dare you?’ She reached for the phone. ‘Give it back.’
‘A taxi isn’t an option.’
She closed her eyes, then opened them again. The temptation to lash out at him was almost impossible to resist. ‘I’m going to visit my father…alone,’ Romy asserted, sorely tried.
‘No.’
Anger pumped from her in a fine red mist. ‘What is it with you?’
He suppressed the urge to take possession of her sassy mouth and tame all that fiery rage into whimpering submission. And he would…soon.
‘Do you really want to do this here?’
Realization of where they were, in a public place, people out enjoying the evening air and, oh, God, the interested looks they were garnering…had a sobering effect.
Her scorching glare had little effect, and she stepped to one side and strode—as well as one could stride in stiletto heels—towards the main road. Only to inwardly fume as he matched her pace with an easy grace.
The silence between them became a potent, volatile entity, one she refused to break as they reached the car.
For a brief moment Romy considered a final act of defiance, only to change her mind at the tempered warning evident in his dark eyes.
‘Do you need the address?’ Cool, stilted words, which had no effect whatsoever as Xavier released the car’s locking mechanism.
‘No.’
So he knew Andre’s fall from grace had led to a small, barely adequate flat in a western suburb, a far cry from the lovely home her parents had occupied during Romy’s youth.
She chose silence as Xavier traversed the inner city and took a route leading to one of numerous streets where redbrick houses were jammed close together on minuscule blocks of land.
The shabby home where Andre resided had long been converted into one-bedroom self-contained flats, a place her father would soon leave, if she had anything to do with it!
Her father’s flat was reached from a narrow central hallway, and Andre’s smile faltered as he opened the door, then disappeared as he saw the man standing at Romy’s side.
‘Xavier.’ The greeting was cautious, polite, and Romy’s stomach tightened into a painful knot as she gave her father an affectionate hug during the heavy silence which followed.
‘Andre,’ Xavier acknowledged, as her father stood to one side to allow them entry into an open-plan room comprising a lounge area and adjoining dining room.
Two single club chairs bracketed a small sofa, and Andre indicated them.
‘Please, take a seat. Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’
Her heart tore a little at her father’s attempt at normality in what had to be an unforeseen situation, one that would rapidly digress to extraordinary any time soon.
‘I’ll make it.’
In the kitchen she filled the electric kettle and set out cups and saucers, taking longer than necessary in order to delay rejoining both men.
She hadn’t expected her father to easily accept her decision, and her fingers shook a little as she heard Andre’s voice rise a little.
Time to go face the fallout, she decided as she placed everything on a tray and crossed the room, her head high, a smile firmly in place.
Andre viewed her in contemplative silence as she offered him coffee.
‘You always consider your actions,’ he declared, perplexed. ‘Yet you’re rushing headlong into a marriage in circumstances that are far too coincidental.’ He was silent for several seconds as he searched Xavier’s features. ‘If I thought you had deliberately orchestrated this…’ He faltered, momentarily unable to continue. ‘It’s unconscionable.’
Her heart ached for him, and she so badly wanted to fabricate something…anything that would help ease his mind. Except there was only pretence, and her father was too intelligent not to see through it.
‘A permanent relationship should be sanctified by marriage,’ Xavier revealed quietly. ‘Or would you prefer I take Romy as my mistress?’
The silence in the room was a palpable entity, and as much as she wanted to rail against Xavier, to do so in her father’s presence would only compound a bad situation.
In seeming slow motion she saw her father’s features pale and take on an ashen tinge as his tortured eyes searched her own.
‘I won’t let you do this.’
There was only one way to go, and she took it as she clasped his hands between her own. ‘I’m marrying Xavier this weekend,’ she said gently. ‘Will you honour me by being at my wedding?’
His eyes filled, and for a moment she thought he might break down, then he managed to regain a degree of composure. ‘Can you give me your word you’re doing this of your own free will?’
God forgive her, but what could she say other than—‘Yes.’
It hurt to see him struggle to accept her decision, and for a moment she thought he meant to protest further, except after several long seconds he inclined his head.
‘I won’t disappoint you.’ A sufficiently ambiguous claim that almost brought her undone.
Romy was unsure how she managed to get through the ensuing half hour before she indicated a need to leave. It was almost ten, and she had papers to mark. Besides which, it had been a hell of a day, and she desperately wanted the quiet solitude of her flat.
In the car she simply leant her head against the cushioned rest and momentarily closed her eyes as Xavier ignited the engine.
‘Relax.’
‘Sure, and that’s going to happen any time soon.’ She turned her head towards him and sent him a venomous glare. ‘Do you have any idea how much I hated what went down in there just now?’
‘It was better we approached Andre together.’
‘Better for whom?’
He spared her a glance as he paused the car at an intersection. ‘You.’
‘I didn’t need any support.’
‘No?’
‘Please,’ she remonstrated, hating him afresh. ‘Don’t play the protector.’
‘You don’t see me in that role as your husband?’
His query was indolently deceptive, and there was nothing she could do to quell the sudden spear of pain.
‘Like the title of wife is security against you taking a lover or three when you tire of me?’
‘Why would I take a lover if my wife satisfies me?’
‘That’s a two-way street.’
‘You doubt I can satisfy you?’
She remembered too well how he’d managed to satisfy her. Dammit, her body still reacted just thinking how it had sung in response to his touch.
He smiled as he eased the car into a main arterial road leading to St Kilda, and she focused her attention beyond the windscreen, aware of the passing traffic, the wide tree-lined thoroughfare.
It was a relief when he turned into Marine Parade and drew the car to a halt outside her apartment building.
Her hand was already on the seatbelt release, and the breath caught in her throat as she reached for the door clasp, only to have him frame her face with his hands.
He was close, much too close.
‘What—’
‘This.’
There wasn’t time to complete the protest as his mouth closed over her own in a slow, sweeping kiss that tore at her resolve and shattered it.
For a wild moment she forgot everything except the feel and taste of him and the electric pulsing sensation throbbing through her body.
It was as if the past three years had ceased to exist, and she was barely conscious of the faint groan that rose and died in her throat at her unbidden response.
She felt the stroke of his thumb along her jawline, sensed the increased pressure of his mouth, and she gave herself up to the sweet passion of his touch.
Magic, she accorded silently, unable to think as she became lost. Cast adrift from reality and flung heedlessly into a time and place where emotion ruled.
Until sanity returned, and she wrenched away from him, her eyes impossibly large as she attempted to control her ragged breathing. ‘Don’t—’
Xavier’s eyes gleamed dark in the reflected street light.
Romy reached blindly for the door clasp, and he let her go, waiting until she had keyed her security code into the numeric pad and had passed through the foyer before he engaged the engine.
She was barely aware of the lift’s swift passage until it slid to a halt at her floor, and she muttered a curse as she fumbled the key when she inserted it into the lock.
For heaven’s sake…what was wrong with her?
Her mouth still tingled from his touch, and she put a hand to her still-racing heart as she closed the door behind her and leant against it.
What had just happened back there?
If she’d ever wondered about the sensuality they’d once shared…oh, call it what it was, she dismissed in silent chastisement…passion. Incandescent and primitive…emotion that took possession of the soul.
Hers, she admitted reluctantly. But not his.
For Xavier, she merely represented the bride price he was prepared to pay in order to gain a legitimate heir.
And to exact revenge against father and daughter, don’t forget that, she reminded herself with cynicism.
It would be the height of folly to imagine otherwise. She pushed away from the door and drew in a deep, calming breath.
So take a reality check, why don’t you?
She slipped out of her stilettos, shrugged off her jacket, crossed into the kitchen where she made a cup of strong coffee, then she set it down on the table, opened her leather satchel and turned her attention to marking student assignments.
It was after midnight when she crawled into bed and doused the light, convinced her brain was buzzing too much to enable an easy sleep.
Except she was wrong, and the next thing she remembered was waking to the early dawn light filtering through the shutters of her bedroom window.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE next day began with an alarm clock which didn’t go off, ensuring Romy woke late, dressed hurriedly, gulped coffee on the run and took a banana to eat en route to the high school in the northern suburbs.
Traffic was heavy, and there were the usual delays at computer-controlled intersections.
Consequently, she arrived with bare minutes to spare before she was due in class. Not the ideal way to begin a day.
Worse, the few miscreants in class seemed bent on providing distraction, testing the new teacher on the block.
OK, so the English classics failed to inspire their attention, despite her every effort to provide modern, upbeat comparisons, and it became a morning where male testosterone vied with female hormones in a bid for witticism supremacy.
‘So, Teach—like, who is this Will Shakespeare dude, anyway? And what does someone dead have anything to do with us?’
‘Yeah. And what’s with sonnets and couplets?’
‘Like we care?’
Explaining the greats were an important part of literary history didn’t seem to cut it.
‘Bono, now, he’s a dude with something to say.’
‘Ice. Snoop Dogg,’ a voice added.
‘Seal.’
‘Yeah,’ endorsed a recalcitrant chorus, and Romy swung into idiomatic lingo with an ease that surprised them.
Be prepared, was an adhered-to motto when all else failed. She’d done her homework well, isolating verses from the literary greats and comparing them with gangsta rap idioms.
Not so different in translation, given the mores of different centuries, and she gave a silent yes in victory as the overt boredom underwent a change and emerging interest took its place.
Nothing was said. Overkill wasn’t on the agenda.
At the end of class, she merely thanked them for attending and asked them to provide ten more comparisons for their next English class.
Lunch was eaten in the staffroom, whose occupants seemed grateful for the brief respite prior to taking on the afternoon.
Romy’s cellphone beeped with an incoming text message as she ascended a flight of stairs en route to an afternoon class.
Xavier, she determined, alerting her he’d ring her at seven that evening. Why? she quickly keyed and received wedding details within a few seconds.
Romy bit back an unladylike oath, stowed the cellphone in her bag, summoned a smile and entered a classroom where several students either lolled against their desks or sat on them, and whose belligerent expressions promised a difficult session.
One teenager, he of the class clown species, made a conscientious point of addressing her as Miz too frequently with such faux-angelic regard she was sorely tempted to laugh, something she managed to avoid as she suggested he move to the front of the class and read two verses of Byron out loud.
An edict which saw him slide to the floor on his knees, bow his head in mock prayer and beseech—‘Anything, Miz, but not Byron.’
‘William Wordsworth,’ Romy responded without hesitation. ‘“The Daffodils.”’ She waited a beat. ‘In its entirety.’
A subtle irony that was lost as the class leafed to the index and turned to the section on Wordsworth.
Two lines in, the class clown lifted his head, looked heavenward, cursed, then uttered a pitiful, ‘Sheesh, you have to be joking.’
‘Begin again,’ Romy instructed evenly. ‘This time, restrain from adding your own comments.’
Did she win points? Doubtful. A smidgen of respect? Unlikely.
It came as a relief to wind up the school day, gather papers into her satchel and slip behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper.
There were things she needed to do, and persuading her father to exchange his meagre digs for her apartment held priority. Something which took a while, and involved his pride and her perspicacity until he reluctantly accepted her insistent decision to continue paying the monthly leasing fee. Relevant phone calls cemented the arrangement, making it a done deal before Andre could change his mind.
‘Now?’
His incredulous query brought a determined smile as she reiterated, ‘Now. I’ll help you pack.’
‘Since when did you become so bossy?’ His voice held a tinge of amusement, something she welcomed, and her answering grin was genuine.
‘It’s been a while.’
Not that there was much to fold into a suitcase, and she held back the tears as she saw just how little he’d kept from his former lifestyle. A framed wedding photograph, one of Romy the day she began school, another when she graduated. A treasured miniature crystal Waterford world globe, a gift to him from her mother, and clothes.
‘I’ll take the couch,’ he said firmly as they entered her St Kilda apartment.
But only until her marriage to Xavier…the knowledge was uppermost, a fast-moving event planned to happen soon.
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