A Secret Worth Keeping?: Living the Charade / Her Shameful Secret / Island of Secrets

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘SORRY, I only have one baseball cap,’ Valentino said, holding the car door open for her.

‘That’s okay. My fame hasn’t reached small seaside towns yet.’

He grinned at her lame joke and for some reason she felt better. Though she wasn’t really interested in feeling better. What she wanted was TJ’s signature on the bottom line of a contract and the weekend to be over. And not necessarily in that order.

She sighed, turning her mind away from work for once. ‘Why do celebrities wear baseball caps to hide their identity?’

‘Because Lyons bought all the Akubras?’

Miller burst out laughing, suddenly enjoying the fact that he was relaxed and casual. So much simpler than being uptight and serious. So much freer... Maybe there was something to recommend the casual approach sometimes.

She noticed people looking at the silver bullet as they drove down through the main part of the town. ‘Bet you wish you’d brought my car now.’

He grinned. ‘We’ll park around a corner.’

‘What if someone steals it?’

‘Dante has insurance.’

‘And Dante is...?’

‘My elder brother.’

‘What are your sisters’ names?’

She sensed more than saw his pause. ‘Katrina and Deanna.’

She was about to ask him another question when he pulled the car into an empty car space and jumped out. Was that another topic of conversation that was out of bounds?

She wondered why he didn’t like talking about his family and then decided to let it go. She had to remember that he wasn’t with her because he wanted to be, and talking about their personal histories wasn’t part of that. Nor was what had happened on the beach, but she didn’t regret it. The way he had touched her had been indescribably good.

‘Where are we going?’ Better not to think about something she’d rather not dwell on.

‘Window shopping.’

Miller raised an eyebrow. ‘You like window shopping?’

‘I’m looking for something.’

Narrow Victorian-era seaside shops overlaid with modern updates and sweetly dressed cafés advertising Devonshire teas lined the quaint street.

‘Want to tell me what it is?’

‘Nope. I’ll know it when I see it.’

Despite the fact that her curiosity was well and truly piqued Miller decided to stem her need to know and show Valentino how well she could go with the flow when she chose to. Even if it killed her!

Glancing into tourist inspired shops displaying far too many knick-knacks no one could possibly want, she nearly walked into a small child when Valentino stopped outside an ice cream shop.

She looked at him and he raised a questioning eyebrow.

Ice cream? Really?

It was just what she needed and an ear-to-ear grin split her face.

She glanced at him, so big and handsome, standing in the queue, and her chest felt tight when he remembered her favourite flavour.

Deciding that there was absolutely nothing behind the gesture, but warmed by it nonetheless, she graciously accepted the cone and together they wandered into a small park.

By tacit agreement they veered towards a weathered picnic table and perched on it when Miller discovered the bench seat was covered in bird poop.

Valentino leant back on one hand, his T-shirt riding high enough to reveal the top button of his low-slung jeans, hinting at the line of hair bisecting his toned abs.

Miller swallowed and glanced around the pretty park, pretending rapt attention on the two toddlers shouting instructions at each other on the nearby play equipment. She really didn’t want him to know that just the sight of him licking his ice cream and sprawled back like that was enough for her to instantly recall their tryst on the beach that morning in minute detail.

‘Where did you grow up?’

His unexpected question brought her eyes reluctantly back to him, but she was glad of the innocuous topic to focus her attention away from the physical perfection of his body.

‘Mostly in Queensland, but after my parents divorced my mother moved to Melbourne.’

He studied her and she forced herself not to squirm under his regard. ‘How old were you when they divorced?’

‘Ten.’

‘And do you like Melbourne?’

‘That’s difficult to say. Whenever I came home from boarding school it seemed like my mother had moved to another suburb.’

‘Why did she move so often?’

‘We rented, and there’s not much security in rentals. Which I found hard because I’ve always been the type of person who needs...’ She struggled for a word that didn’t make her seem boring compared to him.

‘Certainty?’

‘Yes.’ Her lips lifted into a self-deprecating smile.

‘Have you ever travelled?’

‘No. I was always set on working and buying my own place. Even from a young age I knew what I wanted to achieve and set out to do it. That probably makes me boring in your eyes.’

Valentino shook his head. ‘Determined. I know what that’s like.’

Miller concentrated on finishing the delicious ice cream, feeling the tension ease out of her body. ‘I guess you do.’

‘So what was your childhood dream?’

Miller flashed him an exasperated look. So much for that fleeting moment of relaxation! ‘I can see why you’re going for your eighth world title,’ she said sourly.

A wolfish grin split his face. ‘I have been told I can be somewhat tenacious at times.’

‘I think that’s a polite way of saying you’re pigheaded.’

He laughed and she liked the sound. Liked that he didn’t take himself too seriously.

‘Is it really that embarrassing?’

‘No...’ She scratched her head and then realised he had accurately read her body language and sighed, knowing his curiosity was well and truly piqued. And really it wasn’t a huge secret, or anything to be ashamed of. ‘When I was about eleven I dreamt of living on a huge country property. I always saw myself in a small circular room, overlooking a paddock full of horses and—’

‘Why circular?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe because I loved The Hobbit...’

‘Fair enough. Go on.’

‘It’s not very exciting,’ she warned.

‘Go on.’

‘And in this dream I would divide my time between illustrating children’s books and taking the horses out into the hills whenever I wanted.’ She stopped, feeling silly giving voice to something she hadn’t thought of in years. Of course she wouldn’t tell him her ultimate dream. No one knew about that.

‘Nice dream.’

She heard the smile in his voice and glanced at him reclining on the weather-beaten table, the afternoon sun gilding his features into a perfect mask of casual decadence.

Her heart caught and she cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed to have shared so much of herself. ‘Yes, well, as my mother pointed out, it’s almost every young girl’s fantasy to own horses, and she wasn’t paying for me to attend the best boarding school in the country to become an out-of-work artist.’

Miller heard the note of bitterness in her voice and wondered if Valentino did as well. It made her feel ashamed. Her mother had only ever wanted the best for her.

‘So you stopped dreaming and took up a serious vocation?’ he guessed accurately.

Regretting whatever tangent had got them onto this topic, Miller shifted and pulled her legs up to her chest. ‘Dreams aren’t real. That’s why they’re called dreams.’

‘Following them gives you a purpose.’

‘Putting food on the table gives you a purpose—as my mother found out to her detriment. She had me young and didn’t complete her education. It made her vulnerable.’

He leant forward, his hands dangling over the front of his knees. ‘And I can see why she wouldn’t want that for her daughter. But I doubt she’d want you to give up on your dreams altogether. If we don’t follow our dreams, what’s the point of living?’

His voice was gentle and it annoyed her. Was he being condescending?

‘You don’t know my mum. She has a special bottle of champagne in the fridge for when I make partner.’ And there was no way Miller could imagine disappointing her when she had sacrificed so much for her.

‘But it’s still her dream for you, not yours.’

She flashed him a sharp look but nevertheless felt compelled to answer. To explain herself. ‘My mother has valid points.’

‘I don’t doubt she means well, Miller, but are her points really valid?’

His gentle query made her edgy, because it was the same one that had been taking up her head space since TJ had started subtly hitting on her.

Feeling slightly desperate, she jumped off the table and faced him. ‘It would have been selfish of me to pursue art when my mother gave up so much for me.’ She glanced in the direction of the sun and wondered about the time. ‘We should probably get back.’

He cocked his head to the side and made no attempt to move. ‘Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed you so hard in the direction she saw as right. And what about your father? Didn’t he help with the bills?’

She shook her head. ‘I think he tried to help. For a while. But he lived on a commune, which meant that he didn’t have the means to contribute to the private school my mother chose.’

‘Lived?’

‘He died when I was twenty.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. We weren’t very close and...he died happy. Which I’m glad of now. But—’ She stopped and let out a long breath. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you my life story.’ She never talked about herself like this.

‘Because I asked. Why weren’t you close to your dad?’

Miller snagged her hair behind her ears, memories of her father—fit and happy before the divorce—filling her mind. ‘For years I was angry at him because I blamed him for my world falling apart. He just seemed to give up. He didn’t once try to see me.’ She swallowed past the lump in her throat. ‘He later told me it was too painful.’ And she suspected he hadn’t been able to afford to visit her and had been too proud to lose face. ‘But life is never that simple, and even though it took me a while I see now that it wasn’t all his fault.’

She’d learned that one person always loved more in a relationship than the other; needed more than the other.

In this case it had been her father. Her mother’s post-break-up comments had led Miller to believe that her mother had married her father mainly for a sense of security. Constantly disappointed when he could never hold down a job for very long.

Her parents had never been the greatest role models, and Miller wasn’t sure what she thought about love other than it seemed like a lot of trouble for very little return.

Her eyes sought out the toddlers, but they had gone. Instead, she watched a young couple strolling hand in hand with their large dog. But she wasn’t thinking about them. She was thinking about the man beside her. Was he living his dreams? And what did he think about love? Did he hope to find someone special one day?

Miller felt the blood thicken in her veins at the thought. No doubt the woman he chose would be beautiful beyond comprehension and have the same relaxed attitude to life that he did. She could almost see them now—lazing on a yacht in the Mediterranean, gazing adoringly at each other, a half-naked Valentino leaning across her to seal his lips to—

Miller sucked in air and hoped her face hadn’t transmitted anything of what she’d just been thinking.

‘What about you?’ she asked brightly, desperate to get the conversation onto any other topic but herself.

CHAPTER NINE

MILLER smiled and gazed around TJ’s large living room. It held twice as many guests as it was intended to house, and absently she thought she felt as if she had just stepped into the pages of The Great Gatsby.

TJ’s fiftieth birthday celebrations were in full swing and seemingly a roaring success: elegant women and debonair men were conversing and laughing with unbridled joy as if their lives were truly as beautiful as the party they were now attending. Some were already dancing to TJ’s eighties-inspired music, while others had taken their beverages outside and were soaking up the balmy night, absently batting at the annoying insects that darted around as if they were trying to zap someone.

It was a crowd Valentino fitted right in with—especially dressed as he was now, in an ice-blue shirt that hugged his wide shoulders and showcased his amazing eyes, and tailored pants that hung perfectly from his lean hips.

‘You look like you’re at a funeral,’ the man of the moment murmured wryly, his breath warm against her temple.

Miller sniffed in acknowledgement of his comment. She felt as if she was at a funeral. Ever since they’d returned from the park she had felt edgy and stressed at her sudden attack of blabbermouth. Trying to turn the tables on him had been a dismal failure. As soon as she’d asked about him he’d sprung up from the table as if an ant had crawled into his jeans.

‘I’m boring,’ he’d said, which loosely translated to conversation closed.

It had almost been a race to see who made it back to the car first. But he must have sensed her childish hurt at his rebuff because he’d glanced at her when they were in the car.

‘Everything you could possibly want to know about me is on the internet.’

She’d scoffed. ‘The internet tells me superficial stuff, like how many races you’ve won and how many hearts you’ve broken.’

He’d seemed to get annoyed at that. ‘As I told Caruthers, if I had slept with as many women as the media proclaim I’d have hardly had enough time to enter a race let alone win one. In fact, I rarely take up with a woman during racing season, and if I do it’s very short lived.’

Take up? Could he have used a more dissociative term?

‘Why? Because you bore easily?’

‘There is that. But, no, I usually don’t allow a woman to hang around long enough to bore me. Basically women want more attention than I’m prepared to give them, so if I indulge it’s usually only for a night or two.’

‘That’s pretty shallow.’

He’d shrugged. ‘Not if the woman is after the same thing.’

‘And how many are?’

‘Not enough, it’s true. Most want more—hence my moratorium on limiting those intimacies during the season.’

‘To make sure you don’t have to contend with any broken hearts that might wreck your concentration?’ she’d said churlishly.

He’d smiled as if he hadn’t heard her censure. ‘Not much can wreck my concentration, Sunshine, but a whiny woman can certainly do damage to a man’s eardrums.’

‘No more than your whiny cars,’ she’d shot back pithily. But then she’d grown curious. ‘Don’t you ever want more?’

‘Racing gives me everything I need,’ he’d said.

His unwavering confidence had pushed her to probe further. ‘So have you ever been in love?’

‘Sure.’ He’d glanced over at her and Miller remembered holding her breath. ‘My first love was a bright red 1975 Maserati Bora.’

‘Be serious,’ she’d said, and that had made his eyes become hooded, his expression blank.

‘The love you’re talking about isn’t on my radar, Miller.’

‘Ever?’

‘Let’s just say I’ll never marry while I’m racing, and I’ve yet to meet a woman who excites me enough to make me give it up.’ His flat tone had turned grim. ‘Love is painful. When you lose someone...’ He’d stopped, collected himself. ‘I won’t do that to another person.’

Another person or himself? Miller wondered now, sensing that part of his emotional aloofness was just a way of protecting himself from pain. His words hovered heavily in her mind, almost like a warning.

Determined the best thing she could do for herself was to forget the whole afternoon, Miller sipped at TJ’s finest vintage champagne and focused on the tiny bubbles of heaven that spilled across her tongue.

‘What did you say?’ Valentino’s low voice caused the champagne bubbles to disperse to other parts of her body and she opened her eyes to find him staring at her mouth.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You...’ His gaze lifted to her eyes. ‘You murmured something.’

Miller’s mouth went dry and she was more determined than ever to crush the physical effect he had on her. ‘Just remember that tonight I need you to be totally circumspect and professional. Discreet.’

What she was really saying was that she didn’t want him to touch her, and he knew it.

‘Like the other patsies you date?’

‘I do not date patsies,’ she said, wondering how it was that he managed to push all her buttons so easily.

‘Sure you do. You date men who are learned, PC at all times, and...controllable.’

His assessment annoyed her all the more because she knew if she did date she’d look for someone just like that—except for the controllable bit. You didn’t have to control nice men.

‘While you hunt out blondes with big breasts and an IQ that wouldn’t challenge a glowworm,’ she replied sweetly.

He paused, and Miller was just congratulating herself on getting the last word in when he said, ‘She doesn’t have to be blonde.’

His slow smile was a signal for her to back off before she got sucked under again.

‘And anything more—’

‘Don’t say it,’ she admonished peevishly. ‘I’ll only be disappointed.’

His soft laugh confirmed that he knew he had the upper hand, and Miller determinedly faced the crowded room, searching for any distraction. She heard Valentino let out a long, slow breath and wondered if he was annoyed with her.

‘How about we call a truce, Miller?’

‘A truce?’

‘Yeah. And I don’t mean the kind of pact the settlers made with the aborigines before marching them off the edge of a cliff. I mean a proper one. Friends?’

Friends? He wanted to be friends and she couldn’t stop thinking about sex. Great.

She took another fortifying gulp of champagne and could have been drinking his motor oil for all the pleasure it now gave her. ‘Sure.’

‘Good.’

God, this was awful, and he hadn’t called her Sunshine in hours. What was wrong with her?

Miller was saved from the tumultuous nature of her thoughts when TJ, his barrel chest bedecked in a white tuxedo jacket, approached.

‘Miller. You look lovely tonight.’

Miller’s smile was tight. She didn’t look lovely at all. She looked boring in her long sleeved black blouse and matching suit pants. She hadn’t brought a single provocative item of clothing this weekend because she had no wish to encourage TJ’s attention. And possibly because she didn’t actually own anything remotely provocative. It had been a long time since she had spent money on clothing for anything other than work or exercise.

‘Thank you.’ She responded to the comment as she was expected to and, with civilities attended to, TJ turned to Valentino—the latest object of his fickle affections.

‘Maverick. I have someone who’s been dying to meet you.’