‘But…’ Manda struggled for a moment with the idea, then said, ‘Right…’ She took a step back and Belle could almost see her giving herself a mental shake. ‘I’d better, um, go, then.’ Miranda glanced at her, then back at Ivo and said, ‘I’ll see you later?’
‘Later,’ he agreed.
She nodded once, turned, then, as she ducked into the back of the car Belle instinctively followed, stepping out on to the path to look up and down the street, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of her sister loitering somewhere near.
‘Don’t,’ Ivo said, taking her arm, drawing her back inside so that he could close the door. Then, presumably to distract her, he lifted the hand holding both his suit and the paper carrier and said, ‘Coffee?’
‘I don’t think Miranda included me in the breakfast invitation,’ she said, taking the carrier, looking inside. ‘No, I thought not.’
‘We can share.’
‘The only thing we’ve ever shared is a shower and a bed.’ And, last night, a sofa…
She turned away to run back up the stairs, into her flat, into the kitchen.
Damn, damn, damn!
Why hadn’t he just gone with Miranda?
She’d left him. Didn’t he understand? This wasn’t his concern. And even when they’d lived together they didn’t do this cosy breakfast stuff.
Then, as he followed, favouring his left leg, she forgot that and said, ‘How is it? Can I do anything?’
For a moment their eyes locked and her mouth dried at the rush of memory. His thigh beneath her fingers. The warmth of his skin. The power-packed muscles beneath it.
‘No,’ he said abruptly. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Right.’ Then, as the silence stretched to snapping-point, ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’
‘What?’
‘Sent Miranda to see the PM in your place. You do realise that you’ve probably just thrown away a knighthood? Maybe even a seat in the Lords.’
‘Do you think I give a damn?’ he asked, taking the lid off the coffee, reaching for a couple of mugs, sharing the contents between them.
‘To be honest, Ivo, beyond the bedroom I haven’t a clue what you think.’
‘About a knighthood?’
‘About anything.’
‘Then let me enlighten you about one thing. A couple of days ago I told Manda that she underestimated you.’
He did? No, no…‘I won’t embarrass you by asking what she said in reply to that.’
‘It wouldn’t embarrass me, but I suspect Manda would never forgive me for telling you that you make her feel inadequate.’
Inadequate? ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘As a woman.’
‘They can do wonders with silicone these days.’
‘It has nothing to do with the way you look. It’s the way people respond to you. Your natural empathy,’ he said. ‘Which is why I did you the courtesy of assuming you wouldn’t make the same mistake about her.’
It took a moment for Belle, momentarily floundering, to backtrack. ‘Oh, I don’t underestimate her. I just think she’ll scare the pants off the man.’
He looked up. Ivo was a man so contained that she sometimes thought she must have imagined the passionate midnight lover who came to her bed, who haunted her dreams. But here, in her tiny kitchen, unshaven, his hair, his collar, rumpled, the suspicion of a smile creasing the skin around his eyes, she caught a glimpse of the man who had laid siege to her, who had refused to take no for an answer and had flown her away to his paradise island for a sunset wedding for two at the edge of the sea.
‘And your problem with that is?’ he asked.
She shook her head and, ambushed by the need to respond with a smile of her own, ducked her head. ‘No. You’ve got me.’
He took her chin in his hand, lifted her face and backed her up against the kitchen island, there was no escape. ‘Have I?’ he asked.
His fingers were cool against her skin. She shivered and somewhere deep in her throat a sound struggled to escape. She didn’t know what it was. Yes or no, it would be wrong and she swallowed it down, shook her head, keeping her lashes lowered so that he should not see her eyes, read there what she could not disguise.
If he saw them, he’d know, as he’d known before when, across a room packed with people, he’d somehow forced her to turn and look at him.
Then his weapons had been flowers, tiny treasures, glimpses into his world.
But a man did not reach his heights without being intelligent, adaptable.
He’d seemed to accept her decision, but she should have known he would not, could not let her go that easily. This was now about much more than an unquenchable passion; his pride demanded that he win her back, restore his life to its ordered routine. Tempt her back in the gilded cage she’d stepped into so willingly. And he was prepared to go to any lengths to make that happen. Even using the infinitely more precious gift of his time, if that was what it took.
Even as she held her breath, there was a touch to her mouth so light that she thought she might have imagined it, that her lips, of their own volition, sought to confirm.
They met nothing but air and her eyes flew open but Ivo had already turned away to retrieve the muffin from the bag. He broke it in two, offered her half. Eve’s apple, she thought. Persephone’s pomegranate seeds. Like the touch of his lips, irresistibly sweet temptation…
‘No…’ Then, ‘Thank you. I need to get dressed. I have to call the studio, make my apologies. Call my PR people.’ She pulled a face. ‘Heaven alone knows what the redtops will make of my rather sudden exit…’
‘I’m sure Jace fed them some plausible story that will hold them off for the time being.’
‘No doubt. It’s what they’ll do with it that bothers me.’ Then, ‘You asked Miranda to call the studio last night? What did she tell them?’
‘That you had a family crisis. Jace and I both thought it would be better coming from her.’
‘Of course. Who would dare question Miranda?’ Before he could answer, she said, ‘My life is about to get very messy, Ivo. You should step back.’
‘On the contrary. You should come home so that you’ll get some peace.’ Then, with a frown, ‘Is that what this is all about?’ He made a circular gesture with half a muffin, taking in the apartment. ‘Protecting me from tabloid splatter?’
‘No.’
‘You said that too quickly.’
‘It wasn’t something I had to think about.’ If they’d had a real marriage there would have been no secrets and they could have taken ‘messy’ in their stride. ‘You signed up for “perfect”, Ivo.’ For as long as perfect lasted. ‘This was never going to be for ever.’
‘No?’
She managed to pick up her coffee-it was a good thing that it was only half a mug or she’d have been in trouble-and tried to think of something to say. Nothing came and she had a momentary flash of sympathy with Ivo when, faced with her bald announcement that she was leaving him, he’d been monosyllabic.
Like him, she discovered, she didn’t have the vocabulary to cover this situation, so she said, ‘Help yourself to the shower in the guest room,’ before retreating to the bathroom.
Ivo, left alone in the tiny kitchen, looked at the muffin he’d torn in half. It was in much the same state as his marriage. He fitted the two pieces back together, but there were bits missing and the join wasn’t perfect; it jarred the eye.
But perfection was an illusion. Life had to be lived as it came with all its flaws and risks. Without the grit, there could be no pearl.
Belle was right. This marriage-this perfect marriage-was over. It was time to stop trying to fix it back together. What he had to do was work on rebuilding it from the foundations up.
