Reunited: Marriage in a Million

‘You don’t have to explain.’ She risked an attempt to sit up. The world tilted, then steadied. ‘Really,’ she said, ‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’

Oh, yes. He’d thought he was protecting some unborn child from what he’d been through. He was, like Miranda, like her sister, like her when she’d been too scared to tell him that she was marrying him not because of his millions, but because she couldn’t imagine living without him-like most people faced with the prospect of pain-just doing what he had to in order to protect himself.

Not self-destruction, but self-preservation.

‘I tried to have it reversed. When I realised what I’d done. What I’d done to you.’

She turned to look at him then. ‘You’d have done that for me?’

‘I…’ He faltered. ‘Yes, I’d have done that. Done anything.’

‘Except say the words.’

‘I…I didn’t know how to.’

‘There is more than one way of showing love, Ivo. Words are the least of them.’

The fact was he hadn’t left her on their honeymoon, left her to return home and face Miranda’s cold welcome by herself simply to chase down some deal, but to try and have the vasectomy reversed.

‘I’d been able to justify what I’d done, marrying you, not telling you, because…’ He broke off.

‘Because I said that the only reason I’d marry you, marry anyone was for security.’

‘Sex and money. I thought we’d both got what we wanted and then you started talking about a future, a real future, children, and I knew-’

She tightened her grip on his hand to stop him.

‘-I knew that’s what I wanted too,’ he persisted. ‘I’d just been too afraid to admit it to you, to myself. I thought I could fix it. That I could come back and we could begin again. But you didn’t wait.’

No. He’d said he would come back once he’d dealt with ‘business’ but there had seemed no point. They had been in paradise and she had wanted more. Had destroyed it.

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Please don’t blame yourself. Neither of us were brave enough to risk everything for something as dangerous as love.’

‘No.’ Then again, ‘No.’ And, almost to himself, ‘“…the coward does it with a kiss…”’ He sighed. ‘Confronted with what I’d done to you, I knew I had to get home to see the doctor who’d performed the original surgery. Beg him for a miracle.’

‘I’m so sorry…’

He shook his head, rejecting her pity. Never had she felt so helpless. Felt the lack of words to express the way she ached for him.

‘I can’t say I wasn’t warned when I first went to him. He hadn’t wanted to do it. Had advised me against it, suggested some kind of counselling. He only relented when I made it clear that if he wouldn’t do it there and then, I’d find someone who would, even if it meant going abroad. He was kind enough not to remind me of that.’

He looked down at their locked hands.

‘When I thought Daisy was your daughter, when I thought that you had a chance to be a mother, it seemed like a gift. The miracle I’d hoped for.’

‘A difficult teenager?’ She managed a smile. ‘Not everyone’s idea of a miracle.’

‘She’d have been your difficult teenager. Our difficult teenager,’ he said, and she thought her heart would break for him. Almost wished she had been a teenage mum with a kid out there somewhere just waiting for her to get in touch.

‘She’s not my daughter, Ivo, but she still needs us. If it hadn’t been for you…’ She looked at him. ‘Did I ever say thank you for what you did?’

‘Don’t…’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t ever thank me.’

She owed him more than thanks, but she let it go and said, ‘Daisy needs us, Ivo. Not just me, but you. A decent man in her life. And there’s her baby. Seven months from now there’ll be a little one who’ll need an aunt and uncle to spoil him or her rotten.’

‘Don’t be kind, Belle. Don’t pretend that it doesn’t matter. I saw your face when you told me that Daisy is expecting a baby.’

‘Still jealous of my little sister? Not a very attractive picture, is it? Especially from someone as lucky as I’ve been.’

‘Luck had nothing to do with it. You radiate warmth, Belle. It was there from the first moment you looked up from the telethon switchboard, smiled into the camera, said “Call me” in that sweet, sexy voice. Half the country reached for their phones.’

‘Sex sells,’ she said dismissively. ‘I got my break because it was hot and I’d undone one too many buttons.’

‘Do you really think that’s why the network is so desperate to hang on to you that they’d pay you any amount of money? Because of your cleavage?’ He finally smiled. ‘Lovely though it is.’

‘No. They’re offering me big money because it’s easier-cheaper-than finding someone to take my place. Go through all the time-consuming, expensive, image-building hoops with someone new.’

He breathed out another uncharacteristic expletive and said, ‘You haven’t got an egotistical bone in your body, have you?’

‘What have I got to be vain about? Other people put me together, made me what I am.’

‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ he said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was angry with her.

‘Ivo…’ she protested uncertainly. He didn’t lose his temper, didn’t get angry.

‘What you are, Belle, what makes you a star, won you that award, has nothing to do with image consultants or PR. The viewers adored you from that first husky giggle, a fact the network wasted no time in taking advantage of. All the professionals did was put the polish on a very rare diamond.’

‘Oh, please!’ Belle knew she was blushing. It was ridiculous…Then, ‘I have to get back,’ she said. ‘Daisy will be wondering where I am.’

‘You’re an adult, Belle,’ he replied, refusing to back off. ‘Daisy has to learn to trust you when you’re out on a date.’

And without warning the whole tenor of the conversation shifted. One moment he’d been angry with her, the next his eyes were a soft hazy blue-grey that she knew was for her alone. That never failed to stir an echo from somewhere deep inside her.

She swallowed. ‘This is a date?’

‘We’re sitting on a bench holding hands. The last time we did that…’

He stopped, but her memory filled in the rest. The last time had been the first time. She’d been talking to someone about the charity they were all supporting that night when something had made her turn. It was all the invitation he’d needed and a path had seemed to open up before him as he’d walked across the Serpentine Gallery, offered her his hand and said, ‘Ivo Grenville.’

And she’d said, ‘Belle Davenport.’ And took it.

And that was all. He was a workaholic millionaire, she was a television celebrity, their histories were public knowledge and words weren’t necessary. And when she placed her hand in his, he tucked it beneath his arm and walked out of the gallery with her, through the dusky park, along the side of the lake until, eventually, they’d reached a bench set in the perfect spot. And they’d sat on it, her arm tucked beneath his, his hand holding hers.

‘I remember,’ she said, her voice thick with regret for all the wasted years. Was it too late? Could they go back to that moment? Start again? ‘Do you remember what comes next?’

Around them the market was a blur of noise and colour but Ivo was back in another time-another place; in the warmth, the stillness of a summer’s evening with a beautiful woman who, like him, had recognised the moment for what it was. For whom words were an irrelevance.

‘Do you remember?’ she asked again.

Ivo rubbed his thumb over the ring he’d placed on her finger.

He remembered. Every touch, every look. Eyes like warm butterscotch, hair gleaming pale as silver, a soft, inviting mouth waiting for him to take a step outside the emotional vacuum in which he’d imprisoned himself. Waiting now, for him to find the courage to finally break free.