‘He won’t,’ she said definitely. ‘And even if the impossible happened and he did, do you think I could take Henry away from all this? There’s no way, and you know it.’ She gave herself a mental shake and managed a grin. ‘Okay, he’s gorgeous, and if he happened to kiss me again…’
‘He kissed you?’ Lorna squeaked, and Jenny’s grin firmed.
‘There’s things that even you don’t know, Lorna Westmere. It’s true I find him enormously attractive, and the memory of Ben won’t hold me back. But it’s only for a few days and then it’ll be over.’
Guy spent much of that night awake. Thinking of Christa.
Thinking of Jenny.
He’d loved Christa, he thought. He remembered the bleakness, the guilt, the horror of those weeks after she’d been killed, but in contrast…He remembered the joy of Christa’s life, how she’d made him laugh, how when she’d agreed to marry him he’d felt like the luckiest man in the world.
But then things had changed. She’d hated his new career. There’d been fight after fight. The relationship had soured to the point where if she hadn’t been killed it would have been over.
He’d thought he’d been in love and he’d been wrong, and such a fundamental mistake had stayed with him ever since. Hell, if he could be so wrong about someone he’d believed he loved so much, how could he ever commit again?
He couldn’t.
‘So what the hell are you thinking of now?’ he demanded of himself aloud, and there was only one answer.
‘You’re thinking she’s gorgeous. You’re thinking that she’s been through hell and her little boy needs someone and…
‘You’re thinking of marrying?’ It was an incredulous demand into the darkness. ‘You’re thinking of taking them home?’
Why not?
The idea was so far out of left field that he almost laughed.
But…
But.
It wouldn’t mess with my life, he told himself. She’d come back to New York. We’d get the best medical attention for those scars. Henry could go to school. Jenny could work in the company.
And live with you?
Of course live with me, he told his alter ego, letting the picture of domestic bliss build. I have a huge apartment. There’s room to spare. Henry could have his own wing, and Jenny and I…
There was the nub of the matter. Jenny and I.
Jenny. Jenny as she’d been today, dressed only in a bikini, all womanly curves, defending her son, defiant, taking on all comers. Jenny squashed into his Ferrari, giggling with her son, meeting his eyes over Henry’s head and sharing his laughter.
Jenny.
You haven’t even slept with the woman, he told himself, and he sounded desperate, even to himself. How do you know you want her every night for the rest of your life?
Because I do, he thought, suddenly sure.
It was crazy. It was way too fast. But the thought of Jenny in his bed was suddenly immeasurably enticing.
It’s too soon, he told himself, his heart for once agreeing with his head. The way you’re feeling…It might just be sympathy.
It’s not sympathy and you know it.
It might be. You thought you loved Christa.
You wouldn’t be committing in the same way, he told himself. You can stay independent. What’s the harm? If it doesn’t work, what do you have to lose?
Nothing if you stay independent.
Can you stay independent?
Maybe. I can try.
CHAPTER SIX
KYLIE’S wedding took place two days before Christmas, and it was more than Kylie and Daryl had ever dreamed of.
Kylie moved though her wedding day in a blissful whirl. She looked totally in love with her wedding-and totally in love with her man. Daryl, too, looked as if all his dreams had come true. He had the woman he loved, and he had a wedding ceremony that would be the talk of the district for years.
For it was a true Carver Wedding.
The man had brilliance, Jenny thought, gazing round the transformed hall where the reception was being held. It was no longer a hall. Instead it was a smoky gambling den, straight out of the nineteen-twenties. Guy had spent the last few days painting sets, organising props, training a couple of acting students he’d flown in from Sydney, throwing himself into this wedding as if it was a vastly publicised celebrity wedding instead of the wedding of two butcher’s assistants with no profit to be made at all.
His work was worth it for the sheer pleasure it gave, Jenny decided. It was fantastic. As every guest arrived they gasped in wonder, joining instantly into the pleasure of make-believe mingled with a true-love wedding. The press, arriving to see the first Carver Wedding in Australia, were hauled right into the theme, being directed to point their cameras at the groom’s right side and make him look good or they’d be wearing concrete shoes before they knew what had hit them.
The photographers didn’t know where to point their cameras next. Even Shirley Grubb abandoned her need for pink tulle and embraced the theme with enthusiasm.
‘Oh, Jenny…I’ve been dreaming of this wedding since Kylie was born, and I so wanted everything to be right,’ she confided towards the end of the evening. ‘I was so upset when Kylie told me she wasn’t doing it my way. But now…My two sisters are here. Their daughters had flash weddings in Sydney-no money spared-and you know what? They’re jealous. They’re jealous of their little sister who married Fred Grubb and never has any money to her name.’ She hugged Jenny, and there were tears slipping down her face. ‘He’s fabulous,’ she whispered. ‘You’re so lucky.’
Guy was fabulous? Jenny was lucky? Jenny examined the comment from all sides, then decided to ignore it and hand out a few more drinks.
She couldn’t quite ignore it.
Guy was everywhere, working hands-on, making sure the event went without a hitch. He was dressed as a bodyguard, armed and dangerous, his slicked-down hair making his face look somehow menacing, his mock pistols too obvious, moving among the crowd, making amiable if-you-don’t-have-a-good-time-I’ll-punch-your-lights-out comments-sure his wedding couple were safe.
I’d think I was safe if I had him for a bodyguard, too, Jenny thought while she dispensed drinks. But she shoved the notion aside and went to make sure the cake, an overblown affair, adorned with a miniature gangster and his bride driving away in their fancy car-where had Guy found these props?-was ready for cutting.
She put the thought of Guy to one side.
But she stayed achingly aware of him.
And Guy…?
He moved through the wedding with his customary efficiency, ensuring each and every guest took home memories to cherish. Whether it was adroit flirting with the bridesmaids, bullying Uncle Ern to take Cousin Cecilia onto the dance floor, or removing the third glass of champagne from fifteen-year-old Bert’s grasp and replacing it with cola. ‘That stuff is a lady’s drink-I never touch it,’ he told the kid, who gazed at Guy in suspicion and then decided that maybe cola really was okay. Wherever there was a need, there he was.
But at any given moment Guy knew Jenny’s whereabouts. She was dressed in a pert maid’s uniform, doing the same as him, working the crowd. He watched her laughter and her affection for these people. He watched as
