foreign to Peta as it was to him.
Fun. Ha! But she was looking up at him and her head was cocked as if listening to an echo that was so far away she could hardly hear.
‘You want us to have fun?’
Did he? What was he getting himself into? he wondered wildly. If only she wasn’t wearing that dress.
But she was and there was no choice.
‘Yes,’ he told her. ‘Yes, I do. I want us to forget all about the Benson financial empire and the O’Shannassy farm and the likes of cousin Charles. For this afternoon you’re wearing a fairytale dress and I’ve never been married in my life. Can we wave our wand and make it last a bit longer?’
And then a decision-and that smile that could heat places in a man’s heart that he hadn’t known existed.
‘Okay.’ His beautiful bride tucked her hand confidingly in his arm and held. Claiming the proprietorship that he’d claimed when he’d given her his name.
‘Okay, Mr Benson,’ she told him. ‘For this afternoon I’ll stick with the fairytale. Me and my non-pansy Prince Charming. You and your lopsided Cinderella with the fat foot. Imperfect but game. Let’s take ourselves out into New York and have fun.’
CHAPTER SIX
HE TOOK her to Central Park.
Robert dropped them at the Grand Army Plaza as a carriage drew up, a magnificent horse-drawn coach with wonderful greys snorting in their traces. The driver raised his hand in salute to the bridal couple and Marcus beckoned the man closer.
‘You looking for a fare?’
The man beamed. ‘Do you and your lady want a ride?’
‘We surely do.’
‘How far?’
‘We’d like to see the whole of Central Park-as long as it takes.’
‘Well now.’ The driver grinned some more and scratched his head. A crowd was gathering, taking in the sight of this lovely bridal couple.
‘Well now,’ the driver said again. ‘Step aboard.’ He turned to his horses. ‘Come on, boys. Let’s give these folks an afternoon to remember. And, seeing as they’re just married, we might even give them a rate!’
For Peta the next few hours passed in a whirl. She’d been transported into a make-believe world where anything was possible. Where she was beautiful, desirable, loved. Where the sheer slog of daily grind was replaced by magical clothes, a matched pair of greys, the sights of Central Park, people waving at the bridal pair. The sights…
They climbed down occasionally so Marcus could show her things he enjoyed. When her ankle held her back he simply lifted and carried her, to the delight of the bystanders and ignoring her indignant squeaks. She stood on the mosaic that said
And then he grinned and remembered that he did.
Through all, their patient coachman waited, smiling benignly. They’d told Robert to leave them for two hours but it was almost three before Marcus was sure his bride had had her fill. Marcus phoned Robert and told him not to wait. At the end he had their coachman drop them off near a little place he knew…
The little place was a restaurant with food to die for. Still in their wedding regalia, they were ushered to the best table in the house. Peta drank wine and ate food that she’d never imagined existed.
She was tired, but wonderfully so. She hardly spoke. All afternoon she’d hardly spoken. She simply soaked it in, as if this was happening to someone else. Not to her.
This couldn’t possibly be happening to her.
But it was. She ate her food, dazed, while Marcus watched her with a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He was playing fantasy, too, she decided and she could hardly object.
She didn’t want to object.
And then, as the waiter poured coffee and she thought this surely must end, a four-piece band started up. Soft music. Simple. Lovely. And Marcus was rising, still with that queer half smile, quizzing her with his eyes. He knew her secret. He was sharing this make-believe.
‘Would you like to dance?’
Would she like to dance? The prospect was almost overwhelming. Would she?
‘I don’t… I can’t… My ankle.’
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘You can. I’ll take your weight. Lean on me. Tonight we can do anything.’
She rose. There was nothing else for it. Her lovely skirts swished against the floor, swirling around her. Marcus pulled her into his arms, lifting the weight from her ankle so she could hardly feel it. The band took one look at this lone couple on the dance floor and struck up the bridal waltz.
It needed only that. Peta choked on laughter and buried her face in Marcus’s shoulder.
‘Laughter?’ He swung her expertly around the dance floor and somehow her feet followed. As if they knew the way all by themselves. Peta, who’d never had the time or the opportunity to be on a dance floor before this night, seemed to know how without any teaching.
Of course she did. On this night anything was possible.
‘We’re such frauds,’ she whispered into his shoulder and she felt him stiffen. Just a little. And then she felt him chuckle in return, a low, lovely rumble.
‘As long as we both know it.’
‘What time does Robert turn into a mouse?’
He looked startled at that-but he caught the analogy and grinned.
‘He’s fine until at least midnight. But can I just ask if you’ll leave a forwarding address if you do any casting of slippers.’
‘My address is Rosella Farm, Yooralaa, Australia.’ She smiled. ‘Just so you don’t have to do any unnecessary fitting. There’s a lot of women between Yooralaa and New York to be trying on glass slippers on all of them.’
‘And maybe the fairytale wouldn’t hold. Maybe someone would have a smaller foot.’
She stilled and looked down to where her right foot peeked out from under her dress. Her ankle was bandaged. The bridal salon had solved her problem by giving her a right sandal three sizes larger than the left.
‘I must remember to drop the left one,’ she murmured. ‘Otherwise I’m doomed. Or you’re doomed. You might end up with a bride who’s two hundred pounds.’
He grinned. ‘But maybe we need to rewrite the fairytale,’ he suggested. ‘In fact, I’m sure we do. We need to rein up a few more mice and order a bigger pumpkin. Because, instead of fleeing alone, you get to take your Prince Charming along. I’m coming home with you.’
For heaven’s sake. As he swung her once more around the dance floor she thought she detected the faintest trace of satisfaction in his voice. What had she got herself into?
‘Hey!’ She pulled back. ‘Let’s not get carried away here.’ She focused then. Really focused, hauling the fairydust out of her head. ‘This isn’t real. I mean, even after midnight, after the two weeks. None of this is real.’
‘No.’ But he didn’t stop dancing. Another turn. He was holding her tight to take her weight, half dancing, half carrying. His head was resting on her curls. Which was sensible. Wasn’t it? He had to hold her to take the weight of her injured ankle. There was no other reason for it, though, she thought wildly. No other reason she was curved into him, her body moving as one with him.
‘Maybe we should go home,’ she whispered.
‘Home?’
‘I mean, to your apartment. I mean… You to your club.’ That was the sensible thing to do. Wasn’t it?
‘I don’t think we can do it tonight,’ he told her. ‘We’re married.’
