‘So?’
‘So we have the society pages watching. Do we want them to know we slept apart on the night of our wedding?’
‘Yes!’
‘I’m sure you don’t mean that.’
She thought about it for a bit. Which was really hard. The way her body was feeling… All she was doing was feeling. She had no room for anything else.
‘You mean…because of Charles?’
‘What else could I mean?’
Of course. What else could he mean? Silly girl.
If only she could think straight. If only he wasn’t so near.
‘So…’ She caught herself. ‘You’re saying we need to…to stay in the same place?’
‘We need to stay in the same place.’
‘But…’
‘I have a settee in the sitting room that turns into a bed. You needn’t worry.’
‘I’m not worried.’ It was true. It was impossible to be worried when she was feeling as she was feeling. As if she was floating.
‘So…you think we should go home?’
‘One more turn around the dance floor,’ she whispered and he held her closer and she felt him smile.
‘How about six?’
The fairytale ended at the front door.
Robert brought them home. Marcus helped his bride alight from the car; she stumbled on her bad ankle and he refused to listen to her protests. He swept her into his arms and carried her into his apartment and the door slammed behind them.
They were left alone. The lights were dim. He was standing in the hallway holding a girl in his arms-his bride- and she was gazing up at him with eyes that were luminescent, trembling, sweetly innocent.
She was so desirable. And she was his wife! He could kiss her right now…
‘Cut it out,’ she told him, jerking her face back from his and jiggling in his arms. ‘Marcus Benson, put me down. Right now.’
‘I thought-’
‘I know what you thought. I can read it in your eyes.’
‘Peta…’
‘I knew you’d want something.’ She bounced and wriggled some more and he was forced to set her down.
‘I don’t want anything.’
She fixed him with an old-fashioned look. ‘You’re saying you don’t want to take me to bed?’
There was nothing he’d like better. She read his expression and he couldn’t get his face under control fast enough. ‘Ha!’
‘I didn’t marry you,’ he said softly, ‘to get you into my bed.’
‘No. You married me as a favour. But now we’re married…’
‘It’d be a bonus,’ he admitted, and smiled. ‘You’re saying you don’t think so?’
‘I don’t want to go to bed with you.’
‘No?’
‘No!’
‘There’s a definite physical attraction…’
‘Between man and woman,’ she snapped. ‘And tom cats and lady cats. And ducks and drakes and pigs and sows. You dress up in that gorgeous suit and you treat me like you have today and of course there’d be an attraction. But there’s no way in the wide world I’m going to bed with you.’
‘Why not?’
It was a reasonable question, he thought, but Peta had other ideas on what was reasonable.
‘If I fall in love with you I’m stuffed.’
‘Why?’
‘Work it out, smart boy,’ she said and kicked off her bridal sandals. ‘Cinderella had no life at all. I’m going to bed. Do I sleep on the settee or do you?’
‘You can take the bed.’
‘Right, then,’ she told him and walked into the bedroom with scarcely a limp. And closed the door behind her. Leaving him…flabbergasted.
What followed was a night of no sleep.
How could she sleep? Peta lay in Marcus’s too-big bed and watched the moonlight play over her bridal gown, which was draped carefully over the bedside chair. The dress seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, as if it had a life of its own.
A bridal gown. She’d had a wedding.
There’d be photographs, she thought. There’d been so many cameras pointed at her this day. Maybe one day years from now she’d leaf through an ancient magazine and see this picture.
The picture of a fairytale. With Marcus. Her Prince Charming.
Did Prince Charming milk cows?
Maybe not. In fact, he’d made that a condition of marriage. The thought made her chuckle. She should sleep, she thought. Tomorrow was another huge day.
But Marcus was just through the wall. And he’d wanted to take her to his bed. It had been so hard to bounce herself out of the fantasy, she thought, and wondered how she’d ever done it.
He married me, she told herself. I’m his wife.
What, so you’d go to bed with him to repay the debt?
No, but…
You’d go to bed with him because he makes your toes curl. She winced and wriggled her toes, making them uncurl in the dark.
It’d be a disaster, she told the other part of her brain-the part that was screaming at her to swallow her principles, forget her sensible self and…and do what good girls didn’t do. We’re worlds apart. You owe him a lot but you don’t owe him your heart.
I have his bed, she told the dark. His bed and his name, without the man. Best of both worlds.
Maybe having a man in her bed would be no bad thing. Maybe having Marcus…
Go home, Peta, she told herself. Get yourself back to your dogs if you want company. Settle for reality.
Reality was good, she told herself. Reality was her future.
But for now… She lay in the moonlight and looked at her wedding dress. And thought about Marcus.
Reality seemed a long way away.
He wanted the fantasy.
Marcus lay in the dark and stared up at the ceiling. It was flat. Uninteresting. Boring.
He was flat, uninteresting, boring.
Today had been so different. Today he’d felt transformed. As if life somehow could be something of worth.
Stupid thought.
He lay back on his pillows and made himself remember all those weddings he’d been to as a child. His mother, starry-eyed in white, promising him the world.
‘This time he’s going to take us away from all this. We’re starting on a new life, Marcus,’ she’d said, over and over again.
Yeah, right. Pure fantasy. Each time, the new life had begun before the wedding cake was finished and it had been invariably bleak and dreadful.
So here he was, caught up in the same fantasy his mother had used to make life bearable. White weddings. The fairytale.
