“I know why you pulled that little tramp out of the gutter and married her.” Her mother-in-law stared straight at her, daring her to step forward.
A potent combination of shock and anger rooted Amber to the spot. Besides, she wanted to hear her husband send his mother packing, once and for all.
“You know nothing. Get the hell out of my life!” If the loud, techno music for the parade hadn’t started at that moment, every one of the patrons would’ve heard Steve’s bellow.
Once again, Georgia Rockwell fixed Amber with a stare. “Come now, Steven. We both know the only reason you married that guttersnipe was to produce an heir to Ethel’s fortune. And she was the only one stupid enough to fall for your routine. Or was your money an added incentive?”
Amber reeled from her mother-in-law’s outlandish accusation. Steve didn’t need an heir. Heck, at the start of their marriage, he hadn’t even mentioned children. She’d been the one to stop taking the pill once his attitude towards her changed.
A nasty memory insinuated its way into her thoughts; Steve’s quick, negative shake of the head at his grandmother at the hope in her rheumy eyes Amber could be pregnant. And later, his strange eagerness when they discussed children and his urging her to stop taking contraceptives.
It couldn’t be true. Surely his attitude towards her had changed out of love, not some ploy to butter her up to produce an heir to the disgusting Rockwell wealth?
“How did you find out?”
And with those five little words uttered by the man she had grown to love more than life itself, her world came crashing down.
Clutching her belly to protect her unborn child, she turned away from her mother-in-law’s triumphant grin and stumbled towards the entrance. Once she reached outside, she leaned against a wall and fought the rising sobs, taking in great gulps of air to quell the devastation. Her teeth started to chatter despite the balmy evening as shock set in.
She had to get home, now, as she hailed a passing taxi. Only problem was, home wasn’t in Brisbane. She needed to escape the city and get back to her van, the only refuge in the world that had kept her safe from the overwhelming feelings of loss and grief that had plagued her eleven years ago when her mum died, feeling that had just returned in force.
“You all right, lady?” The taxi driver peered at her through the rear vision mirror.
She nodded, knowing nothing would ever be all right again.
* * *
Steve unlocked the front door, operating on autopilot as a bone-deep weariness settled on his soul. He yearned for Amber’s arms to wrap around him and soothe away the nasty memory of the fight with his mother. Though he’d always despised her, he’d never known the depth of her evil until tonight. Somehow, she’d guessed at his original motivation for marrying Amber and he’d unwittingly confirmed it. However, he’d be damned if he let the old barracuda know how he felt about his wife now.
He answered to no one about his feelings, especially as he didn’t know exactly what they were.
“Sweetheart, I’m home,” he called out, wondering why all the lights were out bar one. As he felt his way along the wall towards the switch, he stubbed his foot against a solid object that didn’t belong there.
Muttering curses under his breath, he flicked the switch, flooding the room with light. He looked down at the offending object, surprised to see it was a suitcase, two of them, in fact.
“Amber? What’s going on?” A sudden, irrational panic lent an urgency to his voice. Why had his wife packed her old, decrepit cases?
“What does it look like?” Her voice came out of nowhere and he looked towards the stairs.
He struggled not to gape at the svelte vision in the black designer dress descending the staircase. She looked incredible, the dress showcasing her lush curves to perfection. She’d put on weight in the last few weeks and it gave her an added glow. Not that he’d mentioned her weight gain; he wasn’t a complete moron.
“Wow. That’s some dress. What’s the occasion?”
She ignored him, sweeping into the lounge without looking at him. “I’m leaving.”
“To become a model?” His attempt at humour fell flat as she picked up her handbag and rummaged through it. He wanted to reach out but her rigid posture screamed ‘hands-off’. He’d never seen her like this and it scared him.
“I’m leaving for good.” She finally turned to face him and he struggled to maintain composure. Her face looked blotchy, puffy, her eyes red-rimmed. She hadn’t been crying, she’d been bawling.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He reached out to her, desperate to discover what had caused her pain and why she’d uttered those ridiculous words about leaving him.
“Don’t touch me.” She backed away, holding her hands up. “And I’m not your sweetheart.” She spat the words, something akin to hate flashing in the depths of those eyes he’d grown to love.
The truth hit him like a subpoena out of the blue and just as unexpected. It wasn’t just her eyes he loved. He loved all of her, every exquisite inch, from the top of her stubborn blonde head to the tip of that infernal toe-ring. And he realised it at a time like this, when his wife was on the verge of some kind of breakdown.
“I don’t understand.” He opened his palms to her in supplication. He’d never begged for anything in his life but now, he was close. He needed her to open up to him, to tell him what was bothering her.
