The Wedding Charade. Melanie Milburne
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She felt Nic’s gaze on her now, the weight of it like a stone. She looked up and closed the menu. ‘What are you thinking of having?’ she asked.
‘The crab fettuccine to start with and maybe the veal Marsala for mains,’ he said. ‘What about you?’
Jade ran her tongue over her sand-dry lips. ‘Why don’t you choose for me?’ she said, pushing the menu to one side. ‘You seem to know the place pretty well. I’m not fussy.’
He cocked one of his eyebrows at her. ‘No?’
‘I’ve dealt with a lot of stuff over the years, Nic,’ she said, giving him a hard look. ‘I’m not going to embarrass you by dispensing with my meal in the bathroom as soon as your back is turned.’
A frown appeared between his brows. ‘I wasn’t suggesting any such thing,’ he said. ‘It was a tough time for you growing up, losing your mother so young and then your brother like that.’
Jade had perfected her back-off look over the years and yet, as she used it now, it was with shaky confidence that it would work. ‘I’d rather not talk about it. They died. Life goes on.’
The waiter arrived to take their order, and when he left Nic shifted his mouth in a musing pose and continued to study her. She began to feel like a specimen under a powerful microscope. Nic always made her feel like that. He saw things that other people didn’t see. His eyes were too all-seeing, too penetrating. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed—something she avoided strenuously at all times and in all places.
‘Do you see much of your father?’ Nic asked.
She toyed with the stem of her champagne flute, her eyes averted from his. ‘Before this latest blow up, yes. He called in occasionally with his latest girlfriend,’ she said tonelessly. ‘The last one is only a year or two older than me. I think they might eventually marry. He wants a son—to replace Jonathan. He’s been talking about it for years.’
Nic heard the pain behind the coolly delivered statement. ‘You’ve never been close to him, have you? ‘
She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. ‘I think I remind him too much of my mother.’
‘Do you remember her?’ he asked.
Her jade-green eyes met his, instantly lighting up as if he had pressed a switch. ‘She was so beautiful,’ she said in a dreamy tone. She picked up her glass and twirled it gently, the bubbles rising in a series of vertical lines, each one delicately exploding on the surface. ‘She was so glamorous and always smelt so divine—like honeysuckle and jasmine after a long hot day in the sun.’
She put the glass down, and ran her finger around the rim, around and around as she spoke. ‘She was affectionate. She couldn’t walk past Jon or me without encompassing one or both of us in a crushing hug. She used to read to me. I loved that. I could listen to her voice for hours … ‘
A little silence settled like dust motes in the space between them.
She gave a little sigh and picked up her glass again, twirling it before she took a tentative sip. She put it back down, her mouth pursing as if the taste of the very expensive champagne had not been to her taste. ‘She loved us. She really loved us. I never doubted it. Not for a moment.’
Nic knew a little of the rumours surrounding Harriet Sommerville’s death. There was some talk of an illicit affair that had gone wrong and Harriet had decided to end it all when the other man involved refused to leave his wife. Other rumours suggested Jade’s father had not been the best husband and father he could have been at the time, but it was hard to know what was true and what had been fiction.
The press had a way of working it to their advantage: the bigger the scandal, the better the sale of the papers. Nic had experienced it himself, along with his brothers. But there was something about Jade that intrigued him. At regular intervals over the years she appeared at all the right functions, dressed to the nines, playing to the cameras, flirting with the paparazzi, but still he wondered if anyone really knew who the real Jade Sommerville was. Not the slim, beautiful and elegantly dressed and perfectly made-up young woman who sat before him now, twirling her champagne flute without drinking any more than a sip or two, who refused to speak of her dead brother, who spoke of her father with thinly disguised disgust.
Who was she?
Who was she really?
Was she the woman who had broken up the marriage of her best friend, as the papers had reported?
Or was she someone else entirely?
‘Losing a parent is a big deal,’ Nic said to fill the cavernous silence. ‘I was knocked sideways by my father’s accident. Seeing him like that … ‘ he winced as he recalled it ‘ …one minute so vitally alive, the next in a coma.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘It was a relief when he died. No one wanted to say it but it was true. He would have hated being left with brain damage.’
She looked up at him with empathy in her eyes. ‘You are a lot like him,’ she said gently. ‘I suppose lots of people have said that to you before. He hated being tied down.’
Nic smiled wryly as he picked up his glass. ‘My parents’ marriage was an arranged one. Not a lot of people know that. My mother loved him from the start but he was not so keen on being shackled to one woman. They muddled along as best they could until Chiara came along. My father loved having a daughter. He had three sons but his daughter was everything to him.’
He put his glass down with a clunk on the table, his eyes moving away from hers. ‘Losing her was like the bottom of his world falling out from under him. He felt he was being punished by God for not loving his wife and sons enough. He went through a tumultuous time. As young as you were, I am sure you heard of it: numerous affairs with shallow gold-diggers until he finally realised the only woman he could love was the mother of his still living children who had loved him the whole time.’
‘Everyone reacts to grief in their own way,’ she said softly.
Nic picked up his glass but not with any intention of drinking from it, more for something to do with his hands. ‘I am like my father in that I do not like to be told what to do,’ he said. ‘He always had issues with my grandfather over that. I guess that is why Salvatore’s will was written the way it was.’
‘But you are doing what he wanted now and that is all that matters,’ she said in the same emotionless voice. ‘In a year you will be free. You will have your inheritance and you can be with whoever you want.’
‘So what about you?’ Nic asked, raising his glass to his lips. ‘What will you do once the year is up?’
She looked down at her hardly touched champagne. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’ She looked back at him and gave him a forced-looking smile. ‘I guess we will divorce amicably and get on with our lives.’
Nic wondered who she would want to spend her life with or if she wanted to settle down at all. If it hadn’t been for his grandfather’s machinations, at some stage she would have had to marry and to marry well. She had never worked a day in her life. She was a full-time socialite, born to it like others were born to poverty and neglect.
Until the withdrawal of her father’s support, she certainly hadn’t given Nic any indication that she was going to abide by the stipulations set down in the will. Nic had wanted to talk to her about it at length after the funeral, but when he had mentioned it during the service she had glared at him and then later slipped out before he could corner her. He certainly didn’t see himself as qualifying for husband of the year or anything, but as long as she behaved herself he would put up with the twelve months of matrimony to secure his inheritance and thus keep his brothers’ interests in the Sabbatini Corporation secure.
There were certain compensations in marrying Jade, of course. She was certainly a pleasure to look at. She had the most beautiful piercing green eyes, large and almond-shaped and darkly lashed, as thick as the silky, wavy hair that cascaded halfway down