The Australian Affairs Collection. Margaret Way
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Fletcher family? Where had they been? Where were they now?
He noticed movement at her side as they were led to a small office, arched his neck to confirm the nervous finger ritual. His heart lurched when her features crumpled at the sight of the archive box on the otherwise empty desk. Once they were alone she drew a long breath, before walking forward and lifting the lid with unsteady fingers.
On their return journey Ethan booted up his laptop. His gaze flicked from the screen to the box containing her life history, on the seat between them. Moved to her left hand. To her bare ring finger.
He was acutely aware of the toll the visit had taken on her. Her fumbling through the box’s contents and forced shallow breathing had torn him apart. He still hadn’t finished sorting the personal papers he’d brought from Spain.
Gently taking hold of her wrist, and letting what she held fall back inside, he had closed the lid. ‘Not here. Not now.’
He’d lifted the box from the desk, then linked his fingers with hers. After speaking to her solicitor for a few minutes they’d left.
She hadn’t spoken since she’d introduced him in the office, apart from a mumbled goodbye. Now, as their eyes met, she blinked, swiftly looked away. Primal instinct urged him to dump his laptop on the seat, wrap his arms around her and kiss her till the haunted expression in her eyes changed to—to what? Desire? Passion?
Get real, James. Where the hell is your head?
‘I’m not being very helpful, am I? But I haven’t needed to access them since probate was granted.’
He heard the slight accent in her trembling voice. Caused by deep emotion?
Putting his computer aside, he clasped her slender hands in his. ‘Working hands. Not salon-pampered. Well-cared-for working hands,’ he murmured. ‘Seven years is a long time to be running and hurting. Finding yourself alone and pregnant so soon after you’d finally begun to connect again must have been traumatic, and yet you found the courage to confront me.’
She let out a tiny huff of a laugh. ‘I considered you to be the approachable one in the family. I’d never have been brave enough to tackle your parents alone.’
‘That will not happen,’ he stated forcefully. ‘I won’t allow them to interfere, so we’ll meet them together after the wedding. I have friends who’ll be witnesses. Is there someone you’d like as yours? Family? Friend?’
She had an alluring, pensive air as she pondered his question. Was there anyone? There had to be relatives somewhere.
‘I have no family. My mother left me with her parents when I was four. Never said who my father was. I haven’t heard from her since. Grandma’s cancer was quick and aggressive, the year after I finished school, and Grandpa had a heart attack three months later.’
Soulful violet eyes held his for a long, long moment; resolve flickered there, then glowed.
‘There are a few people I’ve kept in touch with. I’ll have to think.’
Her tension had eased and her voice was steadier. She appeared to have accepted the reality of their situation. His admiration for her grew, along with another indefinable impression.
‘Our next appointment is at one,’ he said hastily, not wanting to dwell on the effect she had on him. ‘So we have plenty of time.’ He released her, reached for his laptop. ‘And I think you are brave enough for anything, Alina Fletcher.’
‘Thank you.’
He was wrong, but Alina accepted his compliment rather than set him straight. He considered her courageous. Would he believe the same if he knew her decisions were driven by the conviction that she’d be unable to feel any maternal bonding ever again?
‘I mean it. Coping with all this must be painful.’
He opened the box.
Excruciating. Like having old wounds ripped open with no anaesthetic. ‘It had to happen sometime.’ And it must be now.
She moved the box closer to her side. ‘I’ll find what we need.’
Her birth certificate and papers relevant to her mother were on the top, where they’d fallen. Nothing heartrending there. She passed them to him, willed her hands not to shake as she dragged a buff envelope from the bottom. She held her breath, forced herself to focus.
Concentrate on the two you need. Ignore the rest.
Icy fingers fisted round her heart. She clenched her teeth as she carefully removed two certificates. Tucking them under her hip, she waited until he’d finished entering information, then filed away the papers he’d used.
‘I’ll do the rest.’ She heard the tremor in her tone, stubbornly persisted, needing to retain some privacy. Needing to keep the walls up and solid. ‘It’s my past.’
He studied her with an intensity that made her insides quiver. ‘If you’re sure?’
She wasn’t. She had no choice. ‘Thank you.’
He settled the computer on her lap, ensuring it was stable. ‘I understand.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t eaten a lot this morning, have you? Fancy an early lunch?’
How could he tell? ‘I had toast and fruit—enough after that lovely meal last night.’ Truth was she’d had to force the food down, and she still wasn’t hungry.
His eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly. His interest wasn’t for her alone. She let him win.
‘Chicken salad with crusty bread sounds tempting. Will the dining room be open?’
‘We’ll have Room Service.’ He pulled out his mobile.
She tuned him out as she typed names, locations, dates. She recited, They are words, figures, nothing more in her head. Her newly unadorned finger mocked the information she entered.
‘Done,’ he told her. ‘We’ll eat, then deal with the celebrant. Changing your phone supplier has to be done in person, so we’ll combine that with a visit to the jeweller.’
She met the steely resolve in his eyes. He was locking her into her promise. There’d be no reneging allowed.
His mouth curved into a persuasive smile. ‘It won’t be so bad, Alina. You’ll have time to adjust to life with me until the wedding. Any functions I ask you to attend during our marriage will be quiet occasions, with people I trust.’
‘I made a list this morning.’ That was better. Keep the conversation on standard stuff.
This time his eyebrows actually arched. ‘What sort of list?’
‘Things to do. Everyone who’ll have to be notified that I’m relocating. Most of my official stuff goes to Crow’s Nest.’ She couldn’t stop the catch coming into her voice. ‘Louise used to check the mailbox in Barcelona for me sometimes.’
‘We’ll need to arrange for it to be redirected. Do you have a base there?’
‘No, I rented rooms on a casual basis. When I was away the owner stored my stuff for a small fee.’
‘We’ll fly over later, so you can decide what to bring back.’
She gave a short, hollow laugh. He made it sound like a day trip to another state. ‘Hardly worth a trip. There’s just an old suitcase and two plastic boxes.’
His turn to be confounded. ‘That’s all you have?’
Shoot, she’d spoken impulsively to a very astute man. She pictured the cold steel unit she’d visited once, fought the hard clench in her abdomen. Couldn’t lie. Couldn’t look into those perceptive eyes either.
‘Everything else I own is in storage. I don’t go there.’ Mentally or physically.
‘Too painful.’ He made it a statement.
Guilt tempered