The Australian Affairs Collection. Margaret Way
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her throat.
They were twenty minutes early!
Does it matter?
Yes. No. She didn’t know.
She wiped her palms down her pretty pink summer dress—another extravagant spur-of-the-moment purchase. She’d been making a few of those since she’d met Dylan—not that she could find it in herself to regret them.
Pulling in a breath, she went to answer it. Dylan stared at her from behind the screen. He held a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers, but she barely noticed them against the intensity of his burning blue eyes.
Swallowing, she unlatched the screen and pushed it open. ‘Come in.’
He kissed her check—all formality—and handed her the wine and flowers. ‘Gifts for the hostess.’
She swallowed again, her senses drenched with the nutmeg scent of him. ‘Thank you.’
While he might be physically close, his reserve made him seem a million miles away. Her fingers tightened around the stems of the flowers. She had no idea how to breach that distance. She wasn’t even sure she should attempt it.
‘I didn’t know if you’d come.’ She moved behind the kitchen counter to find a vase for the flowers—yellow-headed daisies.
‘I’d have let you know if I couldn’t make it.’
Of course he would. He had impeccable manners.
She glanced up to find him scrutinising her living room, a frown—small but unmistakable—settling over his features.
She set the vase of flowers on the kitchen bench and walked across. ‘What’s wrong?’ Maybe he hated cheese and olives. She could have sworn he’d eaten them the night she’d dined at the Fairweather mansion.
He gestured to the room. ‘Do you mind if I make a few adjustments?’
‘Knock yourself out.’
He immediately shifted the cushions out of their perfect alignment and shook out her throw rug before casually draping it across the sofa. He took a decorative rock from the mantel and placed it on the coffee table, pushed the platter of cheese and olives from the centre further towards one end. He moved the vase of fresh flowers she’d bought that morning to the end of the mantel, rather than dead centre, and then pulled a magazine and a book from the magazine rack, all but hidden by the sofa, and placed them on the little table by the door.
‘There!’ He dusted off his hands. ‘Now the place looks lived in.’
Mia blinked. His few simple changes had made a big difference. The room now radiated warmth rather than stiff awkwardness.
Her hands went to her hips. ‘How do you even know how to do that?’
He shrugged. ‘You just need to relax a bit more, Mia.’
Relaxing around Dylan... Was that even possible?
She swallowed. ‘I spoke to Carla through the week.’
‘I know. She’s talked of little else.’
Mia couldn’t work out whether he was pleased about that or not.
‘Carla’s the reason I’m early. She seemed to think you might need a hand, and that I should be the one to offer it.’
He didn’t smile.
She gestured to the room, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Obviously she was right.’
He just stared at her, his eyes blue and brooding.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. ‘I...uh... I think I have everything under control.’ She kicked into hostess mode. ‘Can I get you a drink? Beer, wine...soft drink?’
He chose wine. She poured wine for both of them and invited him to help himself to the cheese and olives. They sat there barely talking, barely looking at each other. Mia excused herself and pretended to do something in the kitchen.
They were rescued from their excruciating awkwardness when Carla and Thierry arrived fifteen minutes later.
‘Oh, look at your cottage!’ Carla gushed, hugging her. ‘It’s so quaint and pretty.’
Carla’s kindness eased some of the burning in Mia’s soul, and she could only give thanks that his sister’s presence made Dylan a little more sociable. Thierry neither hugged her nor kissed her cheek. Not that she’d expected him to do either. He barely said hello.
The veal scaloppini was a melt-in-the-mouth success. The dinner, however, wasn’t. Dylan complimented her on the food, made small talk about nothing of note, and every time Mia glanced at him a knife twisted into her heart. His despondency—his unhappiness—was her fault.
She hated it that she’d hurt him. And she didn’t know how to make it right. More to the point, she didn’t know if she should make it right.
Carla’s eyes grew increasingly narrow as she glanced from Mia to Dylan. Thierry just continued to survey Mia with his usual and by now familiar suspicion.
She told a funny story about a wombat at Plum Pines but only Carla laughed.
She mentioned that she was considering getting a car and asked if they had any opinions on what she should buy. Thierry said he wasn’t interested in cars.
Carla gaped at him. ‘Liar!’
‘I’m interested in sports cars. Mia can’t afford one of those.’
‘Don’t be so rude!’
‘No, Thierry’s right,’ Mia jumped in. ‘I’m just after something reliable and economical.’
Dylan then subjected them all to a long, monotonous monologue about the pros and cons of a particular model of hatchback that had their eyes glazing over and Mia wishing she’d never asked the question in the first place.
‘What is wrong with you two?’ Carla finally burst out at the two men. ‘I think it’s brave of Mia to tell us the full story of her past. I don’t care what the two of you think—it doesn’t change the way I feel about her. She’s been a lovely friend to me.’
‘Carla, that’s really nice of you.’ Mia’s heart hammered up into her throat. ‘But I think you ought to know that Dylan doesn’t have an issue with my past either.’
Carla folded her arms, her eyes flashing. ‘Then what’s the problem? What’s wrong with the pair of you?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ Thierry bit out.
‘Dylan is my brother. Mia is my friend. Of course it’s my business.’ She turned to Mia. ‘Is it because of that incident with the photographer?’
Dylan’s hands clenched about his knife and fork. ‘Why the hell did you have to tell Carla about that anyway?’ he shot at Mia.
An answering anger snapped through her. ‘I didn’t know it was a state secret. Besides, I thought it only fair that Carla be prepared for the story to break.’
‘I told you I’d take care of it!’
‘You’ll have to excuse my scepticism. I didn’t know your reach was both long and powerful enough to stop a story that juicy from making the headlines.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me!’
He glared at her.
She glared back.
‘Why did you wait until Tuesday night to tell Carla?’
The question ground out of Thierry, cutting through everything else.
Mia moistened her lips. ‘Because I was afraid that once she knew the whole truth she’d despise me.’
Thierry leaned towards her. On her other side she felt Dylan tense.
‘She