Her reflection in the mirror was shocking. Even after she’d washed away the black streaks of mascara, her eyes were red and puffy and her face was white with dark red blotches. Her hair was a mess of curls matted with hair-spray and the blue topaz earrings winked in the mirror, mocking her. She remembered how happy and excited she’d been when she’d put them on and almost started crying again.
Back in her bedroom, she carefully removed the earrings and put them in the velvet-lined box. She undid the locket, felt again the cool, solid weight of it in her hands and turned it over, wondering about the times her godmother had worn this jewellery. She hoped they’d been happier times than tonight.
And, as she climbed beneath the bedclothes, it occurred to her that she wasn’t really like Chloe at all. In her bid for independence, she’d been trying to live Chloe’s life, but now that she’d fallen helplessly in love, Sally understood that it wasn’t living in a big city or living the high life that made a person happy. Building a life together with the one special person you loved was the secret to happiness.
But Logan had a very different vision and he was so focused on his goal that he wouldn’t recognise a chance for lifelong happiness if it kissed him on the lips.
Or taught him to waltz.
Logan fretted and fumed as he paced the white-carpeted length of his penthouse. If ever a man deserved a booby prize for blunders, he did. From the day he’d first seen Sally Finch he’d made stuff-up after stuff-up.
His frantic gaze flashed to her gown, now lying where he’d flung it, a river of gold flowing over the red sofa. He pictured Sally as he’d seen her last, standing before him like an avenging angel, with her head proudly high, her eyes shooting daggers while she looked utterly divine in her wispy, barely-there underwear. Before she’d sent him packing.
In spite of his self-loathing, Logan’s mouth twisted in a wry half smile. What spunk Sally had! He was full of admiration for her. She was gutsy and warm-hearted, loyal and kind, clever and sexy—the list could go on and on.
In a word, she was perfect.
And he’d rejected her out of hand.
Tonight, she’d asked: What will you do if you fall in love with someone before the five years are up?
And he’d told her in all seriousness: That won’t happen.
Fool! What a simpleton he was. An idiot. An arrogant, totally unthinking moron who’d flirted with an innocent, courageous and perfect girl, and then thoughtlessly seduced her and toyed with her emotions. Had toyed, unthinkingly, with his own emotions as well.
Realising this, Logan remembered the challenge in Sally’s eyes.
You’ve never forgiven your father.
At the time he’d brushed her comment aside. He’d been too tense to stop, to give her accusation any consideration. But was Sally right? Did he hold a long-term grudge against his father? Had he allowed it to sour his life? He feared Carissa would agree. And perhaps his mother would too, even though she’d borne the brunt of his father’s failure.
Never once had his mother’s love faltered. She’d forgiven her husband for all the hardship he’d brought on her. She still adored the man she’d married.
Logan’s throat closed over a tight knot of pain. His parents were having the most wonderful time, travelling around Australia together in their little caravan. In spite of everything, life had always been an adventure for his mother.
Sally would see life as an adventure too. Not as an endurance test, not as one long, dangerous minefield poised to detonate beneath her feet.
Through the plate glass window that faced the east, he saw glimmering pink threads of dawn. He thought about the sun rising and setting on his life, over and over for the next five years until he was free to throw off his chains and embrace his future.
Carissa had reminded him that five years amounted to sixty months. It was close on two thousand days.
A hell of a lot of dawns. Two thousand pink dawns and fiery sunsets.
Two thousand velvet-black nights which, thanks to his foolproof five-year plan, he would spend minus Sally.
He had a lot of thinking to do.
The sound of knocking penetrated Sally’s sleep and she supposed she should try to wake up. She opened one eye tentatively and knew immediately that she was ill. Her head throbbed, her throat was on fire and every inch of her body ached. She was aware of sunlight blazing behind her floral curtains, but she had no idea what time it was.
Had someone really been knocking? Perhaps she’d dreamed it. It didn’t really matter because there was no way she could get downstairs to open the door. She needed all her strength to reach for the glass on her bedside table and take a sip of water, couldn’t imagine how she would make it to the bathroom.