Christmas at the Castello(2)

Her eyes burned at the memory. When they had been good, they had been  very, very good. And when they had been bad, it had been unbearable.

Coburn raked a scathing gaze over her from where he stood, talking to  Rory. She squared her shoulders, turned her back to him and did what the  proud, perhaps foolish Taylor women had perfected as a family art. She  turned a blind eye to the humiliation blanketing her and moved on.

To be among such happiness when her heart was so bleak was torturous.  The only thing that made it bearable was the thought that in three weeks  she'd be following her heart for the first time. Just her. Just Diana.

She wondered what she was going to find when she discovered who she really was.



Coburn's third Scotch had his blood humming through his veins in a  heated pull that tempted him to engage with the long-legged thing of  beauty who'd once convinced him he needed no other. It was almost  irresistible the force that drew him to her, that had always drawn him  to her, despite the bitter recrimination he knew she could dish out with  that stiff, superior manner of hers. But he resisted. His speech was  happening in minutes and he needed all his composure to do it.

He watched Diana circulate through the crowd, her exquisite manners  easing every interaction into the perfect sixty seconds of social  repartee no matter what the partygoer's background. Diana always knew  what to say, even when bent on sticking a dagger into his back.

She was tall for a woman, five foot nine, downplaying her height as  usual with a lower heel than most of the females in the room. Her slim  boyish figure was the same lithe silhouette, her sensual, exotic  features still utterly arresting, but the hair she used to wear well  past her shoulders was shorter now, skimming her collarbone. He'd never  let her cut it. He'd loved the feel of it sliding against his skin when  she'd leaned down to kiss him as she'd taken him inside the tight sheath  of her body, always in tune with him at that moment when he filled her  completely and wiped any barriers from between them.

As far as makeup sex had gone, and there'd been a lot of it, he and  Diana had perfected the art. Hot and filled with a dozen unspoken  emotions, it had been a ride he'd become addicted to, until it had  destroyed them.

His body reacted to the memory with a tightening his anger could not  prevent. Every man at that party in Chelsea the night they'd met had  pinpointed his wife as the ultimate conquest. The ice princess who had  swept them all with a disdainful look that had said, "Don't bother."

It had been like waving a red flag in front of a bull. He hadn't been  able to resist. Diana's quick comebacks and complete lack of awe when it  came to him had entranced him. She'd known she was deserving. She'd  been born deserving. And he'd been up to the challenge. What he wasn't  to know at the time was the extent to which her innocence would enslave  him with a far greater power than his sexual prowess had claimed her. He  hadn't been able to bear the thought of her with another man after he'd  taken her, and had put a ring big enough to sink a ship on her finger  shortly thereafter to make sure it never happened.         

     



 

How foolish to think a ring could ever command her complete attention.  He hadn't been enough for her. He suspected no man ever would be.

"You ready?" Tony appeared at his side.

He nodded. A lifetime of happiness. He was going to wish his friends the best, then shut his mouth. It wasn't that hard.

He waited with Rory and Tony at the front of the room while Annabelle's  maid of honor made sure everyone had a glass of Veuve in their hands,  courtesy of the Grants. Then he strolled to the center of the room at  Tony's nod. The crowd stood gathered around him, a festive cheer in the  air at an occasion full of such promise. His eyes picked out Diana in  the second row, her gaze carefully averted from his. His blood fizzled  in his veins, his prepared speech flying out the window.

"I'm sure you've all heard the joke that love is temporary insanity,  cured by marriage." He paused as scattered laughter filled the room.  "While I think that is hardly the case with Tony and Annabelle, who are  two of the most perfectly matched people I have ever encountered, make  no mistake about it," he underscored harshly, "marriage is hard."

The room went so silent you could hear the clinking of swizzle sticks  as the bartenders mixed drinks. "Marriage isn't just about finding a  person you love," he continued, oblivious to the agitated stare Rory was  throwing him, "because I think that does happen. I do think falling in  love is possible. What's far harder is staying in love. Finding someone  you can live with. Finding someone whose hopes and dreams, whose  ideologies, mirror yours so when the going gets tough, when the  inevitable realities of life intrude, that bond has the strength to  support you both past the attraction that drew you together."

He paused, the voices in his head warning him to stop, but his heart  wouldn't let him. Rory looked panic-stricken now, his gaze imploring him  to rein it in. Annabelle was chewing on her lip, staring at him. Tony  was frowning with that deliberate calm of his.

Coburn shrugged. "Someone neglected to tell me that you can love a  person madly, blindly, but it still isn't going to work if you can't  accept each other's flaws and imperfections. That," he added  deliberately, looking at Diana, "sometimes love isn't enough."

Diana's dark eyes shone almost black in her chalk-white face. Every  party, every social function, every night he'd come home to an empty  house flashed through his head in rapid-fire succession to counter the  stab of pain that lanced through him.

He removed his gaze from his wife and pinned it on Tony and Annabelle.  Tony had an arm around his fiancée's waist now, his expression furious.  Coburn dipped his chin. "All of this to say, sometimes one of those  once-in-a-lifetime union     s comes along you know will never suffer the  fate of others. That you know is the deep and everlasting variety. Tony  and Annabelle, I know that you will thrive and prosper together because  you are one of those union     s. I am so looking forward to watching  you grow old together."

The look on Tony's face said their friendship might not last the next  ten minutes. He ignored it and lifted his glass. "Here's to Tony and  Annabelle, one of the special ones... A lifetime of happiness to you  both."

The crowd lifted their glasses in stunned silence. Coburn drank deeply,  moved to embrace Tony, who muttered an expletive in his ear, then  dropped a kiss on the cheek of a bemused Annabelle, who looked as if she  wanted to kill him only slightly less than Tony did. "You might want to  address some of those repressed feelings," she suggested drily.

Or not. He stepped back as the couple was surrounded by well-wishers,  ignored Rory's scowl and headed for the terrace and some much-needed  fresh air. In fact, he thought, perhaps the whole disaster of an evening  might lie in breathing the same air as his erstwhile wife.

The crisp, cool late-August night wrapped itself around him like an  embrace, a slight breeze teasing the hair at the base of his neck. He  yanked his tie looser and undid the top couple of buttons of his shirt.  He had been way out of line in there, but some inexplicable force had  insisted he tell the truth. And why the hell had she chosen tonight to  resurface?         

     



 

High-heeled shoes clicked on the concrete. He didn't have to turn  around to know it was Diana. He knew her tread, her gait, how those long  legs of hers ate up the distance.

"How could you?"

He wheeled to face her. "How could you? These are my friends."

She came to a halt in front of him. A flush spread across her perfect  alabaster skin, staining her cheeks a soft pink. "They're my friends,  too. Annabelle asked me to come."

"Then, you should have declined," he said harshly. "You've spent twelve  months avoiding me, avoiding anything about us, and you choose tonight  to resurface?" He shook his head. "Usually your social etiquette is  dead-on Diana, but tonight it's been left sorely wanting."

Her eyes darkened into furious black orbs, her fingers clutching her  evening bag tight. "I would say your social etiquette is what's lacking  tonight, Coburn. First your insulting throwaway comment everyone heard,  then your telling speech about how much you hated being married to me."

"What?" he drawled mockingly. "You didn't like the joke? I thought it  particularly apt given our present situation, because it certainly was  insanity what we shared. Or perhaps you didn't like me suggesting you  have flaws? Letting the world in on your dirty little secret?"

"No," she said slowly, the flush in her cheeks descending to stain her  chest with a matching rosy hue. "Your poor taste in the speech I can  take, although I'm sure Tony and Annabelle won't be thanking you later.  It was your inappropriate comment to Rory I thought excessively  juvenile."