Mr. Imperfect(37)

Behind her, Sally moved out of Marion's line of sight and dropped the piece of paper in the bin.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN




"NICE PLACE." Realizing the understatement would alert Christian to her  nervousness, Kezia tightened her grip on his house key until it bit into  her palm. Tried again. "Actually, it's fantastic." And not what she  expected. Not stark, minimalist or sterile.

The entry foyer opened into a generous living room and the last of the  sun's rays glowed on butterscotch walls and warmed the terra-cotta floor  tiles. Luxurious sofas were set off by textured drapes and deep Turkish  rugs. Beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, the Auckland Harbor stretched to  a violet horizon. It was exactly like looking at the Plains, except in  blue.

She opened the oak door wider and stepped aside to let Christian pass, a  sleeping John Jason cradled in his arms. She quashed an impulse to jolt  the child awake. Kezia hated being alone with Christian on his turf.

"You can come in, you know." Kezia became aware of Christian watching,  and stepped forward, pulling her battered suitcase. The ancient wheels  gave voice to her reluctance.

She'd delayed this moment as long as possible, lingering at the  restaurant he'd taken them to for dinner until the waitress had  mentioned how much their son looked like his mother.                       
       
           



       

"I thought you and John Jason could sleep through here." Her tension  eased-and that annoyed her. Given her emphatic rejection of his  proposal, he was hardly going to expect to share a bed, now was he? The  room she followed him to was a neutral canvas of whites and blues with  no imprint of its owner. Good.

She pulled back the duvet on one of the two single beds then slipped off  John Jason's trainers. Christian laid him down gently and, with a sigh,  the child burrowed under the covers. Across the bed they shared an  involuntary smile and Kezia's nervousness came back. "I think I'll turn  in, too."

"At eight-thirty? Relax, Kezia. I can't make you do anything you don't  want to." Strangely she didn't find that reassuring. "And we need to  talk-"

"It's still no, Christian."

"About practicalities."

"Oh." Feeling a fool, she followed him through the living room and into a  kitchen, more like the one she'd imagined for him. Beautiful, clear of  clutter and obviously barely used. Christian opened a cupboard and  pulled out a battered copper saucepan, switched on the gas hob. "Hot  chocolate?"

"Sure." She watched him measure in the milk, the powdered chocolate,  gently stir the contents. "Mugs to your right, marshmallows in the  pantry in front."

Okay, maybe he had one or two domestic skills. The pantry held more than  she expected, including a few herbs she'd only read about in cuisine  magazines. "You cook?"

"I'm competent."

"Who taught you?"

"I dated a chef once."

"Figures." Kezia took a seat at the marble island that separated the  kitchen and dining room. "Do you even have any male friends?"

He poured the hot milk into the mugs, added marshmallows. "I've known my  two business partners since university. What are you telling me, your  boyfriends never taught you any life skills?"

She thought about that. "Chess, how to change a tire and do my own oil change. Bill was very knowledgeable about wine."

"See, there's a positive in every relationship, even with William J.  Rankin the Third." Kezia didn't rise to the bait, simply took the hot  drink he passed over. He came around and took the stool beside her.  Hardly threatening behavior, yet she stiffened. "You know what your  legacy was?"

She regarded him warily over the rim of her mug. "Bitterness? Mistrust?"

"Self-belief," he said quietly. "You were the only person who bought  into my dreams and made me believe them." His gaze flicked around the  room, came back to her. "In a real sense I owe all this to you."

The gift, unexpected and generous, compelled an honest response.  "Because you had no expectations of how I should behave, I could play at  being different people, find out who I wanted to be … an uptight, orderly  chocoholic."

He didn't laugh, simply opened a drawer in the island and passed her an  open bar of Toblerone. She took a piece. "You see, before I came to  Waterview I was used to people who expected-"

"Sacrifice."

"Support," she corrected. A lifetime of practice meant she could skirt  around sore spots blindfolded. Still she slipped off the stool, putting  some space between them. "Of course, it was easy for you to encourage my  independence. You didn't need me."

"I pretended not to."

Annoyed, Kezia tipped the rest of her drink into the sink. "Strange you couldn't say any of this last weekend."

"I needed time to get my priorities straight. I came back to try again before I heard about Marion's accident."

"For all I know you might really have been coming back to check up on  renovations. Hell, you might have forgotten a pair of socks." Her mug  hit the counter with a sharp crack. "Excuse me if I don't trust your  sudden change of heart."

"What about yours?" he challenged. "Last week you loved me, this week you don't?"

"Last weekend I was dreaming and Marion's accident was a wake-up call. There are a hundred reasons we wouldn't work out."

"Name them."

"Our history is heartbreaking."

"Our future doesn't have to be."

"I'm country. You're city."

"We'll have the best of both worlds."

"I want a man with no shadows. You live in them."

"I'll buy sunblock."

He wasn't taking this seriously. She took a deep breath. "We caused Marion's accident."                       
       
           



       

"I caused it and she forgave me." The blue of his eyes was clear all the way down to his soul. "You could forgive me too."

Kezia started to feel desperate. "I want to be a good person. You make me selfish."

"I want to be selfish," he said slowly. "You make me a better person."

"I want lots of kids."

"After I've grieved for the one we lost."

"No, Christian." Kezia could hear her voice getting panicky. "No. I don't like the person I am with you."

"I love you, Kez, and I'm not losing you again."

Her hands gripped the edge of the counter. She had no faith anymore-not  in him-not in her own ability to make a difference. "I don't trust your  love."

He didn't even flinch. "Why would you? I've never given you cause to.  You know what's always stopped me in the past? Fear of failure. Well,  I'm tired of losing you to that."

As she stared at him helplessly, a wail came from the bedroom. "I wet the bed!"

Later Kezia watched night tick away on the luminous green dial of the  bedside clock and worked on her strategy. She'd play up her injury, load  Christian down with responsibilities, drown him in the minutiae of her  day-to-day life. Having to perform good deeds would snap him back into  reality quick enough.

Her thoughts turned to Marion. She wondered if her friend was sleeping  or lying awake in the darkness, too, scared and lonely. Full of  self-loathing, Kezia buried her face in the pillow.



"SO HOW'S YOUR WOOIN' DOIN'?"

Christian jammed the mobile phone between his ear and a shoulder and  reached into the back of Kezia's old station wagon for two insulated  containers, one from the lunch pile, one from the dinner pile. "She's  still trying to shake me off with the twelve tasks of Hercules."

On the other end of the line, Jordan laughed. "What are you doing today … strangling lions or killing a nine-headed monster?"

"Delivering golden apples to the ancients. Meals-On-Wheels."

Christian had to put down the containers and hold the phone away. With  the other hand he waved an acknowledgment to Bernice May who sat on the  love seat on her front porch. "Give me a minute," he called.

Her foot began to tap impatiently. "You're already twenty minutes late,"  she yelled back. "My blood sugar's lower than a politician's IQ."

"Blame Kez's rust bucket!" He returned the phone to his ear. Jordan was  still laughing. Christian punished him by ringing off, picked up the  containers and made for the porch.

"Where's your fancy car?" the old lady demanded.

"Not enough boot space."

"Humph. All that money for no storage."

"Bernice May, you don't buy a Ferrari for its storage capacity. Besides,  you think I want it smelling of breaded chicken with mushroom gravy?"