November Harlequin Presents 2(207)

‘Why did you get it, then?’ Lily asked, laughing at his indignation.

‘The interior designer chose it.’ Hunter put on an effeminate voice. ‘To provide a soothing focal point.’

She was only half listening, staring now out of the glass wall into the night.

The most beautiful man she had ever seen, the most complex, engaging of characters was hers to explore, to adore, to be with, and as if sensing her thoughts he crossed the room and stood behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. He leaned slightly on her shoulder as he pressed his cheek against hers and gazed out at into the night, watching the birds swirling around the lights of the Arts Centre, the noisy, vibrant city of Melbourne, silent through the thick glass.

‘My sister liked you.’ Hunter’s low voice bought her out of her daydream and Lily smiled as she leant back into him.

‘I liked her, though she’s nothing like I imagined.’

‘In what way?’

‘I just expected…’ Lily bit her tongue, her choice of words perhaps a touch harsh, but from the way Hunter had described his sister Lily had been expecting a bitter, depressed woman, one struggling to come to terms with her injuries. Yet Emma had appeared anything but—her smile was infectious, her sheer joy and passion for life blatant. She was either a brilliant actress or…Lily frowned, unseen by Hunter, confused at the lack of alternatives on offer.

‘Your mum’s great!’ Hunter gave a low laugh.

‘You mean she’s as mad as a cut snake.’ Lily gave a small giggle of her own. ‘She talks about Dad as if he’s just popped over to the bar and will back any minute. It used to worry me, now I just smile.’

‘I still don’t get it.’ Hunter’s grip tightened on her, as if sensing that she’d wriggle away, and he was right, because the second he broached the subject Lily tensed. If his arms hadn’t been firmly holding her, she’d surely have walked away. ‘If you’d had my parents I’d understand your views on love being a bit jaded, but your mum and dad were clearly devoted to each other. Surely, even after what happened with Mark, you’d have a little more faith!’

But, for Lily, more surprising than his insight was that for the first time she wanted to talk about it, actually wanted to share with Hunter a bit of the loneliness she was feeling.

Even if this marriage was devoid of love, there was still closeness, and maybe it would help, maybe telling him what was eating at her now would ease a fraction of her troubled mind.

‘I always thought they were devoted to each other—my childhood was pretty much perfect, I guess.’ She was watching a train far below pull into the station, like a movie with the sound turned off, and somehow it was easier to focus on the lives on the streets below than what she was saying. ‘Mum and Dad were great. Even when I was a teenager I still got on well with them, not like some of my friends…’

‘No rebellion years?’

‘There was nothing to rebel against,’ Lily answered pensively. ‘I truly thought we were all OK.’

His arms tightened around her and she leant back on him, glad of his strength, his solid warmth, grateful, so grateful that he didn’t push her to go on, seemed to understand how hard it was to reveal.

‘This isn’t just about your father dying, is it?’ he said softly as she crumpled. ‘Tell me, Lily.’

‘I don’t want to,’ she whispered. Only somehow she did. Gulping, tentative she told out her story. ‘Just before he died, Mum got it into her head that she wanted to show him some photos. She sent me up to the attic…’

‘Go on,’ Hunter said, and now he was pushing, but Lily was glad to have someone guiding her through this minefield of emotion, glad to have someone strong and assured to cling to as she crept tentatively on. ‘I was in the attic, sorting out old boxes and suitcases. I found some letters.’ She wasn’t crying any more. Her voice was bitter, her words tainted as she lived again the vileness of her discovery. ‘Some from him, some from her.’ Pale lips snarled the words, and Hunter’s expression told her that finally he understood. ‘It wasn’t just a brief fling.’ She answered what hadn’t even been asked, ticked of the list of questions that she’d asked herself back then. ‘It went on for two years. I’d have been about twelve when it started. It was pretty intense…’

‘You read them all?’

‘All of them,’ She nodded, closing her eyes as the torrid words that had been penned all those years ago seemed to dance in her vision. ‘And then I burnt them.’