Mother Of The Bride

Helen didn't know which one to be angrier with, Zack for accepting the invitation and so creating the situation in the first place—he could have avoided going tonight without hurting Emily's feelings too much, if he had tried, and he had to know the dissension it would cause among the family!—or her father for adding to the problem by behaving so stubbornly.

In the end it didn't really matter which of them was to blame; she felt totally agitated, throwing aside the black dress when she realised how late it had become while she tried to persuade her father, defiantly putting on the blue cashmere. It was bad enough that she was going to have to make excuses for her father's absence that would satisfy Emily, but for her to be late on top of that would be unforgivable.

Sheer frustration with the whole situation had been enough to instil a certain amount of bravado into her actions; her hair was brushed back in a casually wind-swept style, her make-up was slightly heavier than usual, her lashes long and thick from the mascara she had liberally applied, her lids shaded with blue shadow, her lip-gloss a deeper red than she wore in the day, making her lips fuller.

As she faced Zack across the reception area of the restaurant she knew she looked gracefully tall and slender, the heels on her black shoes adding to her height, her dark colouring against the blue of the dress a startling contrast. It was obvious from the speculation in Zack's gaze as he slowly looked her up and down that he was very aware of the change in her appearance.

He looked as assuredly attractive as he usually did, in a dark suit and snowy white shirt, the latter making his skin look darkly tanned; he was standing across from her with an ease that was totally deceptive, Helen knew, leashed power in the wide shoulders and tapered thighs, exuding an air of masculinity that was completely unaffected.

Helen wondered how she had ever allowed herself to enter into the sort of marriage she had with this man. She must have been mad!

‘Not that you don't always look beautiful.’ His mouth twisted wryly as he realised what he had said to her in greeting.

‘Stop back-pedalling, Zack,’ she derided. ‘We both know how I usually look.’ And it was nothing like this!

As he moved to her side, the light overhead caught in the darkness of his hair, giving it an ebony sheen, dark hair that was still damp from having been recently washed. Helen knew that Zack would have showered before coming out tonight, had his second shave of the day. The fact that she knew his movements so intimately unsettled her even further.

‘Why do you always have to put yourself down in that way?’ he rasped now, standing so close that she could smell his aftershave, that elusively masculine smell that was so much a part of him. She could never recognise the smell of this aftershave on other men without thinking of Zack; it could be very disconcerting. ‘I've never denied you're a beautiful woman,’ he told her abruptly.

Helen had never been very impressed with the way she looked, had never actually had a lot of time, with a job to do and a small child to bring up, to take a lot of notice of it. And the truth of it was, the way she looked had made no difference in either of her marriages; they had both been disasters. Her first marriage had been entered into when she was too young to know what she was doing, and the second marriage—that was too complicated to even think about!

‘And you know about beautiful women, don't you, Zack?’ she derided drily.

His eyes narrowed coldly. ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ His voice was soft, dangerously so.

Braver people than her had been quelled beneath the power of that withering gaze, and in fact it took all of her will-power not to be counted among their number, but she couldn't allow herself to be cowed by this man. ‘You know very well—–'

‘We're a mere two minutes late and already they're at each other's throats,’ remarked a lightly mocking voice.

She and Zack had been so engrossed in their conversation that neither of them had been aware of Greg and Emily entering the restaurant together, looking at the two of them with the indulgent affection usually shown towards recalcitrant children!

Zack met his son's gaze challengingly, and if Helen had been going to make a reply it was never uttered as she watched in mute fascination while Emily turned laughingly to Greg, her hand resting briefly against his arm as she did so. Her left hand. And on the third finger of that hand winked a diamond and emerald ring.

An engagement ring …?

CHAPTER THREE (#u06f0b525-21d8-5e8e-a4d6-4cc464501101)

‘MUMMY, you look marvellous!’ Emily moved forward to hug her, long dark hair cascading wildly almost to her waist, briefly enveloping Helen in its perfumed silkiness. She moved back, green eyes admiring as she looked at Helen, still clasping her hands lightly in hers. ‘New dress?'

Helen had always marvelled at how she had managed to produce this gloriously beautiful creature, Emily being petite in the extreme, fresh and beautiful in a typically English rose type of way: clear creamy complexion that needed no make-up, green eyes glowing with health and vitality, her only artificial colouring the dark red lip-gloss. And somehow Emily could wear anything and still look wonderful—even the loose black lace dress she wore tonight, which didn't quite reach her ankles, and the flat black ballet-type slippers. On anyone else the outfit would have looked drab and shapeless; Emily just looked vivaciously lovely.

Helen was so proud of her ethereally beautiful daughter, had always found it difficult to be stern with her only offspring, but with that ring sparkling on Emily's finger she couldn't afford to be indulgent. ‘Yes, it's a new dress, Emily, as I'm sure you're very aware.’ She mocked her daughter's delaying tactic. ‘But I don't think—–'

‘You look gorgeous, Helen.’ Greg kissed her warmly on the cheek. ‘Doesn't she, Dad?’ He looked challengingly at his father.

Zack's mouth twisted wryly. ‘We've already discussed Helen's appearance before the two of you arrived,’ he dismissed. ‘Now I suggest we go and sit at our table; we're blocking up the entrance,’ he added pointedly as a group of people came in the door and tried to get past them.

‘Zack.’ Emily's face lit up with pleasure as she kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘You look as handsome as ever,’ she teased.

‘Shift, young lady!’ He tapped her lightly on the bottom as the waiter came to show them to their table. ‘The charm isn't going to work tonight,’ he warned darkly, shooting his son a cautioning look too, nodding for the younger couple to precede them into the dining area, and taking a firm grip of Helen's arm so that they walked in side by side.

A united front. How was that for a first? Although that wasn't altogether fair to Zack; he had always listened to her point of view, even if he rarely agreed with it! And she wasn't completely sure how he felt about this latest development, although she knew he couldn't have missed that ring sparkling on Emily's finger.

She had to admit, when she looked at Emily and Greg as they walked ahead of them, they made an attractive couple, Emily so delicately beautiful, Greg looking like a blond god at her side. Greg had inherited his colouring from his mother, long hair gleaming golden on to his shoulders; he moved with the grace of a natural athlete, the baggy suit he wore not detracting from his animal grace.

Emily and Greg looked so right together. Strange, Helen had never noticed that before …

Zack's hand tightened on her arm, his fingers hurting her through the thin wool. ‘God, you're so transparent!’ he rasped disgustedly.

She looked up at him, still dazed by the direction her thoughts had taken.

‘I doubt you would be so disapproving if Greg weren't my son!’ he scorned, releasing her so abruptly that she momentarily lost her balance.

The accusation was so far removed from what she had actually been thinking that it took her several seconds to turn her attention to what he had said.

And in part he was wrong; she would have disapproved of Emily being engaged to anyone now, believed her daughter was far too young to be seriously involved with anyone just yet. The fact that the young man involved was Greg did make the situation more difficult. And as yet neither of them had offered any explanation for that ring on Emily's left hand.

Helen kept trying not to look at it as Emily sat down, but as if to mock and taunt her the candle in the centre of the table seemed to make every facet gleam brighter than ever!

Helen's eyes flashed as she turned to Zack before sitting down. ‘But he is your son,’ she bit out so softly that only he could hear.

He returned her gaze coldly. ‘And how you hate the very thought of it,’ he muttered his distaste for her prejudice before sitting in the chair next to hers.

Of course she hated the thought of it; he couldn't seriously expect her to be thrilled at the prospect of possibly being forced to accept his continued presence in their lives—as Emily's father-in-law this time! Good God, there was another possibility she hadn't even thought of; if—and it was still a big if as far as she was concerned, despite the existence of that ring on Emily's finger!—Emily and Greg really were engaged, and eventually married and had children, she and Zack would be their respective grandparents!

She had believed, hoped, that once her divorce from Zack became final she could forget the marriage had ever taken place at all. This unforeseen situation could make that impossible!

The sooner she established exactly what was going on between Emily and Greg, the better!

‘Helen believes,’ Zack drawled before she could speak, his gaze raking over her derisively before he turned his attention to the young couple, ‘that the announcement in The Times this morning was a practical joke.'

Greg's hand moved to clasp Emily's in a protective gesture as it rested on top of the white cotton tablecloth. ‘And you?’ he challenged almost defiantly.

‘I think—–’ Zack looked perfectly relaxed as he leaned back in his chair, but that very stillness could hide a dozen emotions, all of them ominous, as Helen very well knew ‘—that you owe us some sort of explanation. Don't you?’ He arched one dark brow.

‘Not now, Zack,’ Emily protested.

‘Now,’ he insisted firmly.

‘But it's my birthday,’ she pouted prettily. ‘And I—Mummy, where's Gramps?’ she frowned suddenly. ‘I thought when we arrived that he must be in the loo, but—he isn't here, is he?’ she realised flatly.

Helen knew that Zack was looking at her, could feel the hard query of his gaze, and she determinedly did not look at him. He knew of the dislike her father had for him, of how stubborn the older man could be, although she had never been able to fault Zack's behaviour towards her father; he had always treated him with respect, no matter what the provocation might have been to do otherwise!

Emily was still looking at her frowningly. ‘Don't tell me,’ she sighed. ‘He wasn't feeling well!'

‘Emily!’ She reproved the sarcastic edge to her daughter's voice. ‘You know your grandfather doesn't enjoy good health.'

‘On the contrary,’ Zack put in softly, ‘he enjoys ill-health.'