The Christmas Eve Bride

‘The flowers?’ the beautiful brunette questioned.

‘I’m allergic to them.’ Rocco told the lie with a straight face.

‘Oh, no!’ Kaye surged over to the centre table as if jet-propelled. Gathering up the giant glass vase, she planted it bodily into Amber’s hastily extended arms. ‘Take them away immediately. I’m so sorry, Rocco!’

Her sweater soaked by the water that had slopped out of the vase with the other woman’s careless handling, Amber headed for the corridor at speed, her shaken expression hidden by the mass of trendy corkscrew twigs and lilies she had arranged earlier that day. It was ironic that she should be grateful for Rocco’s quick thinking, even more relieved that her employer’s wife had not come in a minute sooner and found her in his bedroom. How on earth would she ever have explained that?

Indeed, how could she even explain to herself why she had allowed Rocco to behave as he had? She had acted like a doll without mind or voice and offered no objection to his touching her. Sick with shame at her own weakness, Amber disposed of the floral arrangement and pulled on her work boots again with unsteady hands. Rocco was bored. Rocco was playing manipulative games with her to amuse himself. Dear heaven, that hurt her so much. And she knew it shouldn’t hurt, knew she should have been fully on her guard and capable of resisting Rocco’s smouldering sexuality.

Wasn’t she supposed to hate him? Well, hatred had kept her far from cool when he’d turned up the heat. And there she was blaming him when she ought to be blaming herself! Rocco had made her want him again…instantly, easily, reawakening the hunger she had truly believed she had buried for ever. But with every skin-cell alight with anticipation, she had just been desperate for him to kiss her. And he hadn’t kissed her either, which told her just how complete his own control had been in comparison to her own.

Well, she was going to spend the rest of the weekend at her sister’s house and stay well out of Rocco’s way, she told herself impulsively. Then she recalled that she couldn’t do that. True, she was babysitting at her sister’s that evening, but she had to work Saturdays and would have to turn in as usual. Harris Winton was usually home only at weekends and the reason Amber got a day off mid-week instead was that her employer insisted that she be available for his weekly inspection tour of the grounds.

She trudged round to the old coachyard and climbed into the ten-year-old hatchback her brother-in-law, Neville, had given her on loan, saying it had been a trade-in for one of the luxury cars he imported, but not really convincing her with that less-than-likely story. Furthermore, the car was on permanent loan, Amber reflected heavily, once again reminded of just how dependent she was on Neville and Opal’s generosity.

The independence she had sought was as far out of her reach as it had ever been, she conceded heavily. Her sole source of pride was that she was no longer living under her sister’s roof. But she was only able to work because she shared the services of the expensive but very well-trained nanny her sister employed to look after her own child. Amber’s low salary would not stretch to full-time childcare or indeed towards much of a contribution towards the nanny’s salary. So she kept on saying thank you to her family and accepting for Freddy’s sake, striving to repay their generosity by making herself useful in other ways. It occurred to her then that she could have wiped the sardonic smile from Rocco’s darkly handsome features with just a few words.

As she drove over to the exclusive housing development where her sister lived, she asked herself why she hadn’t spoken those words to Rocco when she had finally got the opportunity.

‘Rocco Volpe is pond scum,’ her sister, Opal, had pronounced on the day of Freddy’s birth. ‘But I’d sooner cut my throat than watch you humiliate yourself trailing him through the courts to establish paternity and win a financial settlement. Rich men fight paternity suits every step of the way. The whole process can drag on for years, particularly when the father is not a British citizen. He could leave the country and stonewall you at every turn. Keep your pride…that’s my advice.’