CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER TWO
V IOLET WAS VERY good at giving herself pep talks.
Oblivious of the luxurious silver car and its driver, she was focussed on psyching herself up for the happy event.
You’ve got this , she told herself. Just smile and get through today, for Grace’s sake...
It had been a very tricky week.
She should be used to them by now.
Once a social worker had described Violet’s life as a rollercoaster ride.
Violet had begged to differ.
Oh, it was more than a rollercoaster. There were waltzers and ghost trains, halls of mirrors... It felt as if she’d been handed life entry to a theme park the moment she’d arrived on planet earth. A social worker had been present in the delivery room, waiting to whisk her away. Then her childhood had been a mixture of chaotic parents interspersed with foster homes.
She’d ached for peace.
For a home...
For a normal family...
Her one glimpse of that had been Grace and her mother, whom Violet had grown up calling Mrs Andrews. Both had been so very kind. There had been cake or a biscuit after school, sometimes help with her homework. At times Mrs Andrews would be putting on some washing and had offered to add her uniform, giving Violet a dressing gown to put on. Sometimes she’d trim her hair. Mrs Andrews had been the one to help with her first period, and had always had plenty to spare when it came to products.
‘I bought far too many,’ she’d say. Or, ‘They were in the sale.’
Josephine Andrews had been more of a mother than her own.
At sixteen, Violet had torn up her theme park ticket.
With the help of a new and wonderful social worker, as well as encouragement from Grace and Mrs Andrews, she had been offered a full time job at the local library and had moved to semi-independent living. She’d had her own room, kitchen and bathroom, and had been responsible for all the bills. Without the chaos of her parents her little home had been tidy, and her bills, even if it had meant living on a lot of soup, had always been paid on time.
She’d soon become fully independent, moving into a flat of her own choice, and though her flatmates had changed over the years—Grace being the latest—she remained there to this day.
Her parents, though they had long since moved away, had left her quite a reputation to contend with.
Now, at twenty-five, Violet was pretty much unbreakable—or at least she appeared that way.
She was cheeky and fun...and everyone thought her a little ‘out there’. Thanks to her quick wit and voracious nature, some considered her bold, and even a bit of a flirt.
In truth, it was all a facade. Violet had learnt long ago never to show weakness, let alone fear. Her upbringing meant she was suspicious of men, and had barely been kissed, but lately she was doing her level best to get over all that, and had even joined a dating site.
Her job at the library had always been her saving grace. She loved her work and her colleagues, considered the regular clients her friends, but last Monday her lack of schooling and formal qualifications had finally caught up with her. The powers that be had decided on a restructure, and an HR woman she had never even met had informed Violet she was being given two weeks’ notice.
The library was her place in the world. As her family structure had changed, as flatmates had come and gone, her workplace had been her constant.
The news, though not entirely unexpected, had shattered her. Not that she’d shown it. But it had shaken her so much that just yesterday she had asked to use a precious week of annual leave before returning to serve out the final week of her notice.
Financially a poor choice, perhaps—after all, she’d soon have plenty of time on her hands.
Emotionally, it had been her only one.
Violet hid when she was hurt, and this had wounded her.
She hadn’t told a soul—not even Grace, who was all floaty and insisting this marriage to the Carter Bennett had nothing to do with money.
Violet had long been worried that Grace was heading for a financial crisis as she cared for her mother.
She had tapped Carter’s name into the library computer the very second she’d heard it, and blushed at the groom’s reputation. Then she’d sighed when she’d read about his billion-dollar empire and his wrestling for his grandfather’s estate—marriage was the key that would release it.
Oh, Grace...
Still, she thought as she breathed in the late-summer air, it wasn’t Grace’s choice of husband that was filling her with dread. It was the thought of the little ceremony ahead...
When Violet had been around eighteen, things with Mrs Andrews had changed.
It had started with the occasional offhand comment, which Violet had brushed off. Then a couple of rather spiteful things had been said, which Violet had tried to ignore. It had culminated in a dreadful confrontation, when Mrs Andrews had accused her of stealing a necklace—even threatening to call the police.
That had been awful enough, but it had been the doubt from Grace that had hurt the most and almost cost them their friendship.
But Grace had finally broken down and admitted that her mother had become suspicious and terrified of everyone, and then she had sadly been diagnosed with early onset dementia...
Mrs Andrews hadn’t known what she was saying, and Violet accepted that, but her accusation had been so personal, so hurtful, so caustic... Especially from the woman whom she’d adored since she was a little girl.
And the doubt from Grace, no matter how brief, and the glimpse of the knowledge that she might be dropped by her friend had devastated Violet, even if she’d never let it show.
Violet hadn’t really seen Mrs Andrews since, but now she was about to.
Mrs Andrews barely recognised even her own daughter, but Grace wanted one happy photo...one shining picture on her wedding day...with those she and her husband were closest to.
Violet felt ill at the thought of it—terrified, not just for herself but of any confrontation that might ruin Grace’s special day.
Perhaps she should suggest not going in?
It was something Violet was still pondering as the doors to the nursing home opened. It was the groom—Carter. Violet recognised him not just by the morning suit but by her little snoop on the internet, so she fixed on a dazzling smile and, pulling herself from the wall, greeted the man who was—from all she had read—a completely reprobate groom.
‘You must be Carter...’ Violet said—and didn’t add the man taking advantage of my friend ...
Instead, determined to get through this day, she smiled and shook his hand.
Only when Carter had appeared did Sahir get out of the car and approach.
‘Sahir.’ Carter shook his hand. ‘Thank you for being here today.’ He introduced the bridesmaid. ‘This is Grace’s close friend, Violet.’
‘Violet.’ Sahir nodded, and briefly met eyes that were a vivid blue, though they barely met his. Her interest was clearly fixed on the groom.
With the introductions made, Carter caught sight of the box Violet held. ‘We said no gifts!’
‘Oh, people always say that...’ she dismissed, her voice trailing off as Carter turned and peered through the door of the nursing home.
Sahir watched as, with Carter’s back turned, Violet Lewis’s smile faded and her blue eyes narrowed in suspicious assessment.
Ah, so she wasn’t sure about this union either!
‘Here comes Grace,’ Carter said, and Sahir watched as the single bridesmaid in this very small celebration turned her smile back on like a light.
‘Grace,’ Carter said, ‘this is Sahir.’
Well, the bride wasn’t quite the gold-digger he’d been expecting. She looked sweet and natural.
Sahir was not being cold in his expectations. Not only was he aware of the financial implications of this union, his status meant that at several weddings he’d attended Sahir had been placed in the awkward situation of dealing with a bride determined to flirt—and not with her groom.
Indeed! It was, at times, quite perilous being a prince.
‘It’s so lovely to meet you, Your... Sahir.’ Grace’s smile wavered, and he knew Carter would have warned her not to reveal his status. She was clearly unsure how to proceed. ‘Carter told me you’ve worked on a lot of projects together.’
‘Indeed...’ Sahir nodded.
‘We’ll only be spending a few moments in there,’ Grace explained. ‘Mum seems good today, but she can get a little confused.’
‘I understand.’
Grace turned her attention to Violet then. ‘Oh, you look incredible! Your dress...’ Her jubilation faded when she saw the parcel Violet held. ‘We said no gifts.’
‘You did,’ Violet agreed, and Sahir blinked as she went on to elaborate. ‘Honestly—it’s really the most annoying thing to find on a wedding invitation. As if I wasn’t going to buy you a present!’
‘We meant it,’ Grace said. ‘There’s nowhere to put it.’
Sahir saw she really was a bundle of nerves as she tried to hand Violet a spray of flowers.
‘And you have to hold these...’
‘Here,’ Sahir offered, and relieved Violet of the box. ‘I’ll keep it in my car.’
He did so, placing her gift next to his. To his own surprise, curiosity got the better of him and he briefly peeked at the attached tag.
Violet’s message was far more effusive than his!
Something about soulmates ... eternal happiness ...
Yet for all Violet’s written hopes for them, as he returned to the small party the bridesmaid seemed reluctant to go in.
‘Grace,’ she said to her friend, ‘why don’t I just wait out here?’
‘But I want you in the photos. The photographer’s already inside.’
‘I do tend to upset her, though.’ Violet lifted her hand in a wavering gesture. ‘Perhaps we can just have photos of us outside? Or at the restaurant later?’
‘Violet, she won’t even recognise you—she barely even knows who I am now.’
Sahir’s curiosity was piqued—why wouldn’t Violet want to be recognised?
‘Ready?’ Carter checked, and Grace took a breath and nodded.
It really was a rather odd function...
The couple walked ahead, and as he held the door open Violet stepped in, all smiles as the photographer clicked away.
‘Gosh, I thought we’d have a moment to...’ Violet muttered, more to herself than him, as they stood outside a lounge room where the small celebration was taking place.
As the bride and groom walked in to the oohs and ahs of the residents he looked away from the happy couple to the bridesmaid.
‘Our turn now,’ she said, and gave him a smile—no sign now of the nerves that he’d witnessed when she’d been alone outside.
Then he met her eyes...clear, sparkly and that gorgeous shade of blue.
No sign there either.
‘Shall we?’
He offered his arm as they were summoned. Moving the bouquet to her other hand, she took it, and he briefly caught her wrist.
There was his sign.
In that second he felt her pulse tripping in panic, felt the ice of her skin. And beneath the perfumed air that surrounded her was the indescribable yet to a trained warrior unmissable scent of fear.
Sahir glanced over. There was nothing in her expression that gave it away. Her hand had positioned itself on his arm, her fingers were as light as a little bird’s foot wrapped around a finger, and there was not even a slight tremble that he could detect on the bare arm next to his.
But for whatever reason, Sahir knew she was terrified.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he offered.
‘Of course.’
It was a very sedate affair.
There was a small cake on a silver stand, champagne and sherry had been served, and waiters were poised to serve afternoon tea to the residents.
The bride’s mother seemed too young to be in the nursing home. She sat there in a high-backed chair, her hair the same deep brown as her daughter’s and her skin smooth, with hardly a line.
‘A wedding?’ She looked at her daughter. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I need to get ready.’
‘You are ready,’ Grace responded, clearly used to reassuring her. ‘In a moment or two we’re going to cut the cake.’
‘Grace?’ she checked. ‘You’re getting married?’ She peered at Carter. ‘To him?’
Carter, as if he hadn’t been there before, politely shook her hand. ‘Mrs Andrews.’
‘Violet...’ The mother of the bride smiled in delight when she saw her. ‘You’re here too?’
‘Hello, Mrs Andrews.’
She let go of his arm and stepped forward to embrace the seated mother of the bride.
‘Josephine,’ she corrected. ‘I keep telling you to call me that. I haven’t been called Mrs Andrews since...’
Then she frowned, and there the pleasantries ended.
‘You’ve got a nerve...’ She started to rise from her seat. ‘Thief! ’
‘Please, Mum...’ Grace was frantically trying to calm her mother down and throwing anxious, awkward looks towards her bridesmaid, who stood, frozen, as the tirade continued.
‘Violet Lewis!’ Mrs Andrews sneered. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’
Only then did Sahir realise that Violet was wearing a dusting of blusher—her face had turned so pale that the pink now seemed gouged into her cheeks. In fact, she looked like a porcelain doll, her eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick painted on to pale, pale features.
Yet still she pushed out a smile. ‘I’ll go. I’m upsetting you...’ Her voice was bright, though a little too high.
Sahir heard the swish of her gown and the click of her heels as she moved quickly out of the room .
‘Damn thief!’ Mrs Andrews ranted. ‘We all know it was you!’
‘Mum...’ Grace was pleading, but clearly torn, and when Carter stepped in to help, she ran after her friend. ‘Violet...’
As he was best man, and very used to taking control, Sahir did his duty and tried to help Carter calm the mother of the bride—but to no avail.
‘Who’s he?’ Mrs Andrews demanded, eyeing him with suspicion. ‘What’s he doing in my home?’
And Sahir knew it was best that he too leave.
Even though she’d been half expecting it, so many dreadful memories were flooding back, and Violet was deeply shaken as she walked briskly down the corridor.
‘Violet, wait!’ Grace was clearly distressed as she caught up with her. ‘Mum doesn’t mean it...’
‘I know that. She’s confused and doesn’t know what she’s saying...’
Grace looked as if she was on the verge of breaking down. ‘I honestly thought things would be okay...’
‘And they shall be,’ Violet reassured her. ‘So long as she doesn’t get another glimpse of me. Go back in and enjoy things. I’ll wait outside...’ She gave her brightest smile. ‘You can make it up to me with champagne later.’ Violet squeezed Grace’s hands. ‘Forget it happened.’
Violet couldn’t forget it, though.
She stepped outside and took a huge breath, determined not to cry. Her nails were digging into her palms as she tried to steady her breathing, and she felt a hot tear splash out.
‘Damn,’ she cursed, thankful that she was alone. Well, apart from a woman leaning on her car—but she was too busy looking at her phone to notice.
Even so, Violet moved to the side of the building.
It was possibly a throwback from her childhood, but Violet loathed the thought of anyone seeing her upset or knowing that she was feeling vulnerable.
Yet despite her efforts to contain them, the tears kept right on coming.
She scrabbled in her purse, even while knowing she hadn’t brought a tissue. Violet was simply too used to picking herself up and carrying on rather than caving in to tears.
Just not today.
She sniffed and dabbed under her eyes, then saw the black ink of running mascara on her thumbs.
‘Here...’
She started as she saw the best man was offering the pocket square from his morning suit. ‘I’d ruin it,’ she sniffed. ‘You’d never get your deposit back.’
‘Take it.’
‘Please go.’
‘I can’t. It’s my duty to ensure things go smoothly.’
‘So, I’m part of your duty ?’
‘You are,’ he said, relieving her of the bouquet.
Having placed it on the ground, he held out the square of silk again, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were closed and she was back to leaning against the wall and scolding herself. ‘Stop it, Violet.’
Sahir had another suggestion. ‘Breathe.’
She did as he said and inhaled deeply, and then she did it again, before speaking urgently. ‘Grace mustn’t see how upset I am.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t expect smiles after all that.’
‘I don’t cry...’ Violet attempted to explain the anomaly this was. ‘I mean, I never cry.’
‘Violet, you did suggest not going in.’
‘I did.’
‘Grace should have listened.’
‘Yes, but...’ It felt important to defend her friend and explain that her tears weren’t all Grace’s fault. ‘It’s not just her mother that’s upset me...’ She gulped. ‘It’s been a wretched week.’
She took out a mirror from her purse and tried to dab at her black tears, then gave in and asked for the silk square.
It just made things worse, spreading mascara like soot across her pale cheeks.
‘Allow me...’
Sahir went back around to the front of the residence and discreetly waved at Layla to stay back.
It didn’t feel like enough, though.
Usually he snapped his fingers, or passed problems on to someone else, and he knew Layla was poised to come over.
But he doubted Violet would appreciate an audience.
Taking out his phone, he fired off a quick text to tell Layla it was a private situation, and then stepped into the nursing home for some supplies to deal with a teary bridesmaid.
There wasn’t much on hand!
He returned with only a bottle of water.
Violet was hunched over, holding herself, her body a ball of tension as she fought not to cry.
‘Stand up,’ he said, pouring water on the silk. ‘And do as I say.’
‘I don’t want you to see me,’ she admitted, but she did as she was told and unfurled herself.
‘Too late,’ he said, his voice matter-of-fact. ‘Now, drop your shoulders.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we want you to appear happy and serene for Grace, and we have ten or fifteen minutes to achieve that.’
She sniffed.
‘So, drop your shoulders and chin up.’
‘Okay...’ She forced protesting shoulders down, and when she elongated her neck he saw that it was flushed, as was her chest.
To Sahir’s surprise he found he wanted to take her in his arms, to let her cry, but he chose to focus on the task he’d just outlined—to return her to order rather than let her fall further apart.
‘I’m truly sorry about this,’ she said, and shuddered as he very carefully dabbed her cheeks with the cool silk.
Gosh, her eyes seemed almost familiar, he thought, though he’d never met her before.
‘Look up,’ he instructed, dabbing gently at the little flecks of black mascara that clung to her fair lashes, and although she did as instructed, she voiced a question.
‘How do you know how to do this?’
‘I have a very emotional sister.’
Her full, trembling mouth smiled.
Almost.
Then, as he worked on wiping away the streaks on her cheeks, he listened as she tried to explain the anomaly that this was.
‘I’m honestly the last person to cry. I mean that. Grace would be so upset if she saw me.’
‘Don’t think about it now, or you’ll get upset again. Think...’
‘Happy thoughts?’ she scoffed.
‘Neutral thoughts,’ he corrected, but then he paused, for usually he was not one for admitting that he was anything other than completely together. Nor was he one for sharing the tactics he used when a surge of emotion threatened to hit him, and how he managed to remain impassive even in the most trying of times. ‘It works. Just focus on something that you find neither happy nor sad.’
‘Such as...?’
‘It’s different for everyone...something that doesn’t excite you.’
‘Filing the late returns,’ she said. And even though he had no idea what that meant, at least she was talking. ‘I don’t hate it; I don’t enjoy it. I just...’ But then she took a shuddering breath and her tears were starting again. ‘Oh, I’m going to miss...’ She shook her head as if trying to clear it. ‘What’s your neutral?’
‘I have many.’
‘Share one.’ Her voice sounded urgent. ‘Please!’
Those stunning eyes moved to meet his, and while Sahir usually had a plethora of neutral thoughts he could rapidly summon, for a second or two he had none. Her eyes were familiar. They were the same deep intense blue of the lapis lazuli embedded in the walls of the observatory. The colour of a clear night sky, with flecks of gold and silver. But they were by far too enchanting to explore.
Instead of dabbing her cheeks, he moved his hand so it rested on the wall by the side of her head as he attempted to find something neutral.
‘Cricket,’ he said, and saw her nose wrinkle. ‘At my school they were very serious about it.’
‘Did you play?’
‘I had no choice—I was very good at it. I have excellent hand-eye co-ordination. I was captain in my final year.’
‘Yet you hate it?’
‘No,’ he reminded. ‘Neutral.’
He knew she smiled—not because of her lips, but because he saw her tears dry and how her eyes shone with the escape he briefly gave her—so he gave her a little more.
‘My birthday is in July—the middle of cricket season. I would get tickets to matches, a piece of cricket art, another bat...’ He said it with all the lack of enthusiasm those gifts had mustered, and yet he smiled as he shared the memory.
His smile stole her breath—and also the newly found calm he had so recently brought. For how could she summon neutral thoughts as he smiled right into her eyes? How did she attempt neutral when she was suddenly aware of the proximity of his mouth and the fact that his hand rested on the wall behind her head?
He could never know how nervous this moment made her.
Or that she’d never enjoyed male company, even though she’d tried.
How could this man know that she didn’t do eye contact when she was staring so readily and so deeply into his eyes?
He was exquisite—but how hadn’t she seen it until now? Possibly she’d been far too busy trying to work out the playboy groom to pay attention to his suave, good-looking friend.
On the periphery of her vision she’d noticed the elegant man climbing from a silver car, and as they’d walked to the lounge she had been a little too aware of his exotic scent, but very deliberately she’d paid him little heed.
Another rich playboy, going along with the charade...
Now, though, she met eyes that were as black as night—or were they a very dark navy? She could just make out the iris. His hair wasn’t just black, it was raven—a true blue-black, and a shade she’d never seen.
‘Breathe,’ he told her again, and she was grateful for the reminder—even though it wasn’t the prior upset that had caused her body to malfunction again, it was the shock of such beauty close up.
Violet took in his stunning bone structure, his sculpted cheeks and straight nose, then moved her gaze down to lips that were so perfect they had to be the prototype...the one God and the angels had first designed. Every other mortal had got some variation, for these lips she was now staring at were perfection. A little large, but not anything other than deliciously so, and there was a neat pale line around the cupid’s bow that made her breath hitch. And how did you get a razor into that cleft in his chin...?
She watched his lips as they spoke. ‘Your cheeks are very pink,’ he said.
‘Yes...’ Violet croaked, putting her hands up and feeling their heat as he removed his hand from the wall.
‘Can you calm them? So Grace doesn’t see you’ve been crying?’
‘Yes, yes...’ She went into her bag, pathetically pleased he’d blamed the sudden burning flush on her earlier boo-hoo.
She opened up her compact, but she was all fingers and thumbs. Without a word he took it, but first he offered again the use of the square of silk.
‘Blow your nose.’
She did so noisily, frantically trying to think of something to say so that he didn’t notice her sudden, almost violent attraction.
It was something she’d never encountered before, and she was flailing as he opened the compact and dabbed powder on her cheeks.
‘What’s your sister’s name?’ she asked.
‘Jasmine,’ he said, as he powdered the tip of her reddened nose. ‘She used to cry all the time.’
‘And now?’
Sahir said nothing in response.
‘Now?’
‘Now she’s tougher—or perhaps she cries to her husband rather than me.’
He offered the bottle of water for her to gulp and it really helped. Not just with the tears, but to snap her back to her normal senses. Yes, he was being nice, but if he was a good friend of Carter’s... Well, according to Violet’s research, he must be an utter bastard too.
She must not lose sight of that!
‘Why are you looking at me the same way you looked at the groom?’
‘What way was that?’
His gorgeous eyes narrowed, imitating hers.
‘Birds of a feather...?’ Violet said.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Flock together,’ she added, but then felt guilty. After all, the same had long been said about her. Yet she at least had broken the cycle and flown the coop.
‘So, you are suspicious of this union?’
‘It’s not my place to say.’
Even if they both refused to say it outright, it would seem they were both in agreement—this marriage really was a farce.
Still, whether it was his emotional sister, or his hordes of previous women-friends, he knew about repair jobs with make-up, Violet decided as she peered into the mirror.
‘Wow, even I’d hardly know. Thank you, Sahid.’
‘Sahir,’ he corrected.
‘Oh, yes...’ She took a breath. ‘Sahir.’ She nodded, as if locking it in as they emerged around the side of the care home. ‘And thank you for not asking what that was all about.’
They parted ways as the doors opened and the couple emerged.
‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Sahir murmured, his voice low and for her ears only.
And it might just as well have been dipped in chocolate and slathered in cream, because it was the closest thing to vocal seduction Violet had ever known.
‘After all,’ he added, ‘the night is still young.’