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‘I will do this,’ he said, his voice firm and dark. ‘Helena is my wife, this is my marriage, and my company before long. I don’t need the two of you interfering like a couple of old women.’
The brandy had mellowed them, Flynn realised when they both laughed. Time was he’d have been punished for speaking in such a way. But the balance of power had changed now, whether they liked it or not. They couldn’t keep him out, or under their control any longer.
‘Then we’ll leave you to get on with that,’ Ezekiel said, getting to his feet. He placed his empty glass on the table, and Thomas followed suit. ‘We’re flying out in the morning, but I’m sure your mother will make sure we see you before we go.’
Flynn nodded. Morning wasn’t far away now. Not long until it was just him, Helena and the elephant of a post-nup in the middle of the villa. He’d fix this. He had to.
Thomas raised a hand in parting and headed out, but Ezekiel paused in the doorway. ‘Two weeks, Flynn. I expect those papers on my desk within twenty-four hours of your return to London, or I’ll take steps.’
He closed the door behind him before Flynn could respond. Flynn stared around his father’s study, at the inner sanctum that was almost, almost his, and thought about going to talk to his wife.
Then he got up and poured himself another brandy instead. One thing at a time, he decided. And tomorrow, once everyone else had gone, was plenty soon enough.
Especially as he had a sneaking suspicion that Helena wasn’t going to like being handled one little bit.
* * *
The bridal suite was bigger than she remembered. Or maybe it just seemed smaller when Thea was in there with her. It hadn’t even been so bad when the maid was there, loosening the laces of her corset and helping her to step out of the heavy wedding dress.
But now it was just her, alone with the dress hanging from the wardrobe door, and Helena didn’t quite know what to do with herself.
A maid had moved her belongings in, presumably during the reception. Helena wondered whether the wedding planner had asked her to do that, or if it had been Isabella. She wondered where Thea’s things had gone.
She wondered where Thea and Zeke were right now.
Shaking her head, Helena moved over to the chest of drawers under the window, looking for her nightwear. The third drawer she opened yielded results, and she pulled out the slippery satin negligee she’d packed in a ridiculous fit of optimism.
‘Just in case,’ Thea had said when they were packing together, back in London. ‘You know, a high percentage of engaged people in a recent study said that they met their partners at a mutual friend’s wedding. You never know who you might meet!’
She’d known what Thea meant, though, by the suggestion. That it was time for Helena to move on. To start living that part of her life again. She’d never talked with her sister about the hours spent with the counsellor, talking through the memories, nodding meaninglessly as she was told she couldn’t blame herself, that what had happened to her didn’t have to define her life. But probably, in Thea’s mind, it had been eight years and that was long enough to dwell.
How could she explain that knowing those things was one thing, and acting on them another entirely?
So instead she’d pointed out that the only people she was likely to meet at a Morrison-Ashton wedding were clients, most of whom were either already married or too married to their jobs for Helena to be interested in them.
And now look at her. Married to the almost CEO of the family business, the man who put the ‘work’ in ‘workaholic’. Perfect.
She shoved the fancy nightie back in the drawer and slammed it shut. Returning to drawer number two, she yanked out a pair of workout shorts and a T-shirt instead. It wasn’t as if Flynn was going to get the chance to appreciate—or even see—whatever she wore to bed tonight anyway.
Flopping back on to her bed, Helena grabbed her phone from where the maid had helpfully plugged it in to charge and set it on the bedside table. As she stared at the dark screen, a wave of homesick longing flooded through her.
She wanted her sister.
She needed Thea there, to talk through all the craziness. She was the only person in the world who could possibly understand and maybe make sense of all the thoughts and feelings and fears whirling around in Helena’s brain right now. Thea would yell, she was pretty sure, and tell her she was an idiot and she didn’t have to do this. She’d probably cry and feel guilty, too.
But she’d help her fix it, one way or another.
With a sigh, Helena dropped the phone on the bed cover beside her. That, of course, was exactly why she couldn’t phone Thea. For the first time in her life, Thea had chosen to go after what she wanted, what would make her happy, rather than staying behind and helping Helena, or the family, or the business. Helena couldn’t jeopardise that by calling her now, throwing her back into the family lunacy. Thea was out and she was happy. And Helena was going to keep it that way.
Which meant she had to fix this herself.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, Helena pulled her knees up and turned on her side, small and insignificant in the oversized room. There was another reason not to tell Thea, of course. A horrible, sneaky, underhand reason. One Helena really hoped wasn’t true, but she couldn’t promise that, even to herself.
Did I plan for this to happen?
Thea would ask. Maybe not immediately, but eventually it would come up. Thea had to have known about the crippling crush Helena had nurtured for Flynn when they were teens. At fourteen or fifteen, he’d been all she could think about. He was kind, serious, and his eyes had mesmerised her. Not boring blue like hers, but pools of molten caramel. Helena had written embarrassingly awful poetry about his eyes. But, more than anything, he hadn’t treated her like ‘little Helena’ the way everyone else did. He’d seen her as a real person, not just a silly child. A woman, even, with her own dreams and ideas. And he’d encouraged her to go after them.
Of course, he’d been six years older and already away at university then, home only for holidays and birthdays. Maybe that was part of it—he wasn’t around her enough to be irritated by the little hanger-on, the way Thea and Zeke had been. It had also ensured that Flynn had remained completely oblivious to her affections. And Helena wasn’t about to let him find out now.
But Thea must have realised. Isabella certainly had. And since that was still...before, she’d been sympathetic, even caring and protective of Helena’s feelings.
That crush was a decade old, of course, but the thought still lingered. Had she manipulated things so that she was the one who ended up in the wedding dress? She didn’t think so—and, even if she had, she didn’t think Thea and Zeke would be complaining. But she’d certainly jumped into that dress quickly enough.
She’d told Flynn, and herself, that it was all to save face, to protect the family—even to protect Flynn from any embarrassment. But, at the heart of it, had she married him because a part of her had never truly moved on from that crippling teenage crush?
Helena wasn’t sure.
But she knew a crush wasn’t enough of a reason to stay married, and neither was family loyalty. Just as she’d told Thea. And she already knew she wouldn’t be able to give Flynn the future he wanted.
Still...
Maybe it was the champagne talking or the lack of food, but Helena couldn’t shake one lingering thought. Even if it wasn’t forever...could she really pass up the opportunity to live out the wedding night her fourteen-year-old self had dreamed of so often?
Her stomach clenched at just the idea of it. Could she even try? Thea, the counsellor—everyone had told her she had to move on with her life. Had to open up to intimacy again. And she’d tried, of course she had, but it had never felt quite...safe.
Flynn was safe. A laugh bubbled up as she remembered her father calling
him ‘a safe pair of hands’. But he was right. Flynn would never hurt her, or make her do anything she didn’t want. And he was enough of a gentleman that if she changed her mind she was pretty sure he’d not just let her go but never even mention it again.
And he was her husband. Even if she wouldn’t—couldn’t—give him children, she could give him this. Give them this. And didn’t they deserve something good at the end of this horrendous day?
It would be good, she knew. Better than good. She might not have a lot to compare it to, but that kiss...she’d almost melted at his feet right then. How could anything that led on from that kiss be less than spectacular?
Helena swallowed, made herself sit up. This was the rest of her life, starting today. She’d done her part and now they were all even. She wasn’t going to waste any more time trying to make up for things—she’d done everything that she could. And maybe she and Flynn wouldn’t make this marriage last longer than it took the ink to dry on the divorce papers, but didn’t that mean there was all the more reason to mark the occasion?
She was moving on from everything that had led them to this day. And sleeping with her husband would prove that.
Pushing herself up off the bed, Helena padded across to the chest of drawers and opened the third drawer again, holding the negligee up against her body for a moment as she summoned up every bit of courage she possessed.
