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She sprang to her feet and charged at him. “You don’t get to say it’s my fault! You don’t say I’m to blame. You don’t judge me!” She pummelled his chest with her fists until he grabbed them and held them tight.
“I don’t. But neither do you!” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “You don’t blame anyone, Gem, but one person. The man who did it to you. Stop seeking retribution from those who don’t deserve it. That includes yourself. You’re so precious to those who love you. I, your parents, your brother will always want to protect you.”
“I’m not a pathetic victim. I won’t be cast as a casualty of life, Jason. I’m strong, aren’t I?” Her hot face streaked with angry tears.
“You’re strong, babe. I’m not saying you are a weak person. You’re beautiful and tantalising, like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. Men will want you, and I cannot bear anything happening to you. I love you so much. Hearing about your childhood, things you have never spoken about, has made me understand you better. John is ignorant of how you live your life and the risks you have taken in the past to service your needs. Now you are safe, and I will protect you. He will understand, one day, and your mother will hopefully be reassured, too.”
“I can’t tell her. I can’t. She would blame herself, not me, and then I would feel so guilty and—”
“Enough. There is no need for her to know. It would serve no purpose. But you must stop resenting the way she took care of you, the protective cocoon she placed about you. For your whole childhood, you were safe and well looked after. Should you not be grateful?” He wiped her tears with his fingers.
Gemma nodded. Her body relaxed against his, she listened to his heartbeat. For several minutes, she remained in her husband’s protective cocoon.
&nbs
p; “Thank you,” she finally whispered. “I have buried those feeling towards Mum for many years. My subconscious is very adept at keeping my worse emotions tucked away. John thinks I have an excellent memory. He doesn’t know it is very selective.”
“I know, babe.”
Chapter 15. Ironing and Poetry
Day Eight
The staff laid out a breakfast feast in honour of their guests.
“There are only four of us aren’t there? There is enough to feed an army.” John lifted a lid on a covered dish to reveal scrambled eggs. “Andi is comatose in bed still. Not a morning person.”
“Like me, you mean.” Gemma helped herself to fruit punch. “Jason, on the other hand, is definitely a morning person. He’s in the gym. Up at the crack of dawn, checking his e-mails. Work is a swine at the moment for him.” She took a seat at the table. “I have something I have to do this morning. You should chill out or use the lower pool for a swim.
“I might try out the gym.” John heaped a pile of eggs on his plate. “Please, tell me there is smoked salmon in one of these.” He lifted another lid and scowled at the tomatoes.
Gemma pointed at a dish. “Here. I’m sure Jason would love the company. Don’t let him turn it into a competition, though. Don’t want to have to bring you out in a wheelchair!”
For a brief time, they chatted on their own. The main topic of conversation, her parents. The long hours her father worked and how little leisure time he had. Her mother and her numerous positions on various local committees.
“She’s taken up art classes.” John sliced through his salmon. “Saturday mornings. She says it’s too late. Never too late, though, is it?”
She hadn’t known. Her mother hadn’t told her about art classes. She swallowed back a terse remark about being the last to know anything. However, it seemed unfair to blame John. Perhaps she’d become so wrapped up in her own life to notice the changes in her mum’s. She cleared her throat, turned to her brother, and smiled.
“Of course not. That’s the nice thing about art, you can do it at any age. I’m glad, really.” Gemma picked at her food. “I have to go.” She would have her massage and try to shrug off the urge to feel jealous about her mother’s artistic activities. She’d done nothing to further her own ambitions except donate the odd picture to a charity auction.
Following her massage, somewhat rejuvenated, Gemma found her guests relaxing in the lower pool, petting each other. They swam closer as she approached.
“Hi, you guys. Happy?” she asked.
“Blissfully. Thanks.” John tucked Andrea close to him in the aqua water.
Gemma smiled at them. “Andrea, would you like a fantastic massage? Maria is more than happy to give you one.”
“Oh, yes.” Andrea climbed out and wrapped an oversized towel around her. “Where can I find her?”
“She’s in the spa room.” Gemma watched Andrea head inside, out of the intensifying sun. “No gym?”
“No. By the time Andi and I finished breakfast, Jason had left, and I lost the inspiration. Pool called.” He splashed water up at her, and she jumped back with a shriek.
Leaving her brother to his swim, she wandered into the salon where Jason sat alone, eating a hearty breakfast. Gemma slipped into the seat next to him and helped herself to coffee.
“You didn’t want me this morning, Sir,” she murmured.
