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He turned to her, towering over her, his anger taking her breath away, making her light-headed. ‘Love didn’t stop any of that for me and I’m damn sure it didn’t help you either.’
‘I-I,’ she stammered and stepped back from his overbearing anger. ‘I…no.’
The room began to sway and her body became heavy, making standing upright almost impossible. She stumbled back to the bed and flopped down on it, closing her eyes as everything began to spin and turn.
‘Lisa,’ Max demanded as he crouched beside the bed and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you ill?’
If she wasn’t mistaken his face was stricken, as if he thought she was really ill. For the briefest of seconds she wanted to smile and reach out to him, but the fury of moments earlier was still there in his eyes and the affirmation that he despised love and any sentimental emotions burned in her mind.
‘I’m fine.’ She forced herself to sit up, clutching at the soft faux-fur throw as if it were a lifeline. ‘I think I just need something to eat.’
Relief rushed over his face and for a moment he looked unguarded and she wondered what he hadn’t yet told her. What it was that haunted him so much, because she was certain it wasn’t just his father walking out, that it was more than that, much more.
He stood up slowly. ‘Then I will fix you something light before we go out for dinner.’
‘Thanks.’ The moment of openness had passed. He was behind the shutters once more and even though she didn’t want to, she could feel herself retreating there too. ‘I’ll have a shower then come down.’
* * *
Max sat in the kitchen, the tea and toast he’d decided would be best waiting as he heard Lisa come down the stairs. He watched her as she walked along the small hallway, looking about her like a child in a toy store at all the decorations, and he hated that things had gone wrong this morning. At least now he understood her reservations about him as a father. She didn’t want her child to be emotionally messed around as she had been, never knowing if her father wanted her or not.
Anger simmered inside him as he thought of her being used that way by the very man who was meant to protect her from hurt—from anything. And then she’d married him, a man incapable of any kind of love or protection.
‘Better?’ He kept his voice casual as she entered the small rustic kitchen.
‘Yes, thanks, and this looks good.’ She sat with him at the small table and gingerly ate the toast and sipped at the tea.
‘Do you feel well enough to go out for Christmas dinner?’ Now he wondered at the wisdom of having arranged it. He hadn’t given any thought to her condition. It was the very thing he’d avoided thinking about as it unleashed the past, the pain of losing his mother. The anger and injustice that she had chosen Angelina over herself—over him.
‘You bet I do. I wouldn’t miss this for anything.’ There was a new lightness in her voice and he relaxed. Maybe all they’d discussed had cleared the air.
‘Very well.’ He stood up from the table and took her hand, pulling her gently to her feet. ‘Then before we go, we have to see what gifts are beneath the tree.’
‘Gifts?’ She laughed lightly. ‘You mean Santa has been?’
‘If you like, yes.’ With happiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, he took Lisa into the living room. The fire he’d lit while she was in the shower now filling the room with warmth and the lights of the tree gave it all a surreal feel.
‘Oh, but I haven’t anything to add to this.’ She looked up at him, genuine worry in her eyes. ‘For you, I mean.’
He thought of his child growing within her as he looked at her gently. He must be going soft with all this Christmas stuff, because he wanted to hold her, to place his hands on her stomach and tell her that their baby was the perfect gift.
He shook himself free of such thoughts. ‘So Santa didn’t bring me anything, but he did for you. Shall we open them before we go out?’
Before she could get all sentimental on him he picked up a flat box, beautifully gift-wrapped. ‘This is for you, as I have a suspicion you will need them over the next few days.’
She took the present from him and looked at him, as if trying to read his thoughts, find out just what this really meant. Then she sat down in front of the fire and slowly opened the wrapping, and lifted the lid on a large silver box.
‘Oh, Max,’ she said and he looked over the lid of the box, wanting to know if his instructions had been followed. ‘It’s lovely.’
She lifted out a black dress.
‘For Angelina’s twenty-first party.’
