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She watched him slowly rein in his anger, his self-control formidable. She had seen it before, this ability to master his emotions, and it was almost scary. After a few moments he was able to smile slowly, and you would have to know him very well indeed to recognise it wasn’t a real smile. But she did know him well.
‘I’m here and I’m staying,’ he drawled lazily.
And Melody had the feeling he wasn’t only talking about lunch.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY sat in a quivering silence that vibrated with things said and unsaid, until a young, pert receptionist came across to inform them smilingly that their table in the restaurant was waiting for them.
Melody had steadfastly kept her eyes on the view outside the windows, where the snow continued to fall thickly from a heavy, laden sky, but she was vitally aware of Zeke’s black, brooding gaze fixed on her profile. In spite of his relaxed, nonchalant pose—one leg crossed over the other knee and his arms draped along the back of the sofa—she knew Zeke was as tense as a coiled spring.
The restaurant was pleasant enough, but nothing like the grand, expensive eating places Zeke had always taken her to. Nonetheless, the Christmas decorations were tasteful and brought a festive charm to the room, and their table for two was pretty, with a tiny beaded Christmas tree taking centre stage on a white linen tablecloth encrusted with sparkling silver stars.
After the waiter had placed two embossed menus in their hands and left them to decide on their meal, the wine waiter appeared. Zeke smiled at her. ‘As we’re celebrating, I think a bottle of your finest champagne,’ he said to the waiter, but with his eyes on Melody. The waiter beamed. This was obviously his type of customer. And at Christmastime too, when everyone tended to tip well.
Melody let the man bustle off before she said quietly, ‘Celebrating?’ keeping her voice expressionless.
‘Of course. You’re out of hospital and life can start again.’ His smile was challenging. ‘Isn’t that worthy of good champagne?’
She wasn’t going to rise to his bait, she told herself silently. Raising her small chin a notch, she shrugged. ‘I didn’t think you approved of drinking and driving.’
‘Quite right,’ he said with aggravating aplomb. ‘I don’t.’
Fighting the urge to ask what he was going to do about the Ferrari, because she knew he wanted her to do just that, Melody gritted her teeth and concentrated on the menu. No doubt he’d get one of his minions to pick up the car and he’d get a taxi home. He wouldn’t care about spoiling someone’s plans for Christmas Eve.
And then she immediately felt ashamed of herself. Whatever else Zeke was, he wasn’t high-handed with his staff. She was just being nasty, and it wasn’t like her. But then she’d come to realise over the past months since the accident that she didn’t know herself at all.
She had always thought she was quite a focused, well-balanced person on the whole—the type of woman who would take whatever life threw at her and get on with things. But the accident had knocked her for six—not just physically but mentally, and more importantly emotionally too. It had been one of those cataclysmic events—one of those disasters that she hadn’t imagined in her worst nightmares—and she hadn’t known how to handle the fall-out. She still didn’t. It had brought to the surface a whole host of emotional blocks which had begun to dissolve to reveal the insecurities and pain inside, starting from as way back as her father walking out on her and her mother. He obviously hadn’t wanted the responsibility, so had he abandoned her mother because of that? Had she been the cause of their break-up?
Melody suddenly became aware that the waiter was back and pouring sparkling champagne into two crystal flutes. Once he’d placed the bottle in an ice bucket he sailed off again, and Zeke raised his glass to her. ‘To you,’ he said very softly. ‘My beautiful, vulnerable, exasperating, sweet, incomparable wife. The centre of my universe.’
She had raised her own glass. Now she put it down without taking a sip. ‘Don’t, Zeke.’ Her voice was quiet and pained.
‘Don’t what? Say how much I adore you? But I do, Dee.’
‘You—you don’t have to say that.’ Her legs were hurting, reminding her of how she looked beneath her leggings.
‘Have to?’ His tone was quizzical rather than annoyed. He shook his dark head. ‘When have I ever done anything because I have to? Okay, that toast clearly isn’t to your liking. How about—’ he raised his glass again and paused until she did the same ‘—to us?’ he suggested mildly.
‘Zeke.’ She frowned at him but he merely smiled back.
‘The season then. A merry Christmas to one and all. Is that sufficiently impersonal? Surely you can drink to that?’
Melody tasted the champagne. It was delicious, Dom Pérignon at its best, smooth, seductive and sophisticated—very much like Zeke. She glanced at him. ‘Very nice,’ she said primly, trying not to notice how his mouth was curving.
‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed softly. ‘Are you hungry?’
Surprisingly, for the first time since the accident, she did have something of an appetite. She nodded. ‘A bit.’
‘Good. You need feeding up.’ Ignoring her grimace at the criticism of her thinness, he went on, ‘I’m going to pass on the Christmas fare and save the turkey dinner till tomorrow. How about you? The salmon en croûte looks good for a starter, and the lamb shanks with red-currant and rosemary to follow for me, I think. I’ll think about dessert later.’
Melody would have chosen the same, but felt the need to assert her independence. ‘I’ll have the wild mushroom pâté and then the beef in black bean sauce.’ She put the menu down and took another sip of champagne. The bubbles danced in her mouth as the wine fizzed and she reflected she would have to be careful. She hadn’t drunk any alcohol in the past months whilst in hospital, and this excellent vintage was as dangerous as it was delicious. With Zeke in the mood he was in she needed all her wits about her. She had never been able to resist him in the past, with or without alcohol.
The waiter glided to their table and as Zeke talked to him Melody was able to really study Zeke’s face for the first time that morning. He looked as attractive as ever, but tired, she thought, a little dart of concern piercing her heart. Had he been working too hard? Before their marriage she’d heard it wasn’t unknown for him to work round the clock when some drama or other necessitated it, and even after they’d wed there had been the odd occasion when she hadn’t seen him for twenty out of twenty-four hours. He found it impossible to delegate, that was the thing. Having carved out his small empire with blood, sweat and tears, he was fiercely proud and protective of it, and not always so sure of himself as he’d like people to believe. Particularly so with regard to her.
It had been that which had first captivated her when they had begun dating, she acknowledged. He’d been mad for her but touchingly unsure of how she felt about him, which had surprised her. He rarely talked about his early days, but when he did she’d come to realise he’d had massive issues about love and commitment in the past and trusting the female of the species.
The thought bothered her. She had been trying to push such truths to the back of her mind these past weeks. But Zeke would find someone else easily enough, she told herself in the next breath. Her grandmother had always said that love meant something entirely different to men and women, and that men’s love was altogether more earthy and transient. ‘Even the best of them will look for a younger, fitter model in time, Melody. Just you remember that and protect yourself against the day it happens.’
