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Don’t let your voice shake. And, above all, don’t cry.
‘You only know half the truth. That my mother was a groupie—’
‘Yes, yes. That’s old news,’ he said impatiently.
She shook her head, but her determination not to cry was failing her. She felt her eyes brimming with tears and saw Xan flinch, as if he found such a spectacle distasteful. He probably did. He didn’t like emotion. It was messy and he wasn’t used to it. Well, neither was she if it came to that, but for once in her life Tamsyn was finding it impossible to hold back the shuddering sob which seemed to erupt from the very bottom of her lungs.
‘Well, here’s some hot-off-the-press news!’ she snarled. ‘My father was a rock star. A very famous rock star. His name was Jonny Trafford.’
‘Jonny Trafford? Wow.’ He frowned. ‘But he—’
‘I’m not interested in how many albums you had of his. You want to know what happened?’ she rushed on, waving her hand impatiently to silence him in her determination to tell him the facts. The unvarnished facts—not the version which everyone knew. It was the only thing she had left of Jonny Trafford—her few brief and bitter memories. ‘He had a one-night stand with my mother.’ Her voice shook with something like shame. ‘According to his official biography, he had similar nights with lots of women. Sometimes with more than one at the same time...’
‘Tamsyn—’
‘Shut up!’ she declared as the tears now began to stream down her cheeks and the words came choking out. ‘You know my mother had us fostered because we got in the way of her latest love interest? I know. Shocking, isn’t it? And after she died Hannah came into possession of her paperwork, including a letter addressed to me which contained the bombshell discovery that Jonny Trafford was my father. But Hannah didn’t tell me that. At least, not straight away.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Why not?’
‘She was trying to protect me, just like she’d always done.’ Tamsyn stabbed at her wet cheeks with a balled-up fist. ‘She thought I’d been through enough hurt and wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to endure any more. So she went to see him.’ Her voice tailed off but his face was intent as he leaned forward.
‘Tell me, Tamsyn.’
She shook her head as she looked at him, knowing this was it. The words tasted sour as she began to speak them but she forced herself to keep looking at the man she had married, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much disgust he showed when he heard the truth. ‘He was a full-blown junkie by then, of course. She said she’d never seen anyone look so pathetic, in his huge mansion with all those great big mirrors and shaggy rugs, and the dusty platinum discs on the walls. But when she told him about me, she said she thought she saw a light in his eyes. He told her straight off he was going to go into rehab, like his manager had been nagging at him to do for years, and he did. And that was when she told me about him.’
‘Well, that was good, wasn’t it?’ Xan questioned.
Tamsyn shrugged. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. He wasn’t allowed any contact with the outside world for six weeks, not until he was properly clean, but he was allowed to write letters. He wrote to me and said he was looking forward to seeing me and I can remember how excited I felt. I had no real memories of my mother, but here was the chance to connect with my roots at last. I know it sounds stupid but I wanted to see if I had the same nose, or eyes, or if we walked in a similar way. I wanted to feel connected.’
‘It doesn’t sound stupid.’ There was a pause and his eyes were very steady as he looked at her. ‘What happened?’
‘We arranged to meet in a famous London hotel, for tea, but...’ She swallowed, then shook her head and it took a couple of moments before she could compose herself enough to continue. ‘He couldn’t face it—or maybe the lure of heroin was stronger than the thought of meeting his daughter for the first time. I sat in that fancy hotel for ages with barely enough money to pay the inflated price of the pot of tea I’d had to order. I remember getting lots of pitying looks—probably because of the way I was dressed. Or maybe people thought I’d been stood up. Which I had, I g-guess.’ She swallowed again, but now the tears were like hot rivers coursing down her cheeks and the pain in her heart was fierce and intense as she relived a scenario she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years. ‘When I came out it was dark and the evening news bulletins were flashing up on TV screens in a nearby department store—and the lead story was that Jonny Trafford had been found dead in a hotel room with a needle hanging out of his arm.’
‘Tamsyn—’
‘No!’ she interrupted, her voice trembling as she fished a tissue out of the back of her jeans and loudly blew her nose. ‘Don’t say all the things you think you’re supposed to say. Because words won’t change anything, Xan. I know it was terrible but I’ve come to terms with the fact that neither my father nor my mother wanted me, and that’s why I’m so screwed up. Whichever way you look at it, I’m not the right type of wife for you. My unsuitability runs deeper than you thought and it’s far better we split now, rather than later. So just go, will you? Go now and leave me in peace.’
He shook his head. ‘But I don’t want to go.’
‘When will you get it into your thick skull that I don’t care what you want?’ she flared back. ‘I’m telling you my wishes and since this is my home, for now at least, you will have to listen to them!’
But Xan didn’t move. There was silence for a moment as he glanced over his shoulder to survey the bleak view outside the window and then looked back at her, the woman he had married. He saw the way her lips quivered with belligerence and pride and shame. Her cheeks were wet and streaky and fiery strands of hair were matted with tears. Her expression was defiant but wary as she returned his gaze—like a dog which had spent its life being kicked but had just enough spirit left to fight back. And that was Tamsyn all right. He admired her spirit and always had done.
He hadn’t been expecting yet another layer to her tragic life story. He hadn’t realised just how deeply she’d been damaged. He’d imagined coming here today and after some token resistance, the two of them having some pretty urgent sex up against the wall, since that bed looked way too small to accommodate two people. Unwilling to let her go just yet, he’d planned to take her back to Greece, thinking that a few months more of his feisty spouse would be enough to get her out of his system.
But now he recognised that he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t pick her up and put her down, using her like his own sexy little toy. To do that would be to dishonour and disrespect her—and damage her further. Didn’t she deserve every bit of his respect after what she’d been through? His heart clenched, knowing that if he wanted this to work—he was going to have to give more than he’d ever given before. He was going to have to have the courage to open up and confront his feelings—just as she had done with him.
‘You know that with you, it’s like it’s never been for me before,’ he said softly.
Her emerald eyes clouded with suspicion. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about you. How different it is with you. It’s been different from the start, Tamsyn—in every way. You’re fresh and feisty and original—and more fun than any other woman I’ve ever known. And we’re alike. I see that now. We both grew up rejected by our mothers. We didn’t know how to express love because nobody had ever shown us how.’ He sucked in a deep and unsteady breath. ‘The thing is that I think we could be good together. Not for three months, or a year—but for ever.’
‘For ever?’ she echoed, as if this was a concept beyond her comprehension.
He nodded. ‘It won’t always be easy and it won’t always be fun. There’ll be bad times as well as good, because my married friends tell me that’s what life is like. But I think we can be strong for each other and supportive of each other, if the will is there.’
He saw the brief hope which flared in her face before it was banished by that determined little expression of mutiny once more. ‘No. It won’t work. It can’t work,’ she husked. ‘It’ll all end in tears, I know it will. So do yourself a favour, Xan—and get away from me.’
