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‘Yeah, she figured Seth was safe with his dad, so she told me she was going to get a shower and get ready.’
‘Right.’ He nodded on autopilot.
Tia had told Netty that he was Seth’s father? It was the first time that she’d told anyone, as far as he knew. His heart thundered in his chest.
‘Thanks, Netty.’ He reached out for Seth, the little boy confidently gripping his hand.
Father and son.
‘Bye, Zeke,’ Robbie chanted happily before turning to his mum, chattering nineteen to the dozen.
Leaving Seth and Zeke to return to the chateau.
Home.
* * *
Nothing had quite prepared Tia for the almost overwhelming barrage of yelled questions, cameras shoved in her face, and flashbulbs going off blindingly in their eyes, right from the moment they stepped out of their limousine. She might have known the men of the local chateau would be minor celebrities out here. Especially when they looked like Ezekial Jackson and William Zane.
In spite of a whole week of coaching herself to keep her distance from her estranged husband, she plastered a tight, bright smile to her lips and took comfort from the heat of Zeke’s steely body pressed against hers, as she gripped his arm tightly. As if she would never let go.
As if she never wanted to.
Even her body, it seemed, had never been more aware of just how close they were walking. Her pulse tapping out a message, like a Morse code warning. Her radial, her carotid, her femoral. Growing ever more intimate—just as Zeke himself might have managed.
‘Just a few more steps.’ His deep voice suddenly vibrated sensuously against the skin just in front of her tragus as he leaned down close—perhaps too close—to conceal his words from the plethora of mics and cameras. ‘You’re doing just fine.’
He shouldn’t know her, be able to read her, so damned easily.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Somehow, she managed to up the wattage of her public smile, even as she muttered out a response through her teeth.
When he dipped his head towards her again, amusement threaded through his tone, it was all she could do to supress the delicious shiver that chased right through her.
‘Of course, my mistake. Antonia Farringdale is never thrown.’
‘It’s just a ball.’ She had never been so glad to reach the end of a carpet and step through doors that finally, mercifully, restored a degree of anonymity from the press on the other side. ‘A party by any other name.’
She braced herself, waiting for Zeke to throw back the fact that they had never really attended parties, balls, or even merely nightclubs together.
Ever.
Not as the young, fresh-faced new Royal Marine and his young, university-bound bride. And not as the battle-hardened, secretive SBS and black ops specialist and his second-in-her-class, rising star of an army trauma doctor wife.
They hadn’t had time for partying. Any more than they’d had the contacts for social networking. And she’d never once lamented that fact.
Until now.
Standing, suddenly frozen, on the inside of the huge doors, Tia surveyed the scene in front of her. It was like something out of a fairy tale, either animated or acted, it made little difference. It was breathtaking, spellbinding.
Everything and everyone glittered, from the stunning gowns to the tinkling laughter, as though magic had been sprinkled all over. The whole place seemed brighter than reality, more resonant. The colours richer.
And something permeated Tia in that instant. She felt abruptly supercharged. Even the music seemed to slink across the floor all the way from the ballroom, winding itself around her feet first, insinuating its way up her body, until her blood was pumping to the same, compelling rhythm.
* * *
‘Dance with me.’
She shook her head instinctively, although the temptation to acquiesce was almost suffocating.
