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‘I think they’d be pleased you weren’t eating them. It’s a fish-eat-fish world out there.’
Laughing, she pushed away her empty bowl and took a sip from her wine glass.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘Nothing really!’ Turning her head, she saw he was watching her, his face in the candlelight somehow softer, less guarded. ‘Just how much the children would love this. You don’t mind if I show them a photo or two, do you?’ She gave him a small, tight smile. ‘Otherwise they might not believe me.’
He shook his head, frowning slightly. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Thank you.’ The easy atmosphere of moments earlier seemed to have disappeared. Confused, suddenly on edge herself, she lifted her chin. ‘Sorry to bring up work. It just popped into my head.’
There was a short, strained silence.
‘It’s not just work, though, is it? For you, I mean.’
She looked up at him, startled. He was looking at her, his expression an odd blend of curiosity and appraisal.
‘You really care about those children.’
‘Yes. I do.’ She was shocked at how fierce she sounded. ‘They deserve it. Some of them—a lot of them—have such difficult live
s, and they’re so brave.’
‘They’re lucky to have you championing them.’ He held her gaze. ‘I can’t think of many people I’d rather have by my side, watching my back.’
She held her breath. Then why had he pushed her away? She’d been by his side, watching his back. When all the time she should have been watching her own.
She shrugged. ‘I’m not a saint. I get a lot back from them.’
Malachi stared at her. In that dress it would be difficult for any woman to look like a saint. He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was. How sexy. He wanted her so much. But for the first time in his life sex didn’t seem that important. Not as important as hearing her story.
‘Like what?’ Leaning forward, he topped up her glass, then his.
Her face softened. ‘Like having fun. And a purpose. After my accident I couldn’t imagine doing anything with music. It hurt just thinking about what I’d lost. I was so miserable.
‘So what changed?’ His hand tightened around his glass. He hated the idea of her being that unhappy almost as much as he hated himself for not having known about it before.
‘I did this workshop in a school and I realised that music isn’t only about that one perfect solo performance. It’s about sharing and creating.’ She frowned. ‘That’s when I accepted that I wasn’t going to have the life I’d planned. But I was going to have a life that mattered.’ Meeting his gaze, she smiled weakly. ‘Or at least one that wasn’t as boring and lonely as lying in a hospital bed for weeks and weeks.’
He was staring at her intently and she fell silent. Malachi was unlikely to be familiar with the concepts of boredom and loneliness, let alone understand them. But after a short, stilted pause, he nodded slowly.
‘That’s why I started playing cards. Boredom.’ He shifted, staring past her, his eyes suddenly cloudy. ‘I must have been about seven. We were in Europe, visiting friends of my parents’.’
Abruptly he picked up his glass and drained his wine.
‘I was always the only child, and my parents liked to party hard. Often they didn’t surface until the afternoon, and I used to get so bored and then one day one of the valets at the hotel where we were staying taught me how to play patience. Then blackjack and then poker.’
His face tightened.
‘I got real good, real quick.’ He gave her a small, taut smile. That’s the upside of living in hotels—there’s always a bunch of people going on and off shift and a lot of them play cards.
Addie stared at him, trying to fit his words into the image of the Malachi she knew.
‘I thought your dad must have taught you,’ she said slowly.
He shook his head. ‘No. He taught me other things, but I think those will keep for another day. Shall we have coffee?’
She said nothing, but her mind was buzzing with questions. Why had they never talked about his childhood before? And why were so many subjects off limits? Was it something to do with his father? Had they argued? Was that why his parents hadn’t come to their wedding?
