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“No,” she agreed. “They were away during the last term break.”
His brows knitted together thoughtfully. “And what did you do, Carrie Beauchamp?”
How intriguing her surname sounded, coming from his lips. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest. “I holidayed with a girlfriend and her family.” She was amazed at the way she had injected the sentence with a degree of easy going normality. The carefully phrased statement hid the nights of agonised hurt that her mother had yet again chosen not to see her. That her mother’s life swirled on far away from hers.
And despite the way she’d managed to sound unconcerned, she knew that Gael understood. That the slight deepening of his brow and lowering of his lips were because he disapproved of the fact she’d been left to spend her term break away from her only family.
She
had to tread carefully. An ally was not something she had ever had before. She wasn’t sure she knew what she’d do if someone actually supported her in her very worst fear in life: that her mother didn’t love her enough.
She swallowed past a sudden knot of pain and replaced the lid of butter onto the plastic base. “Anyway,” her voice was overbright, “Most of my friends would love to get as much time to themselves as I have. I mean, I’m one of the lucky ones. To get the freedom I have.”
“Are you?” His sardonic disbelief was obvious.
She spun away and placed the ingredients back into the fridge. When she turned back to Gael, her mother framed into shot behind him. She was, as always, picture perfect.
Alexandra Beauchamp had reverted to her first surname after husband number two, and had kept it ever since. She told people it was to save the confusion over having a different moniker to her daughter, but Carrie knew better. It had more to do with the title that went along with the surname than the name itself.
Carrie couldn’t help the small sound of admiration that escaped her softly parted lips at the sight of her mother. Jeans that clung to her long, slender legs like a second skin, parted at the middle to expose just a hint of perfectly tanned midriff beneath the floaty peasant top she wore. Her blonde hair was long and worn flowing over her shoulders, and her skin boasted a caramel tan courtesy of a recent trip to Italy.
“Gael, darling, how wonderful,” she remarked in her clipped, aristocratic tone. “Why am I not surprised to find you loitering about the fridge, Carrie?”
Embarrassment, hot and sharp, speared through her impressionable teenage soul. “Oh… I…”
“Carrie was kind enough to make me a snack,” Gael responded with a quiet yet unmistakable note of condemnation.
Alexandra was oblivious to his disapproval. “Yes, well, if there’s food about, my daughter is guaranteed to be somewhere nearby.” She rolled her eyes in a failed attempt at humour and pressed her lips to Gael’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, anyway.”
Carrie couldn’t help but notice the way her mother’s red-painted fingernails dug into Gael’s broad shoulders; nor did she miss the way they lingered for longer than was necessary. “Goodness,” Alexandra said with a lilt of admiration in her voice. “Anyone would think you spent your days sweating in a field rather than slaving away behind a desk. You’re all muscle, Gael.”
He stood, shoulders squared, body tense.
Behind them, Carrie’s young teenage heart was experiencing its first rush of agonising, confusing heartbreak. Her mother, so beautiful she only had to look at a man to have him fall at her feet, was creating the impression that she wanted Gael to join the hordes of her admirers. Carrie told herself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just Alexandra’s way of interacting with men, but the sensual flirtation still hurt.
“I have some reading to do,” Carrie said quietly, not sure if either of them heard her, initially, for neither reacted.
It was only as her feet crossed the threshold of the door that she caught her mother remarking, for Gael’s benefit, “She spends too much time reading, if you want my opinion. A run wouldn’t kill her.”
Carrie didn’t linger to hear Gael’s reply. Stupidly, hot tears stung her lilac eyes. She knew her mother just wanted the best for her, and that it was impossible for someone like Alexandra Beauchamp to comprehend that anyone could be happy in a figure that wasn’t supermodel svelte. Especially not one as curved and rounded as Carrie’s teenage shape. But the judgement, at times, stung. Particularly when it served to reinforce Carrie’s own insecurities about her appearance.
Ensconced in her bedroom, she pulled an emergency stash of chocolate from her rucksack and selected a single bar. She peeled the wrapper off and breathed in the heady scent before taking a lingering bite. She groaned as the sweet taste sent waves of calm through her body.
Bite by bite and bit by bit, her equilibrium righted itself.
Alexandra meant well. She hadn’t intended to embarrass Carrie, only to apologise for her ample roundedness. Carrie was the one who should feel bad, for never being able to match what her mother expected of her. What a burden it must be, to look like Alexandra did, and have someone as ordinary and unfashionably curvaceous as Carrie for a daughter.
She pushed the wrapper into the waste bin and pulled Persuasion from beneath her pillow. In the pages of Jane Austen’s witty observances, she found even greater release. So much so that when she realised it was time to join her mother and Gael for dinner, it was with far greater composure than she’d left them with earlier in the afternoon.
CHAPTER TWO
Gael studied the two women with well-concealed interest. The mother was like so many women he’d met before. Stunning and obviously aware of the fact, she was designed to corner a man’s attention and hold it. With her body and her nature, she was a woman men would go to war for. He was almost thirty, and known for his taste in women, and even he couldn’t fault his father’s choice of bride. At least when it came to beauty.
As for the daughter, Carrie was an entirely different type of person. He watched broodingly from across the table as she lifted her water glass and sipped it, her pale pink lips soft and full against the rim. She replaced it on the table, and snuck yet another furtive glance at him.
Her crush was obvious.
Sweet, and well-intentioned, but totally unwanted. She had changed, since they’d danced at the wedding. It was remarkable, the difference that eighteen months could make. Then, she’d been child-like and innocent. Now? There was still an obvious innocence to her, but her curiosity and interest showed her sensual awakening. That he was a person of interest to her in the midst of that did not sit easily on his shoulders.
