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Chapter 13
Asmiling waiter in a white jacket presented a platter of canapes with the kind of flourish usually reserved for offering a crown to an heir on coronation day. Melanie popped one into her mouth without a second thought. Tonight, she decided, calories were meaningless. Tonight, they did not exist.
The waiter didn’t move until she had helped herself to another, and then he faded away. The morsel was so delicious that as she placed it into her mouth, she momentarily closed her eyes so she could focus her senses on only that.
But when she opened them again, Corbin was looking at her, with an expression she couldn’t fathom. She had known from the second they’d embarked upon their journey that he’d been dreading coming, and it was clear that her initial supposition that he’d feared he would be out of his league was incorrect.
These people knew him, but there was a separation. Some sort of rift. Some of these former acquaintances were warm, even pitying, while others actively shunned him. Why, she wondered. What had happened? What had he done?
And also… wife?
He must have heard her thoughts, because he said simply, “I’m divorced.”
“How long?”
He shrugged as if the exact amount of time escaped him, but she had the feeling he could quote it down to the number of days. “Almost three years.”
“Oh.” So they’d both taken a chance on love and lost. She let that sink in. There was so much she didn’t know about this man—but why would she? He’d been hired to help her knock a crumbling cottage back into shape. That was all. Why would his marital status matter? And why would whatever tragedy responsible for the whispers and stares mean anything to her? Her curiosity was overwhelming, but a deeply embedded instinct warned her that this was a subject she dared not raise.
So instead, she said, “Thank you, Corbin.”
His dark eyebrows lifted. “For what?”
“This evening… it’s clear that you’d rather not be here. It’s clear that coming has caused some… discomfort for you. But I know that you came for me. Just as you took on a project you didn’t want, for my sake. So thank you.”
The smile that crept up on his face was the most genuine she had seen all evening, and immediately, she sensed something inside him soften. He inclined his head. Instead of responding appropriately, saying something like ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘it was nothing’, he took the glass from her hand and set it down next to his. “Dance with me.”
A live band had taken the stage, and around them, couples were already swaying. It was an easy thing to step into his arms and fall into the rhythm. It should have felt awkward, being this intimately close to a man who was, if not a stranger anymore, purely a business associate, but it didn’t. It felt perfectly natural, perfectly safe.
She’d worried about keeping her balance on the ridiculously high shoes she’d been given at the spa, but her feet responded to his as they began to move together. She’d worried about her dress, that she would make the wrong movement and the fine white fabric would fray away, resulting in a wardrobe malfunction that would be streamed live across the world, thanks to the bodycams they were both still obliged to wear. And no bra? What was that about?
But her dress moved as she moved, and Corbin ran his hand up her back, and then down again, as if trying to process the texture of the material under his fingers. She could feel the pressure of his chin against the top of her head, the width of his shoulder under one hand, and she wouldn’t bet money on it, but she was almost sure she could feel the thudding of his heart against her body.
If only this could go on and on, she thought. If only we could float away, holding onto each other like this. The fact that she’d even had that thought should have worried her. She was a divorced single mom, far from home, in a country where she didn’t speak the language and where she had undertaken a project that could make or break her future designing career, so adding another complication to the mix was a bad idea. And maybe later tonight, as she crawled into bed, she would still know it was a bad idea.
But right now, everything was perfect. Corbin was perfect, and so was his touch. This attraction toward him, well, she knew it wouldn’t and couldn’t amount to anything more, so she gave into it, enjoyed the way he made her feel in the moment. As if she was beautiful.
She even forgot to think any more about this wife—ex-wife, rather—of his.
After three dances, maybe more, she never thought to count, the band switched rhythms, and the music became more upbeat. She wanted to protest, but without releasing her hand, he threaded them through the crowd and led her out into the garden. She shut up and counted her blessings.
They wandered in silence along the twisting paths for several moments, and then Corbin spoke up. “Before Fabienne and I got divorced, I had a different life. International finance. I had my own company, which employed more than twenty specialized workers. Many of the people here tonight were clients or colleagues.” He added bitterly, “Many of them were my friends.”
He glanced at her as if fearful that there would be more questions he couldn’t answer, but she sensed he needed nothing from her right now but silence. “Things changed suddenly for me. Drastically, without any warning.” He sighed gustily, and in that sigh there was a world of pain. “When they did, I realized I could no longer live that life. Meetings, negotiations, money. Structuring my sleeping around when the markets opened and closed in Hong Kong or Japan or South Africa.” He shook his head sadly. “None of it made sense to me anymore. None of it was worth it. I used to look at my screen and watch the stock indices scroll past, and they were in a language I couldn’t understand.”
He shrugged, then stopped. She turned to face him. He accurately read the question in her eyes. “Why did I choose to do what I do now? My grandfather was a carpenter. My father, he built and sold houses on a small scale, one at a time. It didn’t bring in a lot of money but they were both happy men. I grew up in the milieu, knew my way around a bandsaw. I’d experienced for myself the peace it brought to work with my hands. So it was the obvious choice.”
She nodded, signaling that she understood, at least partially. Of course, there were many more questions swirling around in her head, so many. But she had the wisdom not to give them a voice.
He, too, chose to be silent. As a matter of fact, he put a finger to his lips. She was startled when he reached towards her top, but had no time to wonder why before, with a deft flick of his wrist, he unpinned her ever-present body cam and pressed a few buttons. The tiny red light on the front died. He did the same with his and slid both devices into the pocket of his jacket.
It was almost disorienting to be freed from the all-seeing eye, and she surprised herself by protesting, “We aren’t supposed to do that. Queenie insisted—”
She could say no more, wanted to say no more, because he pulled her against his chest and began to kiss her. Her words were cut off by the warm pressure of his lips, drowned in the chaos that immediately filled her head.
Corbin was kissing her—hard. And it was wonderful. The connection between them was immediate, the shared desire apparent. She lifted her arms to entwine them around his neck, her fingers finding their way into the crispness of his hair. It was freshly cut, and she had the flattering thought that maybe he had cut it for her.
Down along his jawline, her fingers found smooth, freshly shaven skin, none of the careless stubble she had grown accustomed to. She inhaled the smell of expensive cologne, a musky sweetness that combined with his own smell to produce something heady and intoxicating.
