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What the hell had happened to the gorgeous redhead he’d met? The one who had somehow made him smile?
She’d turned into Candice, Ethan thought. Bought and paid for and barely scraping through the small talk.
Yet theyhadspoken.
‘I think you need to come home.’
The words gnawed at him, for Ethan knew that was where he ought to be. But he’d tried to speak to his father just this morning, and all Jobe had wanted to talk about was the new hotel complex, and how he agreed with Ethan that he wanted the Devereux name in Al-Zahan. They spoke aboutnothingelse.
He got undressed and lay on the bed, staring blindly while thinking of home.
He was starting to remember things. Ethan was starting to remember things about his mother that made all he’d believed a lie.
Yes, she had been beautiful and everything he’d read said that she’d been kind, and the photos in his father’s house told the tale of a wonderful childhood.
But they were just paper pictures, hung on walls, and empty words had shaped his perceptions.
And then he heard a voice, its husk a familiar one, and it had him turning his attention to the entertainment screen.
Merida.
In one of her many guises. But there she was. Walking over Gapstow Bridge, clipping along in high heels, one so worn that its metal spike hit the ground with each step of her right foot.
He almost didn’t recognise her.
Oh, physically he did, of course—there was the blaze of her red hair and her gorgeous green eyes—but she looked jaded, bitter, as if all the light had died in her eyes.
Merida looked the part she played—a tired, world-weary cheap hooker.
He flicked the switch and watched her walk backwards, then played the scene over and over again.
She was a brilliant actress. He’d never actually seen her perform, but now, as he watched and re-watched the scene over and over, Ethan felt as if he’d been given some key information.
He recalled all their conversations, and he remembered her on their wedding day, in the back of the car, and what she had said about her parents and not wanting to let them know they’d hurt her.
Was that what she was doing with him?
Hiding her pain behind a perfect mask?
Making out she was a gold-digger when she might just have loved him all along?
He reached for his tablet and pulled up the photos that the magazine had sent through.
He looked at her smile and zoomed right in.
Merida really was a brilliant actress. Not even the most diligent viewer would be able to see that her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Even he had to flick through them all and then compare them to the images in his mind of therealMerida. The one he had seen on the night they met and the morning he had said goodbye. Meridabeforethe baby and the end of her career and the gold-digging accusations and the contract.
He wanted to meet her again.
But there were walls of ice between them—the contract, the harsh words, and now Merida was playing the part of the society wife.
Ethan wanted to get behind the mask.
If Merida would give him a second chance.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
