‘But I would’ve managed,’ Merry assured the older woman, resisting the urge to protest her aunt’s decision to call on the help of an old friend, rather than her niece. Seeing the lines of tension and anxiety already indenting Sybil’s face, Merry decided to keep what had happened with Angel to herself. Right now, her aunt had enough on her plate and didn’t need any additional stress from Merry’s corner.
That evening, once Elyssa was bathed and tucked into her cot, Merry opened a bottle of wine. Sybil had already departed for the first flight she had been able to book and Merry was feeling more than a little lonely. She lifted her laptop and put Angel’s name into a search engine. It was something she had never allowed herself to do before, deeming any such information-gathering online to be unhealthy and potentially obsessional. Now drinking her wine, she didn’t care any more because her spirits were low and in need of distraction.
A cascade of photos lined up and in a driven mood of defiance she clicked on them one after another. Unsurprisingly, Angel looked shockingly good in pictures. Her lip curled and she refilled her glass, sipping it while she browsed, only to freeze when she saw the most recent photo of Angel with the same blonde he had brought to lunch with his father the day Merry had told him that she was pregnant. That photo had been taken only the night before at some charitable benefit: Angel, the ultimate in the socialite stakes in a designer dinner jacket, smooth and sleek and gorgeous, and his blonde companion, Roula Paulides, ravishing in a tight glittering dress that exposed an astonishing amount of her chest.
She was Greek too, a woman Angel would presumably have much more in common with. Merry fiercely battled the urge to do an online search on Roula as well. What was she? A stalker?
She finished her glass of wine and grabbed the bottle up in a defiant move to fill the glass again. Well, she was glad she had looked, wasn’t she? The very night before he proposed marriage to Merry, Angel had been in another woman’s company and had probably spent the night in her bed. Even worse the sexy blonde was clearly an unusual woman, being one who was an enduring interest in Angel’s life and not one of the more normal options, who swanned briefly on scene and then was never seen again with him.
Merry fought the turbulent swell of emotion tightening her chest, denying that it hurt, denying that it bothered her in the slightest to discover that Angel was still seeing that same blonde all these many months later. But denial didn’t work in the mood she was in as she sat sipping her wine and staring into the middle distance, angry bitterness threatening to consume her.
How dared he propose to her only hours after being in another woman’s company? How dared he condemn her for not taking him seriously? And how dared he come on to her as he had out on the terrace before he’d left? Didn’t he have any morals at all? Any conscience? And how could she even begin to be jealous over such a brazen, incurable playboy?
And yet she was jealous, Merry acknowledged wretchedly, stupidly, pointlessly jealous of a thoroughly fickle, unreliable man. Rage flared inside her afresh as she recalled that careless suggestion that they marry. Oh, he had played that marriage proposal down, all right, shoving it on the table without ceremony or even a hint of romance. Was it any wonder that she had not taken that suggestion seriously?
In a sudden movement Merry flew out of her seat and stalked out to the kitchen to lift the business card Angel had left with her. She was texting him before she had even thought through what she wanted to say…
Do you realise that if you married me you would have to give up other women?
* * *
Angel studied the screen of his phone in disbelief. He was dining with his brother Vitale and the sudden text from an unfamiliar number that belonged to Merry took him aback. He breathed in deep, his wide, sensual mouth compressing with exasperation.
Are you finally taking me seriously? If I married you there would be NO OTHER WOMEN.
Merry had texted him in shouty capitals.
‘Problems?’ Vitale hazarded.
Angel shook his dark head and grinned while wondering if Merry was drunk. He just could not imagine her being that blunt otherwise. Merry of all women drunk-dialling him, Merry who was always so careful, so restrained. A sudden and quite shocking degree of wondering satisfaction gripped Angel, washing away his edgy tension, his conviction that he had made a fatal misstep with her and a hash of their meeting.