Thadie had spent almost every moment since leaving Cathcart House examining the last nine months, trying to understand how she’d ended up unengaged in such a dramatic fashion. She’d genuinely thought Clyde would be a good father for Gus and Finn and, in their early days together, he had spent time with them, playing with them and getting to know them. Had she clung onto those memories as proof he’d be a good father and, caught up in the drama of their wedding going wrong, ignored or excused his lack of attention towards the twins? She bit her lip. Maybe.
Probably.
She’d spent her childhood and teens wishing, longing and hoping for her parents’ attention so when Clyde had said he’dbe the twins’ dad, her eyes had filled with stars. She’d been so enamoured with giving the twins the stable family she’d never had that she’d ignored and dismissed anything that didn’t fit into her fantasy of a perfect family.
She’d been so focused on netting them a father that she hadn’t paid enough attention to the quality, and the qualities, of her catch. Too much fantasy, not enough reality.
Thadie sighed, feeling exhausted, wishing she were less obsessed with her need to give them a father, a role model. It was, she admitted, her issue, not theirs. But the compulsion to find them a father remained.
The memory of a rough-hewn face, attractively rugged, flashed on the big screen in her mind. The twins had his eyes, a light blue-green, a compelling contrast to their pale brown skin. Gus had his long nose, Finn Angus’s mouth. Being already tall for their age, they’d also, she suspected, inherited his height. Having the boys in her life was a constant reminder of the best night of her life...
If only she hadn’t lost his business card. Or had even looked at it before she lost it.
And not only because she’d wanted him to know about the twins. No, from the moment their eyes had met, she’d felt connected to him. She recalled the way raindrops glistened on his rich brown hair, the way his mouth hitched in a half-smile, and his extraordinarily wide shoulders. She recalled her heart settling and sighing. Until that moment she hadn’t realised she’d been waiting for him to make an appearance in her life...
No, she was not going to add to her misery by thinking of Angus, what could’ve been, what had been lost. If she went down that path, she’d find herself mired in misery and she was feeling downhearted enough, thank you very much. Instead of wallowing, she needed to do something,anything...
The boys were with Jabu, the semi-retired butler who’d all but raised her, and she had to get out of the house. The walls were starting to close in on her. Her bodyguard Greg had tried to stop her, but Thadie overrode him, telling him that he could either accompany her or not, but she was leaving.
Greg, because it was his job, had no choice but to accompany her.
He insisted on driving, and it took him some time to manoeuvre her SUV through the throng of press at her gate. Ten minutes later, they were on the highway, heading for her best friend’s bridal salon. Dodi would steer her to her office, sit her down and give her tea. Dodi wouldn’t feel offended if she remained silent, or she would listen if Thadie wanted to recount every detail of the last few days. Or months. She was a truly excellent friend.
Knowing Greg would struggle to find parking near Dodi’s popular salon, she told him to park a street over, not minding the walk past the art galleries, boutiques and delicatessens. She loved this area of her city. Melrose was an arty, lovely part of Johannesburg and it never bored her.
Leaving the car, she pulled her large bag over her shoulder and started walking in the direction of Love & Enchantment, Dodi’s salon. Getting out of the house had been an excellent idea, she thought, as Greg fell into position behind her. She needed the exercise and maybe, if she was really lucky, she’d find a box of artisanal pastries or hand-crafted chocolates in Dodi’s salon. There normally was. Dodi often calmed down overanxious, entitled or neurotic brides with sugary treats. And champagne.
She could do with a glass, or three, of champagne.
Thadie heard the beep of a text message and pulled her bag across her body, opening the zip. She pulled out her phone and pushed the sunglasses onto her head to read the message.Another publication was asking for a comment on her crazy press conference.Was she overcome with grief? Was that why she went outside in her dressing gown?
No, she silently replied, she had just been comprehensively, brain-shutting-down angry. Of course she’d never intended to do a press conference barefoot, dressed in an ultra-short satin-and-lace dressing gown. And if they thought she was stupid enough to give them any additional coverage by commenting on her enormous faux pas, they were the ones losing their minds.
‘Thadie, I think we should go back to the car,’ Greg said, from his position behind her. ‘Being out in public is a bad idea.’
Thadie looked around, thinking they were just round the corner from Dodi’s salon. Maybe twenty yards, thirty? ‘Let’s just see,’ Thadie implored him. ‘I’m going berserk at home, Greg, and I need to see my best friend. It will be fine,’ she assured him with more confidence than she felt. ‘Dodi’s place is just around the corner.’
‘Why do I think I am going to regret this?’ Greg muttered, moving closer to her as they turned right...
And crashed straight into a mob of flashing cameras, shouted questions and smelly, less-than-fresh reporters. They must’ve been waiting quietly for them, having sussed they were close by. It was an ambush, Thadie realised. The press had informants everywhere and it was possible someone had followed her car and, after deducing where she was going—she and Dodi were friends long before Dodi’s engagement to her brother Jago—tipped off the press.
Greg tried to keep some distance between her and the reporters, but it wasn’t possible as they circled her from all sides. The questions amalgamated into an indecipherable cacophony and, being so close, the light flashes from the cameras hurt her eyes. Thadie felt as if she were in a fairground hall of mirrors where she couldn’t focus on anyone’s face andhad no conception of distance. She started to hyperventilate and her grip on Greg’s arm tightened. At least, she hoped it was Greg’s arm, she couldn’t be sure.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, a thickly muscled forearm encircled her waist, spun her around and plastered her against a very wide and very hard chest. The arm tightened and her feet lost contact with the ground. Using his other hand, and with a series of blunt and rude commands issued in a deep, don’t-test-me voice, her rescuer cleared a path out of the melee.
Thadie’s body stiffened. She recognised that voice, that Scottish accent...the rolled r’s, stronger vowels and softer t’s. No, it couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible. There was no way Angus was carrying her out of this mob. It had to be another six-foot-four, ripped guy who smelled like a walk through a wild forest.
Thadie placed her hand on that hard chest and looked up. A cold wave doused her, then a blowtorch seared her skin, and she couldn’t decide whether she was blisteringly hot or freezing cold. Her mouth dried up and her heart rate rocketed up and, yes, she’d suddenly acquired a hundred thousand butterflies in her stomach. And they were taking flight.
She’d experienced a couple of tough days, and her eyes had to be playing tricks on her, because there was no way that Angus, her one-night—and exceedingly hot—stand was carrying her over to a massive, matte black Range Rover and tossing her inside.
What? How? Was she losing her mind?
But since he was the only person who’d ever made her feel light-headed, consumed by the urge to touch and taste, she might not be going crazy. Or not just yet.
From the passenger seat of his car, Thadie watched, flabbergasted, as Angus walked around the bonnet of the luxury vehicle, his scowl enough of a deterrent to make the reporterskeep their distance. She was vaguely aware of Greg saying he’d drive her car home, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off Angus—so masculine, so sexy!—sliding behind the wheel of the car.
Without a word, he started the car and slapped it into gear, his eyes on his side mirror, checking to see if he could pull into the traffic. ‘What on earth areyoudoing here?’ she asked, her voice cracking.