Marriage on the Rebound

What the hell…? she wondered in a moment’s blank incomprehension, then felt the first rumblings of mutiny begin to bubble inside her.

From the moment she’d left her aunt and uncle’s house she hadn’t seen a single piece of her own luggage. Some of the clothes she had so lovingly bought for her honeymoon with Piers had appeared in the wardrobe back at Rafe’s house, but a lot of them hadn’t, and the suitcases she had never seen again.

Even her flight bag had been a different one. Instead of the black leather bag that matched her old luggage, Rafe had come up with a velvety soft tan one, made of the finest kid leather, in which he’d told her to place her personal items.

‘Feeling better now?’

Rafe appeared in the doorway to the bedroom.

Shaan pushed her hands into the deep robe pockets and turned slowly to face him. ‘Where did these come from?’ she demanded.

There was a moment’s pause. ‘Why?’ he countered casually. ‘Don’t you like them?’

‘It isn’t a case of like,’ she said. ‘I just don’t recognise them.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘They’re new,’ he explained. ‘I had your sizes faxed out here, so everything should fit…’

Faxed? Faxed out where, and to whom? ‘But where are my own things?’

‘Back in England.’ He shrugged and glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘I have one or two phone calls to make before we—’

‘Rate!’ She stopped him before he could turn away. ‘Have—have you discarded all my other stuff?’ she asked him incredulously.

‘Did you want to see it again?’ he asked, disturbing her insides with the narrowed coolness of his regard.

‘I…no,’ she admitted, feeling the colour recede from her face. ‘But—’

‘There is no but,’ he cut in. ‘You hated the sight of those things and I hated them too. So I got rid of them, OK? And even if it isn’t OK it’s too damned late. You’re my wife now, Shaan,’ he added grimly. ‘Not Piers’. And things you bought to please him will certainly not please me.’

‘But all that money, Rafe!’ she cried. Whether he was right or wrong, she was horrified by the unnecessary extravagance.

‘What money—Piers’ money?’ His mouth turned down into an ugly sneer when Shaan lowered her eyes in guilt.

Yes, Piers had paid for her trousseau. She had been nothing but a very junior secretary who needed every penny of her income just to live. As Piers had pointed out to her when they’d discussed their honeymoon, she would be his responsibility by then, so why shouldn’t he pay for the kind of clothes he would expect to see his wife wearing?

‘Well, then, don’t trouble yourself about it,’ Rafe said tightly. ‘Because any money Piers spent on you initially came from me, so the—“extravagance” is my problem, not yours. Get dressed,’ he commanded, anger flashing across his eyes as he watched her sink heavily onto the edge of the bed. ‘We have a business dinner to attend this evening, and we have to get across the city to my offices to pick up some papers I need to study before we meet these people.’

‘We?’ Her head came up sharply, alarm making her catch her breath. ‘But you don’t need me to—’

His harsh sigh cut her short. He strode over to her then bent to lift her back to her feet, his fingers hurting where they pressed into the delicate structure of her shoulders.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘In the eyes of everyone who matters, we are man and wife. And in the role of wife it is your duty to be at my side when I entertain. Is that asking too much?’

‘I… No, of course not,’ she answered stiffly.

‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘So, do you come with me to my offices, or would you prefer to sit here moping over your lost trousseau?’

It was meant to cut, and it did. What she didn’t understand was why he was suddenly attacking her like this. It didn’t make any sense.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she conceded dully. ‘Just for the record,’ she added on a sudden flash of rare defiance, ‘I couldn’t care less what you did with my other things. But I do object to you implying that I was some kind of gold-digger! I was in love with Piers! And I was marrying him for the man I thought he was—not for what I thought I could get out of him!’

‘Yet you use the past tense already,’ he threw back coolly. ‘Does real love wither into the past tense that quickly, Shaan?’

She lowered her head, the cruel taunt killing that small flare of defiance as neatly as if he had taken it between his finger and thumb and snuffed it out.

‘Look,’ he continued, turning impatiently away from her, ‘if you could hurry up in here, I would appreciate it. Only I need a shower and a change of clothes myself before we—’

‘W-what do you mean?’ Shaan gasped, beginning to feel dizzy with all the shocks he seemed hell-bent on laying on her.