A Contract for His Runaway Bride

The last thing she wanted was to loosen her tongue with wine. The engagement ring incident was still playing on her mind. She couldn’t work out why Morag would have done such a thing. Why hadn’t she sold the ring? Why had she kept it after all this time? What could the housekeeper hope to achieve by keeping it stashed away? It didn’t make any sense.

‘I’m having an AFD.’

‘Pardon?’

‘An alcohol-free day.’

‘Right...’

‘But you go ahead.’

Lincoln took a bottle of orange juice out of the integrated fridge. ‘I’m fine with juice. Would you prefer mineral water?’

‘That would be perfect.’

A short time later they were seated in the dining room. Elodie served the chicken chasseur she’d made, along with steamed beans and a potato dish with onions and a dash of cream and fresh herbs.

She picked up her glass of mineral water. ‘Bon appetit.’

Lincoln smiled and picked up his glass, clinked it against hers. ‘So, when did you develop an interest in cooking? I seem to recall you could barely scramble an egg when we were together.’

She put her glass down and picked up her cutlery, sending him a glance across the candlelit table. ‘Life living out of hotels can be pretty boring. The food starts to taste all the same. I made a point of using my time at home between photo shoots as a chance to experiment. I did a cooking class in Italy, and then another one in France. They were heaps of fun.’

‘I’m impressed.’

Elodie shrugged off his compliment. ‘It’s not that hard. But I freak out a bit when I cook for Elspeth.’

‘Because of her allergy?’

‘Yeah.’ She shuddered and continued, ‘Seeing Morag collapse like that was a bit triggering, to be honest. What if neither of us had been home? What if she’d lost consciousness and we’d found her on the floor, and it was too late, and—’

‘Elodie, sweetheart.’ His voice cut across her panicked speech with calm authority. ‘It didn’t happen, okay? She’s safe and sound in hospital and she will be back to work tomorrow, if I’m any judge.’

Elodie put her cutlery down, her appetite completely deserting her. ‘Sorry.’ She flashed him an effigy of a smile. ‘It’s been a long day. I think I’ll just clear away and go to bed.’

She put her napkin to one side and began to push her chair back. Lincoln rose from his own chair and came around to help her. He took her in his arms and gathered her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

‘Seven years ago you never really told me much about what it was like for you, growing up with Elspeth and her allergy. You’ve told me more in the last few days than you did the whole time we were together.’

Elodie laid her cheek against his chest, enjoying the warmth and protectiveness of his embrace and the deep reverberation of his voice beneath her ear. ‘I guess we talked about other stuff or didn’t talk at all. Or at least not about stuff that was deep and serious.’

He lifted her chin from his chest and meshed his gaze with hers. ‘I should have told you about my adoption. I have a habit of compartmentalising my life. I’m not sure it’s a healthy or wise thing to do.’

She slipped her arms around his waist. ‘At least you’re aware of doing it. That’s half the battle, surely? Awareness.’

‘It sure is.’ He placed his hands on her hips, his expression warm and tender. ‘I’ll clear this away while you go upstairs and get ready for bed. I’ll be up soon.’

‘But I’m such a messy cook. There’s stuff everywhere in the kitchen.’

‘You’re not the only one who’s become a little more domesticated in the last few years. Now, off you go. I won’t take no for an answer.’

Elodie would have put up more of a fight, but she suddenly realised how completely exhausted she was. Her emotions were in a whirlpool and she didn’t know how to process them. She was used to blocking out things she didn’t want to think about. Used to pushing thoughts to the back of her mind and leaving them there, like stuffing old clothes she didn’t want to wear again to the back of the wardrobe.

But the engagement ring sitting in that drawer in Morag’s room was playing on her mind so much it made it hard to think about anything else.

Should she tell Lincoln, or leave things until she could talk to Morag? How could she tell Lincoln and be sure he would believe her?

Sure, they were talking and communicating in a way they hadn’t done in the past, but it didn’t guarantee he would trust her version of events. She had been the one to publicly humiliate him by jilting him. It would be reasonable for him to assume she had sold the ring to finance her career. If she produced it now, it would be her word against his long-term housekeeper’s. And he had never trusted her word against Morag’s in the past.

It had always been difficult for her to put her trust in someone, to believe they’d have her back no matter what. That they’d believe her. She had been portrayed in the press as scatty and fickle—a wild party girl who couldn’t care less what people thought of her.

But she did care.

Was it foolish to hope Lincoln might finally trust her now?

***