Questions swirled around her mind—where had Zeb been? Not once in his speech had Adam even mentioned his father.
‘Well, hell. I never knew any of that.’
Olivia jumped at the deep American drawl coming at her from her left. The large, craggy-featured blond man who must have seated himself whilst she had been deep in reverie gave her a warm smile, his dark blue eyes creasing.
There was no mistaking who it was: Noah Braithwaite—star of a string of box office hits. Amazing that she hadn’t even noticed his arrival—the man was all about charisma—but her focus, her entire body and mind, had been tuned to Adam.
‘You must be Olivia.’
‘Yes.’ Olivia forced herself to smile and shoved her feet firmly down on the smooth canvas floor of the marquee.
Racing across the catwalk towards Adam was not an option, however hard her body ached to hold him. He wouldn’t thank her for it. The last thing he needed was for her to make some sort of public display when he had refrained from anything of the sort.
‘I’m Noah. The man your enterprising boyfriend has sacrificed to Candice.’
‘You got your yacht back,’ Olivia pointed out a touch tartly.
‘True. But never fear. Adam’ll skin me of it again next poker night.’ As if seeing her bristle, Noah grinned. ‘Relax, Olivia. I’m teasing you. Adam knows damn well I’d have done it for nothing but the sake of friendship. I’m just hoping Candice isn’t as big a diva as she’s made out to be.’ He winked. ‘Speaking of whom, I’d better go to my allocated seat, where I can best see my three-date woman, or she’ll throw a hissy fit.’
Olivia watched the show in a daze as models shimmied, sashayed and glided down the catwalk. Silks and satins and tweeds all interweaved in a dazzling display of talent and outrageous ingenuity. But even as she exclaimed in appreciation of the outlandish and the exquisite her gaze kept flickering back to Adam, pulled by a magnetic need to make sure he was all right.
It was a yearning that she had to hold in check until the end of the show when finally, finally, she wended her way through the crowd towards him.
EIGHT
‘Thank goodness that’s over.’ Adam slid into the glossy limousine after Olivia and expelled a huge sigh. Unaccustomed weariness rolled over him and he flexed his shoulders before leaning back against the padded leather and tugging his tie off.
Two hours of mingling, of accepting condolences and congratulations, and he felt raw. Exposed, even. He’d managed to field the more personal questions, had tried to speak simply of his mother and the woman he remembered her to have been. Or maybe didn’t remember enough.
‘Do you regret your speech?’
He turned to look at Olivia, her profile silhouetted in the muted light of the car, shadows playing on her beautiful features.
Unease threaded him as he realised how good it had felt to have her by his side. His disquiet was almost enhanced by his feeling of gratitude when he remembered how she had shielded him where she could, her touch on his arm a balm.
And here he was, waxing lyrical.
The emotional impact of the whole event had quite simply temporarily knocked his perspective off course.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t regret it because I do want her to be remembered.’
‘It can’t have been easy,’ Olivia said, her voice low, warming him. ‘But you did well, Adam. Really well. Maria would have been proud of you. She sounds like an amazing woman and an amazing mum.’ She hesitated, twirling a stray tendril of hair round her finger. ‘It must have been devastating for you when you lost her.’
He could shut her off, could simply say that he didn’t want to talk about it. But to his own surprise he didn’t mind. Olivia had stood by him all evening and helped him deflect exactly the same comments from strangers.
‘I was devastated, and I had no idea how to deal with it. You could say I handled it badly.’
She shifted across the seat, turned so her upper body faced his, the silver of her dress shimmering in the dusky light. ‘I think that’s understandable,’ she said.
‘I was angry,’ he said. So angry he could still feel the heat of it scorch him across the years. He’d been helpless and scared and he’d hated it. ‘Angry with fate, with life. I was even angry with her for dying. For not somehow fighting it. Guess I took it personally.’
‘I don’t think there’s any other way of taking it,’ Olivia said.
He glanced at her. ‘Is that how you took your dad’s behaviour?’
‘Yes.’ Elegant shoulders hitched. ‘My head tells me that he would have rejected any child. But my heart and soul knows he rejected me. Difference is my father had a choice. Your mother didn’t.’