Cam stiffened, tempted to turn around and demand to know it all.
‘Really?’ The woman’s interest was clearly piqued by this information.
‘Such a shame; she was so looking forward to setting up house and starting a family. She was devastated. You know who she is, don’t you? James O’Flanagan’s daughter.’
James O’Flanagan? Didi’s father—her family—was up there with royalty amongst Sydney’s elite?
Shock slammed Cam mid-chest. His entire body felt as if it were losing structure, his foundations collapsing around him. How could he not have realised? He should have connected the name.
And it changed everything.
Bernie Boyd’s son and James O’Flanagan’s daughter…impossible. His hands balled into fists in his pockets. The press would waste no time digging up the dirt on him, tabloids would have a field day, and Didi’s reputation as an emerging artist would be ruined—the public were an unforgiving lot.
Not to mention what James himself would have to say.
Cam didn’t know the man personally but the way he’d treated his daughter was beneath contempt. At least Veronica had sent her apologies; she had a prior engagement, which apparently took precedence over her sister’s special night. Her parents hadn’t even acknowledged her invitation and Cam knew she was disappointed. What did that say about them?
He shuddered to think what the news about his background would do to the new career she’d fought so hard for. Here was Cam about to suggest their relationship continue. Unthinkable now. As if James O’Flanagan would approve of a live-in relationship for his daughter with the son of a criminal—hell, did O’Flanagan already know?
And Cam couldn’t offer her anything more. Didi might not judge him the way Katrina had but she hadn’t been totally honest about who she was either—what else hadn’t she told him?
She hadn’t told him she wanted a home and family some day.
And she deserved it—but he couldn’t give her that, not with his background and his inability to commit. Better to get tonight over with as soon as and as sensitively as possible.
Feeling as if she were dancing on clouds, Didi floated out of the elevator then twirled around and planted a kiss on Cameron’s mouth. ‘Wasn’t it wonderful? Spectacular? I’m a success! They’re publishing an article in Textiles magazine and The Age. A TV interview, three more commissions—huge commissions—and every piece sold!’
Cameron smiled against her lips. ‘I never doubted it. You were wonderful.’ He kissed her again, his arms tightening around her. ‘Spectacular.’
She wanted to linger a moment more but it seemed Cameron had other ideas because he broke contact and stepped back. ‘Why the mysterious expression?’ she asked.
‘I have a surprise.’
‘Am I going to like it? You look kind of…’ Sad. Troubled. Now that she thought about it, he’d been quiet most of the way home. Probably because he hadn’t been able to get a word in.
As he opened the apartment door the scent of flowers drifted out. She stared in disbelief. Bowls of roses covered every available surface. ‘Oh…You arranged all this?’ Her heart slammed against her chest as she took in the dining room. The finest dinnerware gleamed, two candles flickered in the centre of the table, their glow reflected in the night-darkened window. A bottle of champagne cooled in an ice-bucket. Dreamy Frank Sinatra love songs wafted from the stereo.
Romance, she thought. Who knew that Cameron Black knew how to do romance? Anticipation flickered along her veins like fireflies as he pulled out a chair.
‘Sit,’ he told her as he took a crisp napkin from her plate. He set it on her lap, then uncovered the silver dishes. ‘I knew you wouldn’t have time to eat at the gallery.’
‘You were right,’ she said, eyeing the supper. A plate of cold Italian antipasto, smoked salmon and capers with lemon wedges. A green salad. Two fluted glasses filled with a rainbow of exotic fruits, jelly and cream.
Again her stomach was jittering, her heart racing. A man didn’t go to all this trouble unless he had something important to say. Did he?
He popped the cork, poured the bubbly and handed her a glass before sitting down himself and raising his own. ‘To your success, Didi.’
His eyes, she thought, such emotion in his eyes. Anticipation fizzed inside her like the champagne bubbles tickling her nose. ‘To our success. Your gallery—the whole complex—is going to help so many people.’
With their gazes spearing each other across the table they took a sip, set their glasses down. She waited, breathless for him to say something more.