Marooned with the Millionaire

Marcus opened his eyes and knew that April was gone. His whole being was bereft, even as he felt some grim satisfaction that he had kept the promise she had extracted from him in the early hours of the morning.

‘Please let me say goodbye now.’

Her hair had been tickling his chin and his arms had been wrapped around her. He hadn’t wanted her to say goodbye at all. But he’d respected her wishes and agreed.

Of course he’d known when she’d woken—had forced himself to remain still as she’d slipped from the bed, quietly picked up her clothes and dropped a feather-light kiss on his cheek before she’d tiptoed out of the room. And out of his life. Because shortly after that he’d heard the door click shut and had known that April was gone.

He needed to get on with his life—there could have been no future with April. He had been a fool even to contemplate any deviation from his path.

April had been through so much—had worked out a way to live her life despite the tragedy she had experienced. He could offer her nothing, really, except perhaps medium-term gratification. For a mad moment he’d been allowed a glimpse of a different future—had had a vision of himself as a dad—but he knew now it had been nothing but an illusion. April had been sensible enough to see that and to reject the insubstantial offer he had made her.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself the memory of the past few hours—hours of such bittersweet joy that his gut wrenched at the knowledge they would never be repeated. He’d never hold April in his arms again, never caress her skin, hear her laugh or...

Enough.

He’d survived for years without April and he’d survive now. There was work to be done and plenty of it.

Swinging himself out of bed, he headed for the bathroom, closing his senses to the elusive drift of April’s perfume—the delicate rose that hitched his breath in his chest. Avoiding the kitchen, he left the house as soon as possible.

Yet everywhere seemed to hold a memory, and by evening his head pounded with the effort of not thinking.

A knock on the office door elicited a sigh and a terse, ‘Come in.’ Surprise raised his brows as Louise entered, a tentative smile on her face. He couldn’t remember either Louise or Bill ever coming to his office without prior arrangement.

Maybe because you made it plain they weren’t welcome.

He could almost hear April’s voice and now infused his own with defensive cheer. ‘Louise! How lovely to see you. I was going to call later to thank you and Bill for everything you’ve done. Sunita said you’ve been fantastic in the nursery.’

‘I was glad to help. Those poor parents needed somewhere they knew their children would be safe and fed and looked after whilst they tried to put their lives back together. But that’s not why I’m here. I got a thank-you message from April, but I understand that she has now left Lycander?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry. I saw the way you looked at each other last week and I thought... I hoped that maybe you two were together.’

‘No.’

‘Do you have feelings for her?’

Marcus blinked at her, feeling a touch flummoxed. He and Louise quite simply did not have conversations like this.

‘I...’

Louise continued almost chattily. ‘I think you do. Maybe you even love her.’

The words seemed to come from a long way away, and then they exploded in a sonic boom around him. Love. He loved April. The idea was so ginormous, so huge, so terrifying he couldn’t even summon the ability to deny it.

‘I...it doesn’t matter if I do. I asked her to stay and she didn’t.’

Louise looked at him as if he were missing a few brain cells. ‘Did you tell her how you feel or did you just let her go?’

‘I let her go. You can’t make people love you.’

‘No, you can’t. But you can try to persuade them. I know I’m biased, but what’s not to love? You are kind, generous, strong, brave and loyal.’

His body flinched in automatic rejection of the words and Louise leant forward, placed her hands on his desk.

‘Marcus. There are things that I should have said before. Things I didn’t say because you never wished to speak of them and I thought it best not to. Perhaps I was simply too much of a coward. That fire was not your fault and neither was the death of your parents. It was a tragedy brought about by the choices your parents made. The choices you have made in your life have been principled and honourable. You were twelve years old but you saved Elvira—at great risk to yourself.’

‘But I didn’t save them.’