Juliet was kneeling on the grass in front of her bungalow, a small spade in one hand as she dug earth from the flowerbeds surrounding the house. He watched as she carefully planted the red and pink flowers, refilling the soil before sprinkling them with water from her blue-painted metal can.

Her hair was pulled back into a French braid that hung down her back, the colour still as striking as ever. He sat there, his camera on his lap, his fingers softly touching the black plastic lens, and watched as she tended the small garden. She was oblivious to the world, her neck long and slender as she leaned over the soil, her hips swaying as she moved from side to side picking up plants and moving them to the right spot. She was a portrait waiting to be taken, a study in perfect beauty.

Pulling his gaze away, Ryan picked up the soft cloth he used for his camera, and gently cleaned the lens. When he glanced up a few minutes later, Juliet had finished her planting. She was standing, her arms crossed as she surveyed her handiwork. She brushed a stray lock of red hair from her face – the strands dancing in the soft evening breeze.

She was completely oblivious to his presence, so wrapped up in the exact placement of the plants that nothing else existed around her. She was classically beautiful – like those seventeenth-century women you saw on the walls at art galleries.

His thoughts turned to Sheridan, Charlie’s mother. They’d never really been an item. More friends than anything, with a few benefits thrown in for good measure. When she’d discovered she was pregnant, they’d both taken it in their stride, and when Charlie was born in Namibia Ryan had fallen in love with his tiny scrap of a son right away. It had made sense that Ryan be the primary carer – taking a baby with you on a photographic shoot was a lot easier than taking him on tour with a band. They met up with Sheridan as often as they could – in places as exotic as Tijuana and Beijing – but for the most part it was just the two of them, and they were as close as a father and son could be.

Witnessing Poppy’s handover this morning first hand made him thankful for everything he had. The disdain for his ex that seemed to seep from every inch of Thomas Marshall’s body, had felt alien to him. Thomas Marshall had been a bully at school. It looked like he still was.

From across the yard, Juliet glanced over her shoulder, her brow dipping as she realised she wasn’t alone. Ryan lifted a hand to wave at her.

‘Hey, London, how you doing?’ he called out.

Her brows rose up as she shouted back. ‘My name’s Juliet.’ The smallest smile flittered across her face before she added, ‘Mr Sutherland.’

He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not. The not knowing made him want to stare closely at her, try to work out what was going on in her head.

‘If you call me Mr Sutherland, I’ll think you’re talking to my dad.’

‘I think I’ve met your dad,’ she told him.

More and more intriguing. ‘You’ve met him? When?’

She moved a little closer. Still on her side of the yard, but close enough that he could see the hazel of her eyes without having to look through a lens. ‘At dinner with Thomas’s parents. One of those interminable ones where the women get sent off after dessert so the men can talk business.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t miss those at all.’

Interesting. ‘You don’t?’ he asked her, putting his camera down and standing up. ‘Why not?’

He walked across the deck and leaned on the rail, smiling at her. She looked up at him, running the tip of her tongue across her lips. ‘They bored me to death. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk business.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘An

d I definitely didn’t enjoy talking about Mary Stanford’s latest grandbaby.’

His stomach contracted. He remembered those kinds of dinners too. He didn’t miss them either. He pushed himself up off the handrail and walked down the steps towards her.

She looked up at him, and he could see a smudge of earth on the tip of her nose. He wanted to reach out to rub it away. ‘You want a beer?’ he asked her, tipping his head at his deck. ‘Come and watch the sun go down with me.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t, I’ve got some … some things to do inside. Poppy will be back tomorrow, I want to get all my work done before then.’

He ignored the pulse of disappointment shooting through him. ‘Maybe another time then?’

Her nod was slight. He took that as a good sign. ‘I don’t drink beer. But maybe a lemonade … or something.’

For now, he’d take it.

‘Or perhaps a shandy,’ he said, grinning. ‘We will get you over to the dark side, whatever it takes.’

From the way her mouth fell open, he suspected it would take quite a lot.

Juliet’s hands were shaking as she pulled the gardening gloves from them, laying them down on the counter before washing her hands beneath the running faucet. Her cheeks flamed at the memory of him catching her looking at him. It wasn’t the first time she’d been looking, either. When she’d been kneeling at the flowerbed she’d snuck more than a few glances over her shoulder, intrigued by how carefully he’d been cleaning his camera. The concentration on his face had called to her like a siren. She knew how easy it was to get caught up in something that you loved doing. It happened to her every day in the shop.

And of course she hadn’t noticed just how handsome he looked in the orange light of the setting sun. She was way too busy for that.

Looking up from the sink, she caught sight of herself in the window, the darkening skies outside turning the glass into a mirror. It was impossible not to wince at the way she looked. Her hair was a mess, her face – unadorned by any make-up – was smudged with earth, and beneath her eyes were those ever-present shadows.

What would Thomas think of her if he could see her like this? During their marriage she’d always taken such good care of her appearance. Monthly trips to the hair salon, weekly trips to the beautician’s. Not to mention the personal shopper at Garvey’s, the local department store, who always called her whenever they had new additions to their designer range.

To the unpractised ear it sounded like a fairy tale, and maybe it was at first. But in recent years those cinched-in tailored dresses had felt more like a prison uniform. No, maybe they were more like a costume – clothes she put on to pretend to be somebody she wasn’t. She’d tried so hard to be perfect, and it still wasn’t enough. Not for Thomas or for her.

Tags: Carrie Elks The Shakespeare Sisters Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net