One Wedding Required! Read online

  ‘It’s an exclusive contract. It means mega-mega-bucks,’ said Finn. ‘Television, magazines, billboards, instore videos... You’ll be made if you accept it, Amber. Financially—if you invest well,’ he carried on resolutely, like a man determined to play fair. ‘Then you need never work again.’

  ‘And the disadvantages?’

  There was a short silence while they stared at one another. He knew exactly what she meant.

  ‘Well, you won’t see much of me, sugar.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Amber asked lightly.

  He shook his dark head. ‘Of course it’s not a threat. It’s a fact.’

  She turned the job down flat. Of course she did. Her life was perfect as it was, and she had everything she needed. Or, rather, she had Finn—and, having got him, she honestly couldn’t contemplate life without him.

  But, despite having made what she knew was the right decision, she inevitably felt a little deflated, and was glad that she had Finn’s New Year celebration to divert her.

  The party that year was bigger than the previous ones she had been to, and Amber kind of got lost in the crush on the balcony. As the first chime pealed out she found she knew that Finn’s eyes were searching her out. She looked up to find herself locked in that blazing emerald stare, and something previously unacknowledged began to grow to life inside her.

  For that gaze touched something buried fathoms deep inside her, a treasure kept hidden for fear that reality would tarnish it and render it useless. In that gaze she recognised that Finn loved her, too—maybe not as much, but love her he did, yes.

  Yet...

  Was the nagging little insecurity which remained at the base of her heart unique to her—or did all women poised on the brink of love feel it, too?

  Why else did she wait with bated breath for Finn to come over to her side, so tall and imposing, still wearing black jeans even though most of the other men were in formal dinner suits?

  It was at around chime number five, or six—she’d lost count, even when the number to count was so small! He smiled down at her in the sort of melty way she’d often dreamed of.

  ‘Hello,’ he said softly.

  ‘Hello,’ she said back.

  ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, you do. Very.’

  And even though she was surrounded by some of the most exquisite-looking women in London, at that moment, with his green eyes dazzling her, she was secure enough in his feelings for her to smile demurely. ‘Why, thank you, Finn.’

  He raised her hand slowly to his lips and she guessed that the chimes must nearly be up, though she’d completely lost count by now.

  ‘I love you, Amber O’Neil,’ he said, but the way he spoke the words—as if he had just started speaking a foreign language—made her acutely and gratefully aware that he had never said them before. In fact, she very nearly thanked him, but stopped herself just in time!

  Afterwards she might despair of the gratitude she felt, but right then she knew only an overwhelming feeling of adoration for him. It was that simple. ‘Oh, I love you, too, Finn,’ she whispered. ‘I love you so much.’

  His smile was delighted, but it was the conquering smile of a man who had only received what was due to him. He pulled her properly into his arms then, and kissed her, and when they finally drew apart most people had left the balcony. Amber saw one scrumptious brunette giving them a regretful glance as she departed. Amber had noticed her flirting with Finn all evening, but she hadn’t attempted to stop her or to intercede. There was no point playing jealous, not with a man like Finn. He had to be with her for no other reason than because he wanted to be.

  Now, with the benefit of hindsight, she found herself wondering whether that was why she hadn’t taken the Cassini job. Because she didn’t think Finn’s feelings were strong enough to survive the inevitable absences. That, although she knew he loved her, she suspected that no love could withstand the inevitable temptations which would come his way.

  So was that really love? How could it be love, if she didn’t trust him enough to leave him? And maybe Finn was thinking the same thing. Could that be why he had been behaving in a way which was fast becoming hostile?

  She felt that she wanted to get away, but there was nowhere to go. Finn was everything to her—not just her love, but her life and her work, too. She had built her whole world around him. She bit her lip as she imagined all the changes she was going to have to make, if it really was over.

  The telephone cut into her thoughts like a scalpel. It was Finn. He had insisted on going into Allure that morning, saying that he wanted to fiddle around with the computer system before Jackson arrived back from the States.

  ‘Hello, Amber.’

  ‘Hello, Finn.’ She waited for the bad news she suspected was coming.

  ‘I’m afraid that I’m going to be late.’

  ‘How late?’ asked Amber, frowning.

  ‘Late, late,’ he told her obliquely. ‘Don’t wait up.’

  ‘That late? Where are you going?’

  There was a pause. ‘I’m not going anywhere, honey. I’m staying right here in the office, trying to make some sense out of the chaos. That way, Jackson won’t come back to total disarray.’

  So why didn’t she believe him? Sweat breaking out on her forehead in icy little beads, Amber took a deep breath.

  ‘I might go over to Ursula’s.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ She could hear the faint clicking as he continued to play with his computer as he spoke to her. Didn’t he realise how much it infuriated her when he did that?

  ‘I might even stay the night, perhaps.’ Amber held her breath, wanting him to demand that she come home, to his bed.

  ‘Sounds good,’ he told her carefully, and Amber could have wept at the distance which had sprung like some ever-widening chasm between them. ‘You could get ready for the party with Ursula, couldn’t you? I expect she’d like the company.’

  ‘Ursula isn’t coming to the party, Finn, she’s made...other plans.’ She didn’t tell him that Ursula would have already left for Prague. That she would be spending the night alone in her sister’s flat. But he was obviously keeping secrets, so why the hell shouldn’t she? She made one last conciliatory try. ‘I can come back early tomorrow, if you like—and help you get things ready for the party.’

  His reply sounded guarded; he didn’t sound like Finn at all. ‘No need for that, sugar. Everything’s organised. I phoned a party-planner to take the hassle out of things.’

  Which, she supposed, neatly cut her out of everything. ‘Thanks for telling me!’ She swallowed down some raw, nameless emotion she didn’t dare identify. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was a curious note in his voice. He sounded distant. Detached. Disinterested. ‘Bye, Amber.’

  ‘Bye.’ She replaced the telephone receiver with a sinking heart, knowing that she could not hide behind platitudes any longer. Their relationship had become a sham and it was sheer cowardice to pretend otherwise.

  Well, New Year’s Eve was traditionally a night for reflection and the contemplation of change. So be it. Tomorrow night she would pin him down. Tomorrow night she would find out whether Finn still wanted her.

  She just couldn’t bear to think about what she would say if he didn’t...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS SOON as Amber had finished speaking to Finn, she telephoned Ursula praying that she wouldn’t already have left.

  ‘Listen,’ she said to her sister, without preamble. ‘Can I stay at your place tonight?’

  ‘But I won’t be there—’

  ‘I know you won’t be there, but I’ve got a key. Remember?’

  ‘Yes, of course you can stay there.’ Ursula sounded puzzled. ‘But what exactly—?’

  Amber drew in a deep breath. ‘Ursula, a few minutes ago you asked me not to question why you were going off to Prague so suddenly. Well, I’m asking you not to questio
n me.’

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ asked her sister urgently. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Well, I’m not in any danger if that’s what you mean, but, no—I’m not okay. Not really.’

  ‘Is this something to do with Finn?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you should talk to him.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m planning to do.’

  ‘Not run away.’ Ursula sounded disapproving now.

  Amber sighed. ‘I’m not running away. I just need a little space to work out what I want to do. And at the moment he isn’t even around for me to talk to. He’s out.’ And somehow I don’t think he’s where he says he is. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Ursula reluctantly.

  Ursula lived on the opposite side of London to Amber and Finn—in Clapham. Her garden flat was tucked away in a quiet road behind the tube station. Amber hadn’t been there for ages, and, as she let herself in and dropped her overnight bag in the hall, she reflected that Ursula was sitting on a small goldmine. Her sister was naturally sensible with money; she had saved a deposit and bought a piece of prime real estate in the most recent housing slump—just before prices had rocketed.

  Amber looked around the small sitting room. How neat it was. And how tidy. Cushions which had been plumped before Ursula’s departure remained plumped—there would be no indentation of a man’s head there, where he had sprawled out on a sofa reading a book. No desert boots kicked into a sandy heap in the corner. Amber swallowed, knowing that staying here tonight was more than a need to escape and a chance to get her thoughts in order.

  Because tonight was a practice run. If, in her worstcase scenario, she was to split up with Finn, then she would soon be living alone in a flat like this.

  Or, rather, she wouldn’t. She would be at a disadvantage—starting from scratch in her mid-twenties. She wouldn’t be able to afford a shoebox in this area—and she was damned if she was going to ask Finn for any kind of maintenance.

  She wandered into the bedroom and stared at Ursula’s pristine and neatly tucked bed; she found herself wondering whether there had ever been a man in that bed. Ursula would never scatter crumbs in the sheets, that was for sure.

  Amber sighed as she wandered into the kitchen, her vision of the future bleak as she imagined a tiny bedsit in a grotty part of the city, with the loud music of neighbours blaring out all night She didn’t even dare think about finding a new job.

  But then she thought of her mother, and the real hardship which she had been forced to endure—all the poverty and loneliness of bringing two children up on her own. So what were her own problems in comparison? She loved Finn with a fervour which sometimes startled her—but if the relationship was coming to an end, then so be it. She certainly wasn’t going to beg him not to finish it. Women had been surviving and coping with broken love affairs for generations. And she was known and respected by the other leading model agencies in London—there would always be a job as a booker somewhere.

  She must be strong. She owed it to herself. And if tomorrow night was going to be the final scene in her relationship, then she was going to exit the stage with a dramatic flourish.

  She would dress to kill—she would use every trick in the book, plus a few more, and somehow she would outshine the beautiful women who would no doubt be circling him as hungrily as piranha fish, scenting that his relationship was on the rocks.

  She was going to show Finn Fitzgerald exactly what he was going to be missing!

  Finn’s New Year party always started at nine-thirty—late enough to make people hungry to be there. Or so he said. Amber suspected that people would be eager to be there if the entire proceedings lasted just five minutes!

  She planned to be late, but it was a task more difficult than she had anticipated. It was a long time to wait—especially when you had nothing in particular planned. And the last day of the year had such a strange feel to it. People walked around either looking glum or maniacally happy—depending on how their year had been. Amber spent a great part of the morning perfecting a devil-may-care expression in the mirror.

  She hadn’t spent so long getting ready since the very first time that Finn had taken her out—to a tiny, dark restaurant where her dress had been indistinguishable in the subdued lighting, and later he had peeled the garment from her body with her scarcely even noticing it!

  Well, he certainly wouldn’t be peeling the dress from her body tonight, she thought grimly. Not unless he came crawling to her with sincere apologies and some kind of explanation for the miserable way he had been behaving lately!

  She spent the afternoon shopping, finally finding the ideal, unforgettable dress—an outrageous slip of a thing in turquoise silk-satin which made her eyes look even bluer. It was shorter than she usually wore, moulding her breasts and bottom like a second skin, and the flirty, strappy high-heeled sandals she bought to accompany it made her legs look as if they went on forever. With her hair dried into a syrup-shiny fall—and more make-up than she had ever worn—she felt ready to face Finn with something approaching equanimity.

  But as she took the lift up to the flat at twenty minutes past eleven, she found that her confidence seemed to be ebbing away.

  She rang the doorbell, having decided that the impact of her arrival would be lost if she simply let herself in, and the door was pulled open almost immediately by Finn himself, who looked like a study in dark, simmering rage. He was dressed entirely in black—the only colour relief was the watchful glitter of his eyes, which looked almost unnaturally green against the pallor of his face. His body language was uncompromising—tough and uncompromising—and yet his strong, sexual magnetism surrounded him like an aura. He looked edgy, too.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded.

  ‘But you know where I’ve been. At Ursula’s.’

  He sent an exaggerated and glowering look of disbelief at his wristwatch. ‘Until this time?’

  Amber felt like smirking, but decided against it. She had never seen him so angry before. Maybe this was the kind of behaviour to which Finn responded best. Maybe in the past she had been too sweetly compliant. ‘Actually, no,’ she told him evenly: ‘I’ve been prowling round the red-light district in Soho, looking for customers!’

  With slow deliberation, he let his eyes travel from the tip of her head to the tip of her toes, and something in that candid, sexual scrutiny made her blush and tingle like a seventeen-year-old. ‘Well, you’re certainly dressed for it,’ he drawled insultingly.

  She felt like slapping him—well, actually, she felt like doing something else to him, much to her disgust. But both options were out. This was a party. And she was going to behave with dignity...

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’

  ‘Since when did you need an invitation?’ But he stood aside to let her pass, and as she deliberately brushed against him she heard his ragged inhalation of breath. She found that she was holding her own breath, wondering whether he would touch her. Pull her into his arms. Kiss her. Or drag her straight off to bed and damn the party.

  But he did none of those things.

  Instead, his eyes were riveted to the blue silk-satin which skimmed her bottom. ‘Are you wearing any knickers under that dress?’ he demanded hotly.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ she asked him, her serene manner belying the rattling pace of her heart as she set off in search of a drink she had never needed so badly in her life.

  Finn followed her across the room, yet she could almost sense his reluctance to do so—as though he was being drawn towards her against his will. She watched the women who eyed him so greedily, but for now, at least, his attention was solely on her. For the first time ever in their relationship, she felt suffused with a heady knowledge of her sexual power over him.

  But her hand was shaking as she took a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. She drank it down in one and put the empty glass on a table, before turning to look around the room. Amber
was glad she had opted for the turquoise dress, since, as usual—it being a London party—every woman in the room was wearing black. Anyone visiting from another country would be forgiven for thinking that they had walked into a funeral by mistake, she thought wryly. Though, with this gloomy air of foreboding sitting on her shoulders like a heavy mantle, it felt a bit like a funeral. Amber looked around for something else to drink.

  ‘Are you planning to get drunk?’ came a familiar baritone from behind her. She turned round to find Finn standing there, all broody, sensual menace—and his presence affected her far more than the hastily drunk champagne had done.

  She met his accusing stare head-on. ‘I might be.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Need you ask?’ Amber turned on him, suddenly sick of all this game-playing, the unknown twists and turns which their relationship seemed to be taking. The fact that he could be some icy and distant stranger, instead of her warm, loving Finn. She had planned to wait until midnight, but suddenly she couldn’t contemplate waiting a second longer. It was crunch time. ‘You’ve been evasive and bad-tempered and acting oddly for days now—and please don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it!’ She noticed that he didn’t. ‘So are you trying in some not-very-subtle way to tell me something, Finn?’

  His eyes grew wary, the thick lashes acting like shades so that she could only make out a watchful glimmer of green. ‘And what would I be trying to tell you, Amber?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ She grew exasperated now. ‘That’s why I’m asking! You’ve been unbearable to live with—there’s no other word to describe it—completely unbearable ! I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done, or not done—apart, of course—’ and her voice rose ‘—from the heinous crime of scattering crumbs all over the damned bed! Or daring to tell some magazine our innocent little story—’

  ‘Amber—’

  ‘Don’t Amber me!’ she ground out from between gritted teeth, not caring that they could be overheard, or that people were looking, or that—oh, hell—Karolina Lindberg and her glamorous mother had just come in, and were busy scanning the room, presumably looking for Finn. But he didn’t appear to notice—his attention was totally on her as she shook her mane of golden hair with frustration. ‘Stop sending me out such mixed messages and give me a clear explanation of what is happening,’ she whispered. ‘That’s all I ask.’