Читать книгу Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2 - Kate Hardy - Страница 9

DRAGAN had been home half an hour when the doorbell rang. Bramble barked—just in case he’d missed the fact someone was on the doorstep—and pattered behind him as he opened the door.

‘Dinner will be approximately thirty minutes,’ Melinda announced, holding up two brown paper bags.

Not take-away food either, Dragan knew as he followed her into his kitchen. Melinda liked to cook from scratch.

‘First of all, this needs to go into the freezer.’ She retrieved a tub of ice cream from one of the bags and put it in the coldest part of the freezer. ‘And next, for you, because you’re beautiful.’ She bent down and made a fuss of the dog, then took a handful of treats from her pocket and fed them to Bramble one by one.

From the blur of her wagging tail, Dragan knew that the dog loved having Melinda around as much as he did. ‘You spoil that dog,’ he remarked.

‘And you don’t?’ she teased.

‘Never,’ he deadpanned. ‘So where’s my treat, then?’

She grinned, reached up and slid her arms round his neck, then kissed him thoroughly. ‘Better?’

He smiled. ‘Much better. Want a hand making dinner?’

‘Absolutely not.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s wonderful being able to work in a proper kitchen. The one in the flat over the surgery isn’t even big enough for a hamster wheel.’

And she looked good in his kitchen, he thought. At home. So much so that she didn’t hesitate to switch on his iPod and pick out some of the tracks she liked, by an opera-pop crossover artist that she’d downloaded for him the previous week. He’d never heard of the singer before, but he liked it, especially when she was singing along to it, half humming and half singing the lyrics. She was as good with the Spanish lyrics as she was with the Italian ones, and he loved the sweetness of her voice.

It wasn’t just the music. He loved having her around, full stop.

Because she made his house feel like home. She had done ever since her second visit to the cottage, when she’d brought him the iPod, complete with a set of speakers for his kitchen, and insisted that he accepted the gift. ‘You can’t cook properly without music, Dragan. You can’t live without music.’

Melinda was always singing. And she always took over the CD player in his car. Since she’d been around, there had been a lot more music in his life.

A lot more everything.

Maybe he’d ask her tonight. Maybe he’d take her for a walk on the beach and kiss her under the stars and ask her to stay. For always.

He enjoyed just watching her as she chopped and stirred and tasted and stirred a bit more.

Then she looked over at him and the corners of her eyes crinkled. ‘You can lay the table, if you like.’

The small bistro table was set in front of the French doors that overlooked the garden; although it wasn’t like the huge rambling garden he’d grown up with, he enjoyed his little patch of green. Right now it was full of spring flowers, with a carpet of blue squill underneath the apple tree. He set the table, took a bottle of white wine from the fridge, poured two glasses, and sat down as she brought over two plates.

Bramble immediately settled on the floor between the two of them, and Melinda laughed. ‘Ah, no, you can’t have any of this, bellissima. The chilli sauce won’t be kind to your stomach.’

‘And she’s already wolfed down half a dozen prawns while you were preparing this,’ Dragan pointed out.

‘Of course. She’s my official tester.’ Melinda waited until he’d taken his first mouthful of the avocado with prawns and chilli sauce. ‘So do you like it?’

‘It’s fabulous,’ he said honestly. Trust Melinda to come up with a combination he would never have thought of.

The lemon chicken with broccoli, carrots and new potatoes was equally good. And although he didn’t have a sweet tooth, he was content to watch her eat the hazelnut meringue ice cream that was a speciality of the Trevellyans’ farm shop and which she absolutely adored.

‘So you admit now that food is not just fuel?’ Melinda demanded when they cleared the table together.

‘Yes, I admit it. You are right and I am wrong, carissima.’

She laughed. ‘And therefore you owe me a forfeit.’

He laughed back. ‘Indeed. It’s in the cupboard next to the fridge.’ He never ate chocolate, but Melinda loved it, so he’d taken to buying some just for her. Rich, dark chocolate flavoured with spices and a hint of orange.

She found the bar of chocolate within seconds. ‘For someone who never touches the stuff, you have amazingly good taste, Dr Lovak.’

Her little ‘oh’ of pleasure as she snapped off the first square and slid it into her mouth sent desire flickering down his spine. A desire he could see matched in her beautiful blue eyes.

He made them both coffee, strong and dark, and placed the mugs on his low coffee-table before sitting on the sofa and pulling her onto his lap. He loved having her near. And he loved it even more when she kissed him spontaneously, cupping his face and nibbling at his lower lip to deepen the kiss. He loved the silky feel of her hair against his skin, her sweet floral scent, the warmth of her body against his.

He tipped her back on the sofa and was halfway through undoing her shirt when she groaned. ‘Dragan. You should’ve been born in Sparta.’

‘What?’ He frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’

‘Your sofa. It’s like a bed of nails.’

It wasn’t the most comfortable in the world, true, but it did him. He didn’t actually spend much time on it anyway—he was either out walking with the dog or somewhere with Melinda or sitting at the little table, working on some notes on his laptop. He smiled and stroked her hair back from her face. ‘Don’t be such a princess.’

She stiffened, then pushed him away and sat up, buttoning her shirt again.

He frowned. ‘Melinda? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Her face shuttered. ‘I ought to be going.’

What? A few seconds ago they’d been kissing. Undressing each other—she’d completely unbuttoned his own shirt. And now she’d gone all frosty on him. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong. ‘What? Why? Neither of us is on call. I thought we were spending time together?’ Then the penny dropped. He’d accused her of being princessy. ‘This princess business—I was teasing, tesoro. You know the story of the princess who can still feel the tiny pea through fifty mattresses—that’s like the way you complain about my sofa.’

‘Uh-huh.’

He didn’t understand why she was reacting so badly—Melinda had a great sense of humour usually, and it was rare for her not to have a smile on her face—but he hated the idea of her being hurt and him being the cause. He slid his arm round her and hugged her. ‘You’re not like that at all—you don’t have any airs and graces, and your four-by-four isn’t like that dreadful woman’s next door.’

‘What woman?’

‘I didn’t catch her name—I wasn’t paying attention,’ he admitted. ‘Natalie or Natasha or Na…I don’t know. It’s not important.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘She’s staying next door in the holiday cottage. Hopefully not for too long. Now, she’s the princessy type. Hair cut in the latest fashion, designer clothes and shoes, a four-by-four that’s probably never been within a mile of an untarmacked track in its life. Whereas yours is covered in mud outside and animal hair inside.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘So now you’re saying I look a mess.’

‘No. I’m saying you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, you don’t need make-up to emphasise how lovely you are and you’d manage to look stylish in a…oh, in a potato sack.’ He made an impatient gesture with his hand. ‘I don’t have a clue why we’re fighting—I don’t want to argue with you, Melinda.’ He sighed. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something tonight.’

‘What?’

‘When you look as if you want to slap me?’ He shook his head. ‘No way.’ There was no point in asking her. She’d reject him straight out, and then their relationship would slowly start to fall apart.

‘I don’t want to slap you. But I don’t like what you said.’

‘Then I apologise. Without reservation.’ Clearly he’d touched a raw nerve. He had no idea why his throw-away comment had upset her so badly; or maybe he’d accidentally repeated something that an ex had once said to hurt her. ‘I really didn’t mean to hurt you, Melinda. I’d never do that. You mean too much to me.’

She remained perfectly still for a moment, then she nodded, as if reassured, slid her arm round his waist and leaned into him. ‘Apology accepted. So what did you want to talk about?’

‘The idea was to go for a walk. Up on the cliffs, or barefoot on the sand. In the moonlight or maybe watching the sun rise.’

She pulled a face. ‘You want me to get up before dawn?’

‘Yes—No.’ He raked a hand through his hair distractedly. ‘Melinda. Today, when you called me zlato—did you mean it?’

She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘I asked first.’

‘Yes. And it upset you.’

‘Only because it’s been a long, long time since anyone used that word to me. Remember, I’ve lived in England for half my life now.’

‘Didn’t you ever want to go back to Croatia?’

‘There’s nothing there for me any more.’

His face and voice were both expressionless. And Melinda knew without a doubt that this was what haunted Dragan. What caused the shadows in his eyes. And that night she’d stayed here last month and had woken up in the middle of the night to find him standing by the window, staring out at the sea with such a bleak expression that it had almost broken her heart…He’d refused to talk about it, but she had a feeling this was to do with the same thing.

And she also had the feeling that this was the last tiny barrier between them.

Ha. As if she had the right to push him to talk, when she never talked about what had driven her to England. But how could she talk about it? She knew from experience that the minute people knew about her family, they started treating her differently. Either they withdrew from her because they secretly thought that she was just slumming it and didn’t really want their friendship, or they started seeing her as a passport to high society.

Except she didn’t hang out with high society. She’d never fitted in—and although her parents hadn’t actually taken the step of disowning her, they didn’t approve of her life here. On the rare occasions she went back to Contarini they never talked about her job, almost as if ignoring it meant that it wasn’t really happening. To listen to her parents, anyone would think that she was merely living abroad for a while to broaden her life experience, and spent her days shopping and sightseeing.

Most of the time Melinda managed to put it to the back of her mind and get on with her life. And she was happy: she’d never been particularly close to her parents, she loathed her brother Raffi’s playboy friends, and she had nothing in common with her sister Serena’s Sloaney mates, so it didn’t worry her that she was pretty much on her own here.

Whereas Dragan, she thought, was different. Like her, he felt there was nothing for him in his old home but, unlike her, he missed it and it hurt so much that it was like a fracture right across his heart—a fracture she wanted to heal.

She took his hand and pressed a kiss into it. ‘Why not?’

‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

‘Keeping things bottled up inside isn’t good for you,’ she said quietly. Even though she knew she was being a hypocrite. The longer she went without telling him the secret she’d been keeping ever since she’d first come to England, the harder it was to bring up the subject—and the more scared she was about his reaction. He wasn’t the social-climber type, but she really didn’t want him to reject her—to see her as Princess Melinda, second in line to the throne of Contarini, instead of the girl practically next door who’d fallen in love with him.

But this wasn’t about her. She pushed the thoughts away and squeezed his hand. ‘You need to talk.’

‘Whatever.’ The flippant, dismissive drawl did nothing to disguise his pain.

‘Dragan, I mean it. Talk to me.’

‘There isn’t much to tell.’

‘Then tell me anyway.’ She tightened her fingers round his. ‘You trust me, don’t you?’ Even as she said it, she winced inwardly. A trust she hadn’t given to him. But this was different. She could live with her secret because it didn’t hurt her; whatever he was keeping locked inside was slowly eating him away.

‘Ye-es.’

‘Then tell me,’ she insisted softly.

He was silent for such a long time that she didn’t think he was going to talk. And then finally he spoke, his voice very low.

‘We lived in a little village on the Adriatic coast. My family had a boatyard.’

She could see it in his eyes—there was more to it than that. Much more. And she guessed that the only way she’d get him to tell her was to ask questions.

‘So you weren’t always going to be a doctor?’

He shook his head. ‘I was going into the family business when I’d finished my education.’

‘Sailing boats?’

‘In my spare time. My elder brother studied marine engineering and he was good with his hands—he designed and built the boats, just like my father. And I was the one who was good at languages and figures.’

She knew about the languages and could’ve guessed about the maths. Dragan was bright—in her view, he’d be good at absolutely anything he chose to do. ‘So you would be the finance director?’

‘For a while, then the idea was that I should take over from my father as managing director. He was going to retire and spend more time with my mother while he was still young enough to go out and about and enjoy their leisure time.’

She knew all about parents wanting to retire and expecting their children to take over. And she thanked God every day that she wasn’t the one who’d have to take over from her father. Being a girl and being second-born meant that she’d been able to choose her life—to do the job she loved instead of one that would have stifled her. ‘It sounds a good plan,’ she said. Even though she had doubts about the way it would work in her own family. She’d always thought Serena, her baby sister, would make a better job of ruling than her older brother. Rafael had too much of a wild streak.

‘So you were going to study economics?’ she guessed.

‘International law,’ he said. ‘In Zagreb—but I planned to spend the holidays at home in the boatyard.’

Clearly he’d loved the family business, had wanted to be part of it. He’d fitted in. Had been happy.

So what had gone wrong?

There was another long pause.

‘And then the war happened.’

Five tiny words. Spoken so quietly that she could almost hear his heart breaking in the silence that followed. And all she could do was hold him. ‘I’m here, amore mio,’ she said softly.

‘It wasn’t just our village. It was all over the country. The fighting, the bombs, the bullets. Such a mess. Such a waste. Dad and I had gone to Split for a couple of days on business. Everything was fine at home when we left. And we came back to…’ His breath shuddered and his jaw tightened.

She stroked his face, willing the tension to ease. Wanting him to speak. Let out the pain that was eating him away from the inside.

‘Everything was gone,’ he said finally, his voice flat. ‘The boatyard was in ruins. My brother had been killed, my mother, the people who worked for us. All dead. And others, too, in the village. Smashed glass everywhere from the bullets. Holes ripped in buildings by bombs. And…’ He swallowed. ‘It’s something I hope to God I never have to live through again. I know I should be working for Doctors Without Borders. Helping people, the way I wish my own people had been helped when we needed it most. But, God help me, I just couldn’t do it.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I’m such a selfish bastard. I couldn’t bear to go back into a war zone. There are too many memories.’

‘There’s no “should” about it, and you’re not selfish,’ she told him fiercely. ‘Some people want to do it—they have their own reasons for doing it. Just as you have a very good reason for not doing it. And you do help people, Dragan. You help them here. Where they need you just as much.’

‘I still feel guilty.’

She kissed him gently. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault.’

‘Not the war. But my father…’ His voice trailed off.

‘What happened?’

He dragged in a breath. ‘The shock was too much. He collapsed. I know now it was probably a stroke, but back then my first aid was pretty basic. I could do mouth to mouth and I knew what to do if someone was drowning, but I really didn’t know what to do with a heart attack or a stroke. The phones lines were out so I couldn’t call an ambulance.’ Back then, mobile phones hadn’t been widespread, Melinda knew—that wouldn’t have been an option. ‘I managed to find someone with a car that could still be driven, borrowed it and took him to hospital.’

She knew from the bleakness in Dragan’s eyes that his father hadn’t made it.

‘He died in the queue for the emergency department. And I vowed then that I’d get the medical skills. It was too late for my family, but I could stop other people losing what I’d lost.’

‘Dragan, if it was a stroke, you probably couldn’t have done anything for him anyway.’

His jaw tightened. ‘I could’ve done more than I did.’

It wasn’t true, but she knew that this was an argument she wasn’t going to win. And she didn’t want to hurt him even more by pushing the issue and forcing him to confront it. Instead, she asked softly, ‘So you went back to university, switched your course from law to medicine?’

‘My father’s last words to me—he told me to go to England. Where I would be safe. Where I could carry on and know my family would be proud of me, whatever I chose to do.’

‘They’re proud of you,’ she said softly. ‘I believe people still look out for you when they’ve passed on. Like my nonna—my father’s mother. She supported me when I said I wanted to be a vet.’ The only one of Melinda’s family who’d accepted her choice of career. The only one who’d admitted that Melinda just wasn’t princess material and was far happier—not to mention better at—treating sick animals than she was schmoozing with foreign dignitaries and trying to remember the finer points of etiquette. ‘She died before I graduated, but I knew she was there on the day, applauding as I stepped onto the stage and accepted my degree from the chancellor of the university. And you—look at you. The village doctor. Everyone looks up to you because you’re a good man and you’re really good at your job. Your family are proud of you, Dragan.’

‘I hope so.’

‘They are.’ She hugged him. ‘So then you came here?’

‘Eventually. I needed to sort out the business first.’ He sighed. ‘The insurance didn’t cover acts of war. And there was nothing left of the boatyard. But I wasn’t going to let my family name be blackened, for people to say that Lovak Marine was bankrupt and defaulted on its debts.’

She could understand that. Honour was important to Dragan. And duty.

The thought pricked her conscience: she hadn’t exactly been a dutiful daughter, had she? Melinda Fortesque, MRCVS, had chosen the much lighter responsibilities of a village vet rather than helping to shoulder the burden of running the kingdom of Contarini. Some people would see that as absconding, avoiding what she’d been born to do. ‘So what did you do?’

‘I sold the land. Used the proceeds to settle the mortgage and the outstanding debts.’

‘And then you bought a ticket to England?’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t have enough money after I’d paid the creditors, and our debtors were never going to be able to pay me what they owed. The debts had to be written off.’

Though he’d refused to let his family’s debts be written off. It wasn’t fair, Melinda thought. ‘So how did you get here?’

‘I bartered my way onto a ship—I would crew for them in exchange for my passage to England. And this country has been good to me, Melinda. The authorities let me stay. I had nothing—no proof of who I was, no proof that I had any qualifications in my homeland. I spent a year working as a waiter by day and studying for exams at night, until I had the qualifications I needed to study medicine.’

He’d worked his way up from nothing. Worked longer and harder than anyone else she knew. And her heart ached with pride in him. ‘You’re amazing,’ she said softly, stroking his face. ‘I don’t know anyone else who would have had the strength to do all that.’

He shrugged it off. ‘It wasn’t that big a deal.’

Yes, it was. ‘Some people, in your shoes, would be hard and bitter and never give anybody an inch. But you…you understand people. You care. Your family would be so proud of you. I’m proud of you.’

His dark eyes glittered, and he said nothing.

The strong, silent type. That was her Dragan. But now he’d opened up to her, she didn’t want him to close in on himself again. ‘So when you qualified, you came here?’ she asked.

‘I worked in London for a while. But I missed the sea. And then some friends brought me to Cornwall for the weekend. I fell in love with the area.’

‘Me, too.’

‘And I’m very, very glad I decided to stay. That I met you.’ He rested his forehead against hers. ‘I am sorry, piccola. I didn’t mean it to get this heavy. It’s not something I talk about.’

She could tell that. And how much it had stirred up his emotions. It was rare that his English slid from being perfectly accentless to having a strong Croatian accent. ‘But I hope talking to me helped,’ she said softly.

He brushed his mouth against hers. ‘So, zlato. You looked up Croatian phrases on the Internet, then?’

‘How else was I going to learn?’

‘You could have asked me.’

‘And you would have told me?’

He smiled. ‘Let me teach you something now. Volim te.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The same as ti amo.’ He paused. ‘And I do. I love you, Melinda.’

It felt as if the room were full of butterflies, the sunlight dancing on their wings. Dragan loved her. And he loved her for who she was: Melinda Fortesque, country vet.

Then the butterflies went straight into her stomach. She really ought to tell him the rest of it. He’d told her everything, and she was holding out on him. But now really wasn’t the time or the place. And if she told him…would he stop loving her? Would he back away, feeling that she’d look down on him—even though she didn’t?

‘There was something else I wanted to say. But it’s too late for sunrise.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

‘I’ve never said this to anyone else. Ever.’

‘Now you’re worrying me.’ She kept her tone light, but fear flickered through her anyway. Had he found out about her family?

No, of course not. How could he possibly know?

But he looked so serious, so intense, that it scared her.

‘I wondered…’ And he tailed off.

No, no, no. She had to keep this light. Tease him out of seriousness. ‘Dragan Lovak, your English is perfect—if I didn’t know you came from Croatia, I’d think you were English. Please, don’t tell me you’re turning completely English on me and developing a stiff upper lip.’ She fiddled with his short dark hair. ‘And then this is going to go floppy and fall in your eyes. And you’re going to start saying “um” a lot.’

To her relief, he smiled. And the haunted look in his eyes lessened. ‘Hardly. And I’m never going to be posh anyway.’

Oh, Dio.

‘Nothing wrong with that. I like you just how you are.’ Now was definitely not the moment to tell him. Because if he was even the slightest bit worried about his background…the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was slumming it.

She’d have to work out the right way to tell him. But there was something else important he needed to know, something far more important than who she was: how she really felt about him. ‘Actually, “like” is probably the wrong word.’ She traced his lower lip with the pad of her forefinger. ‘Volim te, zlato. Ti amo, amore mio,’ she added in her own language.

‘Melinda…’ He paused. ‘No. It sounds wrong.’

‘Try me.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Move in with me.’

‘Move in with you?’ Now, that she hadn’t been expecting.

His eyes were very dark. ‘I told you it sounded wrong. Wrong time, wrong place.’ He grimaced. ‘I wanted to ask you somewhere romantic. “Come live with me and be my love”,’ that sort of thing.’

‘You want me to live with you.’

‘Not just live with me. I thought maybe we could go and talk to Reverend Kenner.’.

She blinked as what he’d just said sank in. ‘You’re asking me to marry you?’

‘If we’d done this my way,’ he pointed out, ‘it’d be somewhere romantic. Not on my bed-of-nails sofa.’

‘If we’d done this your way, it’d be at the crack of dawn and I wouldn’t have had enough coffee to be awake enough to answer you.’

‘So that’s a no, then.’

‘You really want to marry me?’ A man who loved her for herself. A man she loved all the way back.

‘Why are you so surprised? Melinda, you’re like sunlight. You make everything around you seem better. And you make me a better man.’

How, when he was already a better man than she could ever wish for? ‘I…Dragan, I don’t know what to say.’

‘I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I’ll take you home.’

‘Take me home?’ She stared at him, not following his logic. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve upset you.’

‘Upset me?’ She shook her head. ‘How could asking me to marry you upset me? I said yes!’

‘No, you didn’t,’ he pointed out.

‘I didn’t?’ She stared at him. ‘But I…’ Then the penny dropped and she smiled. ‘Ask me again. Properly.’

He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then dropped to one knee in front of her. ‘Take the sunrise as read. We’re on a cliff overlooking the sea and it’s a bright new day ahead.’ He smiled. ‘Melinda Fortesque, I love you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

‘Yes. Yes, please.’

He whooped, stood up, then picked her up and spun her round. And then kissed her, hot and sweet and slow. Telling her with his body as well as his mouth that he loved her. ‘I did this all the wrong way round. I should’ve bought you a ring.’ He dropped a kiss on the ring finger of her left hand.

‘It doesn’t matter. We can choose one together.’ She blinked back the tears. ‘Dragan. You really want to marry me?’

He nodded. ‘Though I really should have asked your father for his permission first.’

Her father. Oh, lord. How could she tell Dragan that he’d have to ask the king of Contarini for his permission?

And would he even want to ask her father once she told him who she was? That thing he’d said about being a better man…Would knowing the truth about her background make him want to walk away?

This was getting messier and messier. She didn’t want to lose the man she loved. She couldn’t keep lying to him, but how could she tell him the truth? ‘No need,’ she said quickly.

He frowned slightly, and she flinched inwardly. How tactless could she get? He’d just told her that he’d lost his family—and it would sound to him as if she was dismissing hers. Which she wasn’t…But her family came with complications. Major complications. ‘It’s the twenty-first century and I’m a modern woman,’ she said softly. ‘I can make my own decisions. And I choose to accept your proposal.’ She stroked his face. ‘I would be honoured to be your wife, Dragan.’

‘Then we’ll talk to Reverend Kenner,’ he said. ‘Unless you’d prefer something less traditional?’

‘No. I’d like nothing more than to marry you at St Mark’s.’ The beautiful little parish church with its lych-gate—so different from her own parish church and all that heavy, overpowering gilding. Tourists loved her family church in Contarini, whereas Melinda had always found it oppressive. She much preferred small, quiet, simple English country churches like the one here in Penhally. ‘With all the spring blossom around. Like confetti falling on us—but we can’t have confetti.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because foil isn’t biodegradable and it can choke birds, and the paper sort contains dyes and bleach.’

He smiled. ‘Trust you to know that sort of thing.’

‘I’m a vet. Of course I know that sort of thing.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Dried flower petals are fine. Or the stuff that contains seeds for the birds.’

‘Whatever you want, carissima. So when do you want to get married? Summer?’

‘Spring,’ she said, stroking his face. ‘This spring. Because I can’t wait to be your wife.’ She reached up to kiss him. ‘I love you, Dragan. I really, really love you. I hope you know that.’

‘I do. And I love you, too.’ He held her close. ‘But I do need to buy you a proper ring. I was going to suggest going shopping this weekend, but I’m doing Saturday morning surgery.’

‘Me, too—but I’m not on call in the afternoon. Are you?’

‘No. OK, we’ll go and choose a ring together then. And move your stuff across from the flat to here. If you want to, that is,’ he added diffidently.

‘Of course I want to.’

He smiled. ‘I never knew life could be so perfect.’

‘Me, too.’ There was a definite stormcloud ahead, in the shape of her family—but then again, they’d had to accept that she had the right to choose her job. They’d have to accept that she had the right to choose her own life partner, too. That she’d chosen the man she loved—and that he loved her right back.

As long as Dragan knew she loved him, that who she was really didn’t matter, everything was going to be just fine.

She’d find the right words to explain.

Soon.