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A Marriage Worth Saving
Therese Beharrie


Never too late…Once, Mila Thomas had love, marriage and the promise of the family she'd always longed for, until tragedy struck. Now, with the ink still drying on her divorce papers, no matter how painful it is, it's time to move on…To begin again?Leaving Mila was the hardest thing Jordan's ever had to do. However, when fate brings them back together, he's reminded of what drew him to his beautiful wife in the first place, and he wonders if it's ever too late to try again?







Never too late...

Once, Mila Thomas had love, marriage and the promise of the family she’d always longed for, until tragedy struck. Now, with the ink still drying on her divorce papers, no matter how painful it is, it’s time to move on...

To begin again?

Leaving Mila was the hardest thing Jordan’s ever had to do. However, when fate brings them back together, he’s reminded of what drew him to his beautiful wife in the first place, and he wonders if it’s ever too late to try again?


Mila had done it out of desperation, to pierce through that controlled façade he clung to even though she could see that he felt beneath the surface.

She wanted Jordan to feel the earthquake that was happening inside her, to know the emotions that spurred from the hole the quake had opened, and the only way she knew how to do that was to kiss him.

But as she sank into the kiss, she thought that she was a fool for being so impulsive, for letting go of the control she fought for around him. And then she stopped thinking, her body pressing itself closer to his as she tasted him. The same—he tasted the same. Of fire and home and pure man. Her anger turned into passion, and there was no sliding back into the heat that they had always shared. No, they jumped straight into the fire, greedily taking in each other, hands moving over bodies that had changed yet were somehow still the same.

When he lifted her from the ground she went willingly, her arms around him, refusing to lose contact with him...


A Marriage Worth Saving

Therese Beharrie






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


THERESE BEHARRIE has always been thrilled by romance. Her love of reading established this, and now she gets to write happily-ever-afters for a living, and about all things romance on her blog at theresebeharrie.com (http://theresebeharrie.com). She married a man who constantly exceeds her romantic expectations and is an infinite source of inspiration for her romantic heroes. She lives in Cape Town, South Africa, and is still amazed that her dream of being a romance author is a reality.


To my husband, Grant, thank you for showing me what a strong relationship is. It’s knowing that we can face whatever comes our way that helped me to write a relationship that survives after the unthinkable. You are my inspiration.

I love you.

And for the incredibly strong women in my family. Your courage in facing the most heartbreaking of losses inspired this story. Your determination in facing the future inspired these characters. I hope it brings you a measure of comfort.


Contents

Cover (#ub2b9419d-8170-56eb-aac1-c3cae10701f2)

Back Cover Text (#ue37bb45a-f1cb-5d64-b929-ac7bb342a536)

Introduction (#u670db414-b5ef-5a0b-be93-297ec98284df)

Title Page (#u1c00d4d3-24b4-5ffd-8cb7-3ddddf8bb474)

About the Author (#u0678f5ae-b5bb-542b-9449-d2609b96c409)

Dedication (#ud0156967-06d2-5582-9458-468166a11296)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_57131021-9961-50d6-a346-4312ab9661e0)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_4a78b40c-149e-5ea5-b217-07b4481bb982)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_010746e3-6446-5e12-9811-a243834bec82)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_50c08ada-00e6-50e3-b941-2d7c631389a7)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


PROLOGUE (#ulink_98229526-f210-524a-95e7-955035f8bbf2)

JORDAN THOMAS COULDN’T take his eyes off his event planner.

Well, he supposed he couldn’t exactly call her ‘his’ when his father had been the one to hire her. But since he had inherited his mother’s half of the vineyard—which he would have gladly traded to have her back—he figured his father’s decision went for the both of them.

‘Are you going to keep staring at her, or are you going to introduce yourself?’

His father, Gregory, barely glanced at him as he said the words. The serious tone Greg had used would have alarmed anyone who didn’t know him—would have made him seem almost angry—but at twenty-seven years old Jordan knew the nuances of his father’s voice. Greg was baiting him.

‘I’m still thinking about it. I’m not sure I want to bother her an hour before the event,’ Jordan answered.

When his father didn’t reply, he sighed.

‘Maybe you should call her over so that I can introduce myself, Dad.’

His father nodded his approval. ‘Mila! Would you come over here for a second?’

The minute she started walking towards them, Jordan’s heart raced. She was absolutely beautiful, he thought as he took in the perfectly designed features of her face. A small nose led to luscious lips, pink as a cherry blossom and which curved into a smile when she saw his father. The smile kicked his heart up another notch even though her brown eyes watched him carefully, surrounded by the fullest, darkest eyelashes he had ever seen.

He wondered idly if they were like that with help from cosmetic enhancements, but something told him that everything about her was natural. She made him think of the fields where his grapes grew in the vineyard—of the vibrancy of their colours and the feeling of home he always felt looking at it.

He didn’t have time to ponder the unsettling thought when she stopped in front of them.

‘Mila, you haven’t had the chance to meet my son yet.’ Greg nudged Jordan, and if Jordan hadn’t been so mesmerised by the woman in front of him, he might have wondered at his father pushing him towards her.

But all thoughts flew out of his head the minute he introduced himself and she said, ‘Mila Dennis,’ and took his outstretched hand.

He’d thought there would be heat—a natural reaction to touching someone he found attractive. But he hadn’t expected the heat to burn through his entire body. He hadn’t expected the longing that curled in his stomach, the desire to make her his. But most of all he hadn’t expected the pull that he felt towards her—a connection that went beyond the physical.

She pulled her hand away quickly, tucking a non-existent piece of hair behind her ear, and he knew she had felt it, too.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Thomas.’

Her voice sounded like music to him and he frowned, wondering at his reaction to a woman he hadn’t even known for five minutes.

‘Jordan, please. Mr Thomas is my father.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched as a smile spread across Greg’s face. Jordan felt his eyebrows raise.

‘Actually, Mila doesn’t call me that,’ Greg said, and Jordan realised Greg’s smile was aimed at Mila. It was a sign of affection that made their relationship seem more than that of employer/employee. It was almost...familial. Almost, because Greg didn’t even share his smiles—a rare commodity—with his family. With his son.

He would have to ask his father about it, Jordan thought when Mila’s lips curved in response. But then she looked at Jordan and the smile faltered.

‘Well, I think it’s best that I get back. We have hundreds of people coming today. It was a great idea to host a Valentine’s Day Under the Stars event.’

‘It was mine.’ Jordan wasn’t sure why he said it, but he wanted her to know that he was responsible for the idea that had brought the two of them together.

He had a feeling it would be significant.

‘Well, it was a great one.’ She frowned, as though she wasn’t sure how to respond to him. ‘I’ll see you both a little later then. Greg...’ She smiled at Jordan’s father, but again it faltered when she turned her attention to him. ‘Jordan...’

She said his name carefully, as though it was a minefield she was navigating through. He watched her, saw the flash of awareness and then denial in her eyes, and something settled inside him.

‘What was that?’

His father had waited for Mila to leave before asking, and Jordan turned to him, noting the carefully blank expression on Greg’s face.

‘I think I’ve just met the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.’

Greg’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under the hair that had fallen over his forehead. And then came another nod of approval.

‘I knew you were a smart boy,’ he said, and a warm feeling spread through Jordan’s heart at what he knew was high praise coming from his father.

* * *

Meeting Jordan Thomas had unsettled Mila so much that she’d almost lost her headline act.

When she heard the commotion in the tent they’d set up behind the amphitheatre stage—and saw the sympathetic look Lulu, her assistant and long-time friend, shot her on her way towards the sound—Mila knew she was about to walk into a drama.

‘Why would you do this to me on Valentine’s Day?’ Karen, the pretty singer that the whole of South Africa had been raving about since she’d won the biggest singing competition in the country, was wailing. ‘You couldn’t wait one day before breaking up with me? And right before a performance, too!’

Wails turned into heart-wrenching sobs—the kind that could only come from a teenage girl losing her first love—and Mila felt the telltale tickling of the start of a headache. She took in the chagrined look on Karen’s guitarist’s face and realised he was responsible for the tears.

She sighed, and then strode to the little crowd where the scene was unfolding.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Kevin broke up with me!’ Karen said through her sobs, and Mila wondered why she had decided that hiring a fresh young girl to perform at one of the biggest events she had ever planned—for one of the most prominent clients she had ever worked for—had seemed like a good idea.

And then she remembered the voice in the online videos she’d watched of Karen, and the number of views all those videos had got, and she sighed again.

‘On Valentine’s Day, Kevin?’ Mila asked, instead of voicing the ‘What were you thinking?’ that sat on the tip of her tongue. Best not to rock the boat any further, she thought. Kevin, who looked to be only a couple of years older than the girl whose heart he had broken, shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

‘Well, ma’am, there was this—’

He cut himself off when Mila held up her hand, affronted that he was calling her ‘ma’am’ even though she was only a few years older than him. Four, max. She’d also realised that whatever Kevin had been about to say would have caused Karen even more distress.

‘Okay, everyone, the show is over. Can we all get back to what we need to be doing? Our guests are starting to arrive,’ Mila called out and then waited until everyone had scattered, eyeing those who lingered so that they eventually left, too.

When she was alone with Karen, she turned and took the girl’s hand. ‘Have you ever been broken up with before, Karen?’

Red curls bounced as Karen shook her head, and Mila suddenly felt all the sympathy in the world for her.

‘It sucks. It really does. Your heart feels like it’s been ripped into two and your stomach is in twists. It doesn’t matter when it happens—that feeling is always the same. Stays there, too, if you let it.’

Mila thought about when she had been Karen’s age—of how moving from foster home to foster home had meant that she’d never had someone to tell her this the first time a boy had broken her heart—and said what she’d wished she’d known then.

‘But, you know, the older you get, the more you realise that the less it meant, the less it will hurt. And, since Kevin over there seems like a bit of a jerk, I’m thinking you’ll be over this in a week...maybe two.’

‘Really?’ The hope in Karen’s eyes made Mila smile.

‘I’m pretty sure. And, you know, the best revenge is to prove to him that it didn’t really matter that much after all.’

‘But how...? Oh, if I perform with him, he’ll think that I’ve got over it. Maybe he’ll even want me back!’

She said the words with such enthusiasm that Mila resisted rolling her eyes. ‘Sure... Why not?’

She watched Karen run to the bathroom to freshen up, feeling both relieved that Karen was going to perform and annoyed that she didn’t seem to have heard a word Mila had told her.

‘That was pretty impressive.’

The deep, intensely male voice sent shivers up Mila’s spine, and she turned slowly to face its owner. Jordan Thomas’s eyes were the most captivating she had ever seen—a combination of gold and brown that made her think of the first signs of autumn. They made the masculine features of his face seem ordinary though she knew that, based on the way he made her feel distinctly female, he was anything but ordinary. Light brown hair lay shaggy over his forehead, as though he had forgotten to comb it, but it added a charm to his face that might have been otherwise lost under the pure maleness of him.

She took a moment to compose herself, and then she smiled at him.

Because she was a professional and he was a client.

And because she needed to prove that the effect he’d had on her when they’d first met had been a fluke.

‘Thanks. All a part of the job.’

‘Consoling teenage girls is a part of your job?’

The smile came more naturally now. ‘When the teenage girl is the headline act at my event, yes.’

He shoved his hands into his pockets and the action drew her attention to the muscles under the black T-shirt he wore. Heaven help her, but she actually thought about running her hands over them before she could stop herself.

‘It looks great.’

She blinked, and then realised that he was talking about the event. She nodded, and then peeked out of the tent to where people were beginning to fill the seats of the amphitheatre.

‘It’s come along nicely.’ She noted that the wine stalls were already busy, and she could smell the waft of food from the food vendors. ‘You should pat yourself on the back. It was your idea after all.’

She glanced back at him, saw the slow, sexy smile spread on his face, and thought that she needed to get away from him as she had almost fanned herself.

‘It may have been my idea to host the event here at the vineyard, but I could never have arranged a concert and a movie screening in one night.’

‘It pulls in fans for the concert and romantics for the movie,’ she said, as she had to Greg Thomas so many times before. ‘Who can resist either of those events—or any event, really—under the stars, with delicious Thomas Vineyard wines on tap, on the most romantic day of the year?’

His eyes sparkled, as though her words had given him some kind of idea, and then he smiled at her. A full smile that was more impactful than a thousand of his slow, sexy ones.

‘I need to check everything one more time. If you’ll excuse me?’

Jordan nodded, and then said, ‘I’ll find you later.’

She frowned as she walked away, wondering what on earth he’d meant by that.

* * *

When the movie was about ten minutes in, she found out.

He had come to her and claimed that there was a problem with the wine delivery for those who had pre-ordered boxes to take home with them. Like a fool she had followed him, her mind racing to a million different ways of solving the problem. Only when he led her through a gate past the Thomas house did it occur to her that there might not be an emergency.

‘What is this?’ she asked quietly, even though they were far enough away from the guests that no one would hear her.

‘It’s a picnic. Under the stars.’

A part of her melted at that—the pure romance of it made her feel as giddy as a girl on her first date. But it didn’t change the way her heart raced in panic as she took in the scene in front of her.

A blanket was spread out overlooking the vineyard, and in the moonlight she could see the shadow of the mountains. For a brief moment she wondered what it would look like during the day, with its colours and its magnitude and the welcoming silence.

She shook her head and looked at what was spread on the blanket. A bottle of wine—she couldn’t read the label, though she thought she saw the Thomas Vineyard crest—cooled in an ice bucket with two glasses next to it. A variety of the foods that she hadn’t had time to taste accompanied the wine.

Although she really didn’t want to, she found herself softening even more, her heart racing now for completely different reasons than a man expressing interest in her.

‘Are you going to stay or run?’

She looked up at him, and though his words sounded playful, his expression told her otherwise.

‘Are those my only two options?’

‘I could offer you another.’

She saw the change in his eyes and her body heated.

‘What would you do if I ran?’ she asked, hoping to distract him.

‘I’d run with you.’

She resisted the urge to smile at his charm, and wondered why someone like Jordan Thomas would be interested in her? First, she was his employee. And second, she didn’t have much to offer him. What could a woman with no family and no foundation offer a man like Jordan Thomas of the Thomas Vineyard?

Still, she found herself saying, ‘Pour me a glass of wine, Jordan.’

He handed her a glass with a smile that had her shaking her head.

‘You don’t agree with my methods?’

‘You mean lying to get me to share a drink with you?’

‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘But you can’t tell me this isn’t a welcome change to having to run around all day?’

‘No, I can’t.’ She sighed, and took a sip from her wine. ‘Drinking wine after a long day with a handsome man should be the only way to unwind.’

She didn’t realise what she’d said until she saw him smiling at her, and then she blushed furiously.

Where had that come from?

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘To tell me I’m handsome?’

She set her wine down. ‘Yes. It’s been a long day.’

‘So I could ask you anything now and you would answer it?’

‘Maybe,’ she said softly, caught by the expression in his eyes.

And then she wondered who this person who was flirting with this gorgeous man was. Because surely it couldn’t be tame, safe Mila. How often had she heard those comments from boys she had dated? From her foster siblings, who’d had no interest in hanging out with a girl who couldn’t bring herself to try drugs or go out drinking every night, no matter how desperately she’d wanted to be liked?

She closed her eyes at the pain, and picked up her wine glass again. It must have been the stress of the event that had her thinking about a past she’d thought she’d left behind.

But before she could drink her wine, Jordan took the glass out of her hand and she froze.

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ he asked her, and she realised he was a lot closer than he’d been a few moments ago. Her throat dried at the woodsy smell that filled her senses, and suddenly she wished she hadn’t flirted with him.

‘No,’ she answered quickly, her breathing becoming more heavy than she thought could be healthy.

‘Good. That makes this much easier.’

‘What are you talking about?’ She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and knew she should be worried that the realisation only caused the slightest bit of alarm in her.

‘Us.’ He pulled the clip out of her hair so that it fell to her shoulders. ‘I’m glad you won’t have to break another man’s heart so that we can be together.’

‘That’s presumptuous of you,’ she replied, though for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one reason why that was a problem. Even when he had her speaking her mind without the filter she usually employed with every word.

He didn’t respond immediately, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong.

And then her heart stopped completely when his hand stilled on her neck and he said, ‘It should be. Everything inside me is saying that feeling this way about someone without even knowing them is crazy. And yet I can’t help myself.’

His hand moved to her face, and she thought that even if the sky fell down on them she wouldn’t be able to look away from him.

‘So tell me whether I’m being presumptuous when I say I know you feel it, too?’

She couldn’t speak because the pieces that had been floating around in her head since they’d met—and the feelings that had become unsettled the moment he’d introduced himself—told her there was truth to his words.

‘You did all of this to...to see if I felt the same way?’

‘No.’ He smiled, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘I did this to make you realise that you did.’

‘Jordan, I—’

His lips were suddenly on hers, and she felt herself melt, felt her resistance—her denial—fade away. Because as his mouth moved against hers, her heart was telling her that it wanted to be with him. She ignored the way her mind told her she was being ridiculous, and instead ran her hands over the muscles she had admired earlier.

With one arm he moved everything that was on the blanket away and she found herself on her back, with Jordan’s body half over hers. But she pulled away, her chest heaving as though she’d run a marathon.

‘This is crazy,’ she said shakily, but didn’t move any further.

‘Yes, it is,’ he replied, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness.

She raised a hand to his face, pushing his hair back and settling it on his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her hand. And in that moment, under the stars that sparkled brightly on Valentine’s Day, she realised that she might have just fallen in love with a man she had only known for a few hours.

Even as her mind called her foolish she was pulling his lips back down to hers.


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6a9018e1-0012-5e39-b29c-ae8c30cc23a0)

Two years later

JORDAN STOOD OUTSIDE his childhood home and grief—and guilt—crashed through him.

The house was like many he had seen in the Stellenbosch wine lands—large and white, with a black roof and shutters. Except he had grown up in this house. He’d played on the patio that stretched out in front of the house, with its stone pillars that had vines crawling up them. He and his father had spent Sunday evenings watching the sun set—usually in silence—on the rocking chairs that stood next to the large wooden door.

He turned his back on the house and the memories, and looked out to the gravel road that led to the rest of the vineyard.

Trees reached out to one another over the road, the colour of their leaves fading from the bright green of summer to the warm hues of autumn. From where he stood he could see the chapel where he’d married Mila just three months after they’d met.

He shook his head. He wouldn’t think about that now.

Instead he looked under the potted plants that lined the pathway to the front door for the key he knew his father had kept there. When he found it he began to walk to his father’s house—except that wasn’t true any more. He clenched his jaw at the reminder of the new ownership of the house—the house he had grown up in—and the reason he was back, and turned the key in the lock.

He heard it first—the crackling sound of fire blazing—and he set his bags down and hurried to the living room where he was sure he would find the house burning. And slowed when he realised that the fire was safely in the fireplace.

He turned his head to the couch in front of the fire, and his heart stopped when he saw his ex-wife sitting in front of it.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded before he could think, the shock of seeing her here, in his childhood home, forcing him to speak before he could think it through.

She jumped when she heard him, and shame poured through him as the glass of wine in her hand dropped to the ground and the colour seeped from her face.

‘Jordan... What...? I...’

In another world, at another time, he might have found her stammering amusing. Now, though, he clamped down the emotions that filled him and asked again, ‘What are you doing here, Mila?’

Her fingers curled at her sides—the only indication that she was fighting to gain her composure. He waited, giving her time to do so, perhaps to make up for startling her earlier.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked him instead, crossing her arms and briefly drawing his attention to her chest. He shook his head and remembered how long it had taken him to realise that she took that stance whenever she felt threatened.

‘You want to know why I’m here? In my father’s home?’

‘It’s not your father’s home any more, Jordan.’

His heart thudded. ‘Is that why you’re here? Because you’ll own part of this house soon?’

She winced, and it made him think that maybe he wasn’t the only one unhappy with his father’s will.

‘No, of course not. But I do live here.’

‘What?’

The little colour she had left in her face faded, but her eyes never left his. If he hadn’t been so shocked he might have been impressed at her guts. But his mind was still very much focused on her revelation.

‘I live here,’ she repeated. The shakiness in her voice wasn’t completely gone, but the silken tone of it came through stronger. The tone that sounded like music when she laughed. That had once caressed his skin when she said, ‘I love you.’ The tone that had said ‘I do!’ two years ago as though nothing could touch them or their love.

How little they had known then...

He pushed the memories away.

‘I heard that. I want to know why,’ he said through clenched teeth, his temper precariously close to snapping.

‘Because your father asked me to move in with him after...after everything that happened.’

The reminder of the past threatened to gut him, but he ignored it. ‘So after we got divorced you thought it would be a good idea to move in with my father?’

‘No, he did,’ she said coldly, and again shame nudged him for reasons he didn’t understand. ‘He wanted—he needed someone around when you left.’

‘And you agreed?’

‘After his first heart attack, yes.’

Her words cut right through to his heart, and he asked the question despite the fact that everything inside him wanted to ignore it. ‘His first? You mean his only.’

Something flashed through her eyes, and he wondered if it was sympathy. ‘No, I mean his first. The one that killed him was his third.’

Jordan resisted the urge to close his eyes, to absorb the pain her words brought. He wondered how he had gone to his father’s funeral, how he had spoken to the few friends Greg had had left, and was only hearing about this now.

But then, was it any wonder? a voice asked him. His father had always kept his feelings to himself, not wanting to burden Jordan with them. An after-effect of that night, Jordan thought. But there was a part of him that wondered if Greg hadn’t told him as punishment for Jordan leaving, even after his father had warned him that it would destroy his marriage—which it had. After Jordan had decided that limited contact with his father during the year he’d been gone—grief snapped at him when he thought that it had actually been the year before his father’s death—was the only way he would be able to forget about what had happened...

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked, determined not to get sucked in by his thoughts.

‘He didn’t want you to know.’

It was like a punch to the gut—and it told him that his father wanting to punish him might not have been such a farfetched conclusion.

‘He told you that, or you decided it?’

Mila’s face was clear, but when she spoke her voice was ice. ‘It was Greg’s decision. Do you think your father’s friends would have kept quiet about it for me?’

She waited for his answer, but it didn’t come. He was too busy processing her words.

‘He didn’t want you to come home until you’d decided to.’

‘You should have called me,’ he said, his voice low, dangerous.

‘If you hadn’t been so determined to put as much distance between us as possible—if you hadn’t let it cloud your judgement—you would have known that you should have come home even though I didn’t call you.’

Her voice was a mirror of his own thoughts, and if her words hadn’t pierced his heart Jordan might have taken a moment to enjoy—perhaps a better word was admire—this new edge to Mila. But he was too distracted by the emotion that what she’d said had awoken in him.

Had his desire to escape the pain of his marriage blinded him to what he should have known? That he should have come home?

‘So you’re back because of the will?’

Her question drew him out of his thoughts—drew his attention to her. He took a moment before he answered her.

‘Yes, that sped up my return to Cape Town. But I’m here for good.’

Jordan watched as her left hand groped behind her, and he moved when he realised she was looking for something to keep her standing. He caught her as she staggered back, his arm curved around her waist. His heartbeat was faster than it had been in a long time, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he’d really wanted to stop her from falling, or if he’d put himself in this awkward situation because...

He stopped thinking as he looked into those hauntingly beautiful eyes of hers that widened as they looked up at him. The love that had filled them a long time ago had been replaced by such a complexity of emotion that he could only see surprise there. And caution.

Her brown curls were tied back into a ponytail, making her delicate features seem sharper than they’d once been. But maybe that was because her face had lost its gentle rounding, he thought, and saw for the first time that she’d lost weight. Pressed against hers, his body acknowledged that her body felt different from what he remembered. The curves he’d enjoyed during their marriage were now more toned than before.

He wished he could say he didn’t like it, but the way his body tightened told him that he would be lying if he did. The lips he had always been greedy for parted, and his eyes lowered. Electricity snapped between them as he thought about tasting her, about quenching the thirst that had burned inside him since they’d been apart...

They both pulled away at the same time, and again Jordan heard the smash of glass against the floor. Pieces of a wine bottle lay mingled with pieces of the glass Mila had dropped earlier, and Jordan belatedly realised that he’d knocked it over when he’d moved back.

‘I’ll get something for that,’ she said, hurrying away before he could respond. But she didn’t move fast enough for him to miss the flush on her face.

He stared at the mess on the floor—the mess they’d made within their first minutes of reuniting—and hoped it wasn’t an omen for the rest of the time they’d spend together.

* * *

Mila grabbed the broom from the kitchen cupboard, and then stilled. She should take a moment to compose herself. Her hands were still shaking from the shock of seeing Jordan, and now her body was heated from their contact.

She hated that reminder of what he could do to her. Hated it even more that he could still do it to her, even after everything that had happened between them.

Why had he touched her anyway? She hadn’t been going to fall—she was pretty sure about that. It had just been the prospect of him staying—her stomach still churned at the thought—that had shaken her balance. And then, before she’d known it, she’d been in his arms, feeling comfort—and something else that she didn’t care to admit—for the first time since the accident that had ruined their lives.

She took a deep breath and, when she was sure she was as prepared as she could be to face him again, she returned to the living room.

And felt her breath hitch again when she saw him standing there.

He was leaner now, though his body was still strong, with muscles clearly defined beneath his clothing. Perhaps there were more muscles now, whatever excess weight there had been once now firm. His hair was shorter, though it was still shaggy, falling lazily over his forehead as though begging to be pushed aside. And then there was his face...those beautiful planes drawn into the serious expression she was becoming accustomed to.

‘We need to do something about the house,’ he said when he saw her, and moved to take the cleaning items away from her.

But he stopped when he saw the expression in her eyes—the coldness she had become so used to aiming at him to protect herself from pain—and she bent to pick up the pieces of glass.

‘I’ll be leaving in the morning,’ she said, grateful that he couldn’t see her face as she tidied up.

The idea of going back to the house that reminded her of all that she’d had—and all that she’d lost—made her feel sick. But what choice did she have?

After Jordan had left, she hadn’t been able to be alone in the place where it had all happened. So she’d escaped to their beach house in Gordons Bay for a few months, before Greg had asked her to move in with him. But the divorce meant that she no longer had any right to stay there, and since she had been renting before they’d got married the only thing she had was the house she’d lived in with Jordan. It was in her name after all.

But what did that matter when she couldn’t bring herself to think about what had happened there, let alone live there and having to face the memories over and over again...?

‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ he said.

Sure that she had got to all the pieces of glass that could be picked up by hand, she stood. ‘Not the only thing, maybe.’

She wondered how she could speak so coolly when her insides were twisted. But then, she was used to saying things despite her feelings. How many times had she bitten her tongue or said the thing people wanted to hear instead of saying what she really thought? The only difference now was that she was actually being honest.

‘Fine.’ The word was delivered through clenched teeth. ‘There is something else. Did you put him up to the ridiculous conditions of his will?’

Anger whipped through her, and she barely noticed her hand tighten on the dustpan.

‘No, Jordan, I didn’t. I don’t want to own a house with you, and I don’t want to plan an event with you.’

I just want to move on with my life.

He didn’t say anything immediately. ‘I don’t want that either.’

‘But we’ll have to.’

‘Because you want your half of the house, the vineyard?’

‘Because if we don’t you’ll lose your half of both, too.’

He didn’t deny her words, though she knew by the way his face tightened that he wanted to. It wasn’t so much at the truth of what she said, but at the fact that it was the truth. How could Jordan explain the fact that his father had left his house—and his share of the vineyard—to both his son and ex-daughter-in-law? For someone who valued logic as much as Jordan did, having no explanation for something this important must be eating at him.

‘I’m going to contest the will.’

The part of herself that Mila had felt softening immediately iced.

‘Based on what?’

‘On anything I can find. I won’t just accept this.’

And yet you just accepted it when I told you to give me space.

‘And if I don’t succeed in contesting the will...will you...will you sell your shares to me without any of the conditions?’

Pain sat on her chest at the question—the one she knew he’d wanted to ask since he had arrived—and forced words from her lips. ‘Yes, Jordan. If that’s possible, and if that’s what you want, I’ll do it.’

Unspoken words filled the air—memories of when he had said much the same thing to her at the end of their marriage—and she closed her eyes against them. When she was sure her emotions were in check—when she was sure that she was strong enough to look at him—she did.

And realised how different he was from the man she’d known...and loved.

She hadn’t noticed any of it when she’d seen him four months ago at his father’s funeral. He hadn’t looked at her then, she thought, too consumed by the grief of losing his only surviving parent—the man who had raised him—despite their complicated relationship. Or maybe because of it. She wasn’t even sure he knew she had only gone to the church and graveyard, not being able to bear spending time socialising after the death of the only man she’d ever thought of as a father.

After losing the last of the family she had.

Suddenly she felt incredibly weary.

‘I think it’s best if I go to bed now,’ she said, as the shock of seeing him finally caught up with her.

‘Wait,’ he said, and took her arm before she could walk out of the room.

She looked down at his hand as heat seared through her body at his touch, and quickly moved away. She didn’t want to think about the physical effect he had on her. The emotional one was already too much.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve arranged for a meeting with Mark Garrett in the morning. To see if I have grounds to contest. Since you’re willing to sell, I was hoping you would come with me.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve made an appointment with your family lawyer? The executor of your father’s will?’ When he nodded, she said, ‘And you’re only telling me this now? When it’s beneficial to you?’

He looked at her, those golden eyes carefully blank of emotion. ‘I didn’t think you needed to be there.’

‘Because my inheritance doesn’t concern me, right? No, it’s fine. I get it.’ She shook her head when he opened his mouth to respond. ‘You’ve been making decisions for the both of us since we got married. Why stop now that we’re divorced?’

She didn’t wait for a response, but walked past him, hating the way her body longed to be held in his arms.

Hating the way her life was once again in turmoil because of Jordan Thomas.

* * *

Mila got up at five in the morning, her muscles hard with tension after a restless night. She got dressed and did the thing that always helped to keep her mind busy—she cooked. First she made a batch of scones and then muffins and pancakes. When that was done she scrambled eggs, made bacon and toast, and eventually, as the sun peeked through the kitchen windows, put on the kettle for coffee.

‘What’s all this?’

The deep voice startled her, even though she knew he was there. She supposed she had already grown so used to being alone in the months since Greg had been gone—her heart ached at the reminder—that anyone’s presence, let alone that of the man who unsettled her most in the world, would have frightened her in the quiet of the morning.

‘Food,’ she said, and wiped her hands on her apron. She stilled, thinking that it made her look nervous. ‘I’m going to take it down to Frank and Martha’s.’

Frank was the kind-hearted man who’d helped manage the vineyard after Greg had taken ill and Jordan had moved away. She had a soft spot for him and, since cooking was something she did to keep herself calm, often took food to Frank and his wife, Martha’s house on the Thomas property to share with the workers at the vineyard during the day.

Though now Mila supposed she should offer some to Jordan. Except that would make it seem as if she had got up that morning specifically to cook for him. Just as she had when they were married. So she wouldn’t offer him breakfast, but would wait until later to pack up the food and let him get breakfast for himself.

Satisfied with the decision, she asked, ‘What time is the appointment?’

To avoid his gaze, she turned to make herself coffee. But she stopped when she realised she was about to take out two mugs, her mind already making his as he liked it. So she turned back to him and folded her arms, ignoring the way the sight of his hair, wet from a shower, made her body prickle.

‘Eight thirty.’

‘In less than an hour,’ she confirmed, proud of the fact that her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

She nearly ran out of the kitchen, but acting normally was eating at her strength. The last time she had been in that kitchen with Jordan she had been pregnant and happy, with the only true family she’d known—her husband and her father-in-law—around her.

The loss of it all was a physical pain.

She bided her time so that she didn’t have to have breakfast with him, only coming out when they had to leave. Her eyebrows barely lifted at his choice of transportation—a sleek blue car she knew was a recent and expensive model—but her heart thawed when he opened the door for her.

The trip was silent and tense, but she consoled herself by repeating that it would be over soon. If she signed her share of the vineyard, of the house, over to Jordan she would be able to move out and move on. It would mark the end of the worst and best years of her life and, though her heart was nostalgic for the best, the worst was enough that if she could, she would sign the papers right there in the car.

When Jordan gave his name to the receptionist at the lawyer’s, they were shown into an office where Mila spent another ten minutes of tension with Jordan while waiting for the lawyer to come.

‘Good morning, Jordan... Mila.’

Mark spoke softly to her and she gave him a small smile. She had only met him twice—once when she’d signed a prenuptial contract, and again after Greg’s death when Mark had come to give his condolences and to drop off her copy of the will. Both times he had been kind, and she’d appreciated that.

Jordan barely waited until Mark was seated before he asked, ‘What was going on in my father’s head when he made this will, Mark?’

Mark gave him a wry smile. ‘I think you would be a better judge of that than me.’

When Jordan didn’t return the smile, Mark nodded, apparently realising Jordan was only in the mood for business.

‘Well, you’ve both read Greg’s will by now. It’s actually quite simple in its conditions—which I know you both must find hard to believe, considering what it’s asking of you. You already own half of the Thomas Vineyard, Jordan, having inherited your mother’s share of the property when you were twenty-one. Greg’s half has been left, as he states in his will, to his son and his daughter-in-law, on the condition that you both work together to plan an...’

Mark paused and took a closer look at the will.

‘An Under the Stars event. Instructions have been left regarding the nature of the event—which, again, both of you will have read—and this event has to take place no later than two months after the last of you received a copy of the will.’

‘I received mine two weeks ago,’ Jordan interrupted, looking at Mila for confirmation of her date.

‘I probably got mine a week before that,’ she said, and wished her heart wouldn’t beat quite as hard.

‘Which would mean that we have just over a month to plan this. If we do,’ Jordan said, his voice masking all emotion.

‘Honestly, Jordan. I don’t see you having a choice if you want to keep the vineyard solely in your family. If you don’t plan the event, your father’s share of the vineyard will be auctioned off and the proceeds will be divided between the both of you.’

‘Excuse me, Mark?’ Mila said, ignoring the way her stomach jolted as Jordan’s eyes zoned in on her. ‘The will says that I’ve been left half of Greg’s portion as his “daughter-in-law,” right?’ When Mark nodded his head, she continued. ‘So, since Jordan and I aren’t married any more, won’t that give Jordan grounds to contest the will?’

And leave me out of it?

Mark’s eyebrows rose. ‘When did you get divorced?’

‘About a year ago.’ Jordan spoke now, and his eyes were hopeful when Mila lifted her own to look at his face.

She knew that she shouldn’t take it personally—if Greg’s will could be contested they would both get what they wanted—but her heart still contracted.

She diverted her attention to Mark, saw him riffling through the papers in front of him, and felt concern grow when he lifted one page, his face serious.

‘Is there a problem?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Mark looked at them both and laid the page back down. ‘Before we send the beneficiaries copies of a will, we check all the details we can for accuracy. Your marital status was one of them and, well...’ He gave them both an apologetic look. ‘According to the court records of South Africa, the two of you are still very much married.’


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_4be6b890-1199-58ea-b9d8-1487baebd2b2)

THE SILENCE THAT stretched through the room was marred only by their breathing.

Jordan tried to use it to compose himself, to control the emotions that hearing he was supposedly still married had drawn from him. But then, how could he compose himself when he knew there had to be some mistake?

‘I could check again,’ Mark said, when Jordan told him as much, ‘but I’m afraid the chances of there being a mistake are quite slim.’

‘But I signed the papers.’ Jordan turned to Mila. ‘You did, too.’

Her eyes, slightly glazed from the shock, looked back at him from a pale face as she nodded her agreement. He fought against his instinct to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay. It wasn’t his job any more. Unless, he realised as his mind shifted to their current situation, it was.

‘With which law firm did you file the papers? I can have my assistant call them to ask them about it.’

‘With this law firm,’ Jordan said, his voice calm though his insides were in a twist.

Mark frowned. ‘Do you know which lawyer?’

‘With you, Mark. As you’re my family lawyer, I filed the papers with you.’

His patience was wearing thin. All he’d wanted when he’d come back was to sort out his inheritance. Once that bit of unpleasantness was done, he would be able to run his family vineyard.

It was the only way he knew to make up for the fact that he’d left without dealing with any of the unresolved issues with his father. To make it up to his mother, too, he thought, remembering the only thing she had asked of him before she’d died when he was five—that he look after his father.

He forced his thoughts away from how he had failed them both.

‘I think there’s been a mistake of some kind.’ To give him credit, Mark was trying incredibly hard to maintain his professionalism. ‘I remember you asked me to draw up divorce papers. But when I met your father to set up his will last year he said that the two of you were choosing to separate—not divorce.’

‘Wait—Greg set this will up last year?’ Mila’s voice was surprisingly strong despite the lack of colour in her face. ‘When exactly did he do it?’

‘August.’

‘That was a month after his first heart attack. And two months after I signed the divorce papers.’

‘Did they have my signature on them?’ Jordan asked, wondering where she was going with this.

‘Yes, they did.’

‘So you would have been the one to file the papers with Mark?’

If Jordan hadn’t seen her looking worse than this once before—the day of her fall—he would have worried about how muted she had become.

‘I didn’t feel entirely comfortable with that...’

Something in her eyes made him wonder what she meant, but he decided now wasn’t the right time to think about it. Not when he saw that she was struggling to keep her voice devoid of the emotion she couldn’t hide from him.

‘So we are still married,’ he said flatly.

‘No, no—I was going to drop them here after I’d signed, but then Greg asked me whether I would feel better if he did it. Because Mark was your family lawyer,’ she said quickly, avoiding his eyes—which told him she was lying.

It only took him a moment to realise that she was lying about the reason she’d let Greg take the papers, not about his father’s actions.

‘Did you follow up with Dad?’ he demanded, his anger coating his real feelings about the fact that his father had been there for Mila when he hadn’t been. Or the fact that his father had been supportive at all—especially to someone who wasn’t his son. Was it just another way Greg had chosen to show Jordan how wrong his choice to leave had been?

‘Did you?’ she shot back, and Jordan stared at her, wondering again where the fire was coming from.

‘No, clearly not.’

There was a pause.

‘I think that, all things considered, we should probably postpone this meeting until a later point,’ Mark said, breaking the silence.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea with the time frame we’re working with, Mark.’

Though denial was a tempting option, Jordan knew that he had to face reality. And it seemed the reality was that he was still married.

‘Could you please give us a few moments to talk in private?’

‘Yes, of course.’

If he was perturbed by being kicked out of his own office, Mark didn’t show it as he left the room.

The minute the door clicked closed, Jordan spoke. ‘So, my father was supposed to give the papers to Mark, who was supposed to file them. And since none of that happened, I think Mark’s right—we are still married.’

‘Yes, I think so...’

Her eyes were closed, but Jordan knew it was one of the ways she worked through her feelings. Closing herself off from the world—and in those last months they’d shared together closing herself off from him—so she could think.

The silence stretched out long enough that he became aware of a niggling inside his heart. One that told him that there was still hope for them if they were married. He didn’t like it at all—not when that hope had already been dashed when Mila had accepted the divorce.

He had filed for divorce because he’d thought that it was what she wanted—she hadn’t called, hadn’t spoken to him once after he’d walked out through the door to a life in Johannesburg. He’d taken it as a sign that she wanted the space she had asked him for to be permanent. And so he’d thought he would make it easier for the both of them by initiating the divorce, half expecting her to call him, to demand that he come home so that they could fix things.

But he’d realised soon enough that that wasn’t going to happen—when had she demanded anything from him anyway?—and he’d figured that he had done the right thing. Especially since he had been the one to make the decision that had caused the heartbreak they’d suffered in the first place.

‘Your father spoke to me about a reunion between the two of us.’

He turned his head to her when she spoke. Her voice held that same music he had heard the first time they’d met.

‘In his last few months. He wanted us to be together again.’

She opened her eyes, and Jordan had to brace himself against what the pain he saw there did to him. Against the anguish that disappointment was the last thing his father had felt about him.

He cleared his throat. ‘I suppose that gives this situation some meaning. He wanted us to plan an event like the one where we met. He knew that still being married would mean we would have to bend to his will. Unless we can show that he was unfit when he made it.’

‘I don’t think that will work.’

She shook her head, and he wondered why she kept tying her hair up when those curls were meant to be free.

‘He was completely sane—his heart attacks had nothing to do with his ability to make rational decisions.’

‘What’s rational about this?’

She lowered her eyes. ‘Nothing. Of course, nothing. But making an emotional decision isn’t against the law.’

‘It should be.’

‘Maybe.’ She looked at him stoically. ‘But he isn’t the first person to do that in this family, so I think we can forgive him.’

Jordan found himself at a loss for words, unsure of what she meant. Was she talking about when she’d asked him to go, or the fact that he had left? Regardless of their meaning, her words surprised him. She hadn’t given him any indication that she regretted what had happened between them... But then again, she wasn’t exactly saying that now either.

But still, the feeling threw him. And because he didn’t like it, he addressed the situation at hand.

‘It doesn’t seem like we’re going to get out of this before our time is up, Mila.’

‘Out of this...? You mean out of our marriage?’

Why did the question make him feel so strange?

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes. The divorce—the one we thought we had—was supposed to take six weeks, and that’s as much time as we have to make sure the will’s terms are met. So...’ he took a deep breath ‘...what would you say about putting the divorce off until we’ve planned the event, and then we can take it from there?’

She briefly closed her eyes again, and then looked at him, her expression guarded. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Exactly what I said.’

Her guard had slipped enough for him to see a complexity of emotion that reflected the complexity of their predicament.

‘I lose in this situation either way. If I help you, we’ll get the inheritance, sure, but I would still have to sell my share to you. So what do I get out of this besides spending time with the man I thought I would never have to see again?’

It took him a moment to process what she was saying, and even then he found it difficult to formulate an answer. ‘You’ll get money. I’ll pay you for the share of the vineyard my father left you.’

‘Money? Money?’ She pulled her head back as though she had been slapped. ‘I can’t believe that we’re still married.’

Her words felt like a slap to him, too, but the shame that ran through him at his own words made him realise that maybe he’d deserved it. He was surprised that she had said it—she would never have done so before—but that didn’t make it any less true.

‘I’m sorry, Mila, I didn’t mean that.’ He sighed. ‘This has been a shock to me, too.’

She nodded, though the coldness coming from her made him wonder if she really did accept his apology.

‘You know money isn’t an incentive for me,’ she said after a few moments, her voice back to being neutral. ‘Especially since selling you my share of the vineyard would mean that I lose the only thing I have left of someone I thought of as family.’

His heart ached at that because he understood it. But the logical side of him—the side that didn’t care too much for emotions—made him ask, ‘If you didn’t want to sell your share of the vineyard to me, why did you say you would?’

‘I didn’t say I wouldn’t sell. I just want you to understand what I’m giving up so that you won’t say something so insensitive again.’

He was beginning to feel like a schoolchild who was being taught a lesson. ‘What do you want, then, Mila?’

‘I want—’ Her voice was husky, her face twisted in pain. But it disappeared almost as quickly as it came, and she cleared her throat. ‘I want to sell the house and the car—everything, really, that was a part of our life together.’

Pain flared through him, and the only way he knew how to control it was to pretend it didn’t affect him at all. ‘Why?’

‘To get rid of everything so that I can move—’ She broke off, and then continued, ‘Move away.’ She said the last two words deliberately, as though she was struggling to formulate them. ‘I haven’t been able to sort things out since you left. The past year I’ve been busy. Looking after Greg, planning some events and...’

Getting over you, he thought she might say, and he held his breath, waiting for the words. But they didn’t come.

‘Your help would be useful so that by the time the vineyard is yours, I’ll have something to move on to.’

‘Where will you go?’ he asked when it finally registered that she wanted to move away.

She raised her eyes to his, and they brimmed with the emotion he thought he carried in his heart.

‘I’m still working on that part.’

Hearing her say that she was leaving was more difficult than he could have imagined. He couldn’t figure out why that was when he had done the same thing.

‘Are you sure you’re not sacrificing more than I am?’

She smiled a little at that. ‘I’m sure.’

Her smile told him all he needed to know. That he needed to help her so he could help himself. Once this was all over he would have the vineyard his parents had owned and would be able to live up to the promises he’d made to them. Maybe he would even be able to make restitution for the decisions he’d made during his short marriage and finally find some peace.

‘So if I agree to help you deal with everything from when we were married, you’ll agree to plan the event and then sell your inheritance to me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And then we’ll file for divorce again?’

‘We?’

The hope he thought he’d extinguished earlier threatened to ignite again at the uncertainty in her voice. But then he remembered that he was the one who had filed for divorce the first time, and she was probably just checking whether that would be the case again.

‘You,’ he clarified. ‘We might as well even the score since we have the chance.’

He could have kicked himself when he saw the way her eyes darkened. He wasn’t entirely sure he blamed her since his words seemed callous even to his own ears. But despite that, she nodded.

‘I guess we have a deal.’


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d41b5cf4-df15-5b0d-ae82-c65d04cb5b3f)

THEY DROVE BACK to the house in silence.

Jordan’s presence was already turning Mila’s life upside down. He reminded her of the things she’d failed at. Of the things she had wanted since she’d realised as a child that she didn’t have a family in the way her classmates did.

Her entire class had once been invited to a party and she had begged her foster mother at the time—a perpetually exhausted woman who’d spent all her time catering to her husband instead of the children she’d been charged with caring for—to let her go.

When she’d got there Mila had seen for the first time what a real family was. She’d seen her classmate’s parents look at their child with love, with pride. Had watched them take photos together while the rest of her class played on the grass. Had seen the easy affection.

She had spent that entire afternoon watching them, wondering why no one else was when this family was clearly doing something out of the norm. But when Mila had been the last to be picked up, she’d seen the way the other parents had treated their children. She’d realised that that was normal, and that she was the one with the special circumstances.

Her longing for family had started on that day, spreading through her heart, reminding her of it with every beat. Since she had lost her child, those beats had become heavy with pain, with emptiness. And it would only be worse now that Jordan was back.

Since he was back for good, she would have to leave the house she’d been staying in for almost a year. Though she’d known she couldn’t stay there for ever, she had hoped for more time than she’d got. Not only because she didn’t know where she would go—again, the thought of returning to the house where she’d lost their baby made her feel nauseous—but because it had come to feel like the home she’d never had. But then, Mila had also hoped for more time with Greg—especially since she’d finally managed to pierce that closed-off exterior of his...

But that was the least of her concerns now that she’d found out she and Jordan were still married.

It was the hope that worried her the most. Hope had been her first emotion when she’d heard the news, and it had lingered until Jordan had brought up filing for divorce again. It reminded her of how receiving those papers for the first time had destroyed her hope for reconciliation. And rightly so. She shouldn’t be—wasn’t—interested in reconciliation, however easy it might be to get lured back into the promise of a life with Jordan.

But that wasn’t what he wanted, or he wouldn’t have left so easily. And that, she told herself, was exactly why she needed to protect herself from him. That was why she had accepted Jordan’s suggestion that she be the one to file the divorce papers this time. She needed to remind herself that their life together—at least in a romantic sense—was over.

She didn’t want him to know how difficult things had been for her since he’d left, even though she had almost told him about it in Mark’s office. About how selling their possessions had nothing to do with moving away and everything to do with moving on. But because she couldn’t bear to expose herself to him she’d lied instead. Though now that she thought about it perhaps moving away was the first step to moving on...

Either way, she needed his help. She couldn’t go back to their house—she would never think of it as hers, even if it was in her name—alone. She couldn’t face it by herself. And she had to face it. She had spent long enough grieving for the family she was sure she would never have now. She knew the loss of her son would stay with her for ever, but she was determined to make something out of her life. To prove that she would have been a worthy mother...

‘Do you want to talk about how everything will work?’ Jordan asked, almost as though he knew that she’d been thinking too much and wanted to distract her.

‘You mean how we’ll plan the event?’ she asked, and looked out of the window to the vineyards they were passing.

Stellenbosch had always felt like home to her, even when she hadn’t had a home. The minute she had driven down the winding road that offered the most beautiful sights she had ever seen—the peaks that stood above fields and fields of produce, the kaleidoscope of colours that changed with every season—a piece had settled inside her. That had been the first time she had visited the Thomas Vineyard.

‘That’s part of it, of course. But I was speaking about all the details. Like where you’re going to stay, for example.’

She sighed. She had told him that she would leave Greg’s house that morning, and when she’d said it she’d thought it was the best way to force herself to face going back to their house. But her deal with Jordan meant that she could delay that a little longer, and immediately the ball in her chest unravelled.

Though that didn’t mean she could stay at the farmhouse.

‘I can still leave today.’

She could stay at a bed and breakfast, she thought, forcing herself to ignore the pain in her chest. She didn’t need to be thinking about how leaving would sacrifice her only connection to Greg—to the memories of family and the love she’d never thought she deserved. She also didn’t need to remember that she’d spent little time working since the accident, which meant her bank account was in a sorry state.

‘You don’t have to,’ he said stiffly, and she turned to him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It might make more sense for us to stay together.’ Jordan’s eyes were fixed on the road. ‘We have six weeks to sort this event out. Being in the same space will make it a lot easier.’

There was Mr Logical again, she thought, and unexplained disappointment made her say, ‘I can’t stay in the house with you there, Jordan.’

She saw him frown. ‘Why not?’

Because there’s too big a part of me that wants to play house with you again, she realised.

‘It’s too complicated. This whole thing with us still being married...’ Her head pounded at the knowledge and what it meant. ‘It’s a lot to deal with. It would probably be best if you and I lived separately.’

He didn’t respond as he turned onto the gravel road that led to the house that would soon be theirs. She used the time to remind herself that she had been at a standstill for a year. She couldn’t keep letting the tragedies in her life or her dreams for a family hold her back. It was time to move on, and living with Jordan—even if it was practical, considering her current financial situation—didn’t seem to be the way she would do it.

But then she thought about the deal she had made with Jordan—about how he was going to help her sell all the things from their marriage if she helped him—and she began to wonder if living together and planning the event was the way she was going to move on.

As though he knew her thoughts, Jordan repeated, ‘I think you should stay. We’re planning an event that will happen in the next six weeks. We need to get your house and your car sold—things that might take a lot longer than six weeks—but we can start now. And we can definitely get everything in the house sold before then.’

Which should help her financial problems, she thought.

‘Handling all of it will be a lot easier if we could do it from the same place,’ he said again.

It made sense, she thought, but cautioned herself not to make a hasty decision.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, even though the rational part of her told her she should say no. ‘But I’ll stay here until I’ve made a decision.’

‘Okay,’ he responded politely, and though she didn’t look at him, she frowned at his acquiescence.

The Jordan she knew would have pushed or, worse, would have made the decision for her. Was he giving her space just so he’d get what he wanted? Or was it genuine? She couldn’t decide, but he had pulled up in front of the house now, and her attention was drawn to the raindrops that had begun to fall lightly on the windshield.

They made a run for the front door.

‘Where you’ll be staying isn’t the only thing we should talk about,’ he said, once they were inside the house.

Mila turned to him when she’d taken off her coat. The light drizzle had sprinkled rain through his hair, and her fingers itched to dust the glittering droplets away.

Another reason I should stay away from you.

‘Yes, I know.’

She moved to the living room and started putting wood in the fireplace. It had become a routine—a ritual, almost—and it comforted her. Perhaps because it was so wonderfully normal—so far from what she’d grown up with. ‘We need to talk about the event—about how we’re going to plan something I did in six months in just over one.’

She saw a flicker in his eyes that suggested that wasn’t what he was talking about. She supposed she had known that on some level. Which was why she had steered the conversation to safer ground. To protect herself. Now she just had to remember that for the entire time they spent together...

* * *

‘Is it possible?’ Jordan asked, watching Mila carefully. Something about her was different, and it wasn’t only her appearance. Though as she sat curled on the couch opposite him—to be as far away from him as she could, he thought—the cup of tea she had left the room to make a few moments before in her hand, he could see that the old Mila was still there.

His heart throbbed as though it had been knocked, and he found himself yearning for something that belonged in the past. His present—their present—involved planning an event to save his family’s vineyard. And his family no longer included the woman he had fallen so hard for, despite every logical part of him...no matter what his heart said.

‘It’s going to be difficult,’ she conceded, distracting him from his thoughts.

‘What do you think we should start with?’ he asked, deciding that the only way he could focus on their business arrangement was by talking about business. But then she shifted, and the vanilla scent that clung to her drifted over to him. Suddenly he thought about how much he had missed it. About how often he’d thought he’d smelled it—had felt his heart racing at the thought that she’d come to find him—only to realise that it had been in his imagination...

‘Well, the conditions of your father’s will stipulate that we try to replicate the original Under the Stars event as much as possible. But, considering the season...’ she looked out at the dreary weather ‘...I’m not sure how successful that will be.’

As she spoke she ran a finger around the rim of her cup. It was a habit for her—one she reverted to when she was deep in thought. Once, when he’d teased her about it, she’d told him that one of her foster mothers had hated it when she’d done it. The woman had told her that she was inviting bacteria, and that Mila shouldn’t think they would take her to the doctor if she got sick.

It was one of the rare pieces of information she had offered him about her childhood, and she had meant for him to be amused by it. But instead it had alerted him to the difficulty of her past. Since he knew how that felt, he had never pushed her for more information.

‘I don’t think he thought this through,’ he said, to stop his thoughts from dwelling further, but only succeeding in shifting them to his father.




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