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He didn't know where she had gone. He wondered if she was already in contact with Richard Winston. His temples throbbed with chagrin. He didn't know which riled him more- that she had left quietly or that she was probably in the arms of Richard Winston.
He sat for almost two hours waiting for her in her room. Impatience overwhelming him, he rose to see if he could find her at the Winston residence. He knew the address. He was to take her there tomorrow.
He heard the swipe of a key card at the door. The k.n.o.b turned slowly and she stepped inside, wet and dripping to her core.
"Where were you!" he roared, the nerves in his body almost snapping with anger.
She raised her eyes slowly and shivering. It was then he realised they were red and swollen.
She bit her lips trying to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. But they escaped, rolling down her cheeks.
"Emma," he said. His chest tightened, his anger immediately melting into concern. "Are you okay?"
She began whimpering slowly. And when he rushed up to hold her in his arms, she fell against him into racking sobs.
"Emma," he said.
But she wouldn't speak, crying uncontrollably against him.
He held her quietly, his arms closed protectively around her, waiting for her patiently to release her pain.
It took her a long while to settle. He waited for her as she took a shower. Now changed into her nightdress, she ambled into the room.
"What happened?" he asked, watching her carefully.
"I'll marry you," she said quietly, her face still swollen from her weeping. He knew she had cried in the shower as well.
He hesitated to press her for reasons. His hands in his pocket, he strolled to the windows, watching the rain continue to pour over gloomy London.
"It can't be love," he heard her say. He turned to her.
"When you don't fight for what you love, it means you don't really love it, right? You just think you do," she said. Her eyes were downcast. Though she was clutching tightly onto a soft white towel, his eyes caught the slight quaver of her hands.
He remained quiet, contemplating her words.
She turned away and sat at the dresser stool, towel drying her long, auburn hair.
Emma picked up the last of Jai's clothes strewn on his floor.
"Are you crazy?" she recalled Lisa exclaim with shock when she told her of the marriage ten days ago. "But you hate the man, Emma. How can you possibly think of marrying him?"
"He's not all bad."
"You've got to be joking! The man is outrageous. Don't you remember how he treated you during the dance?"
"I...I...," Emma stammered. "Ethel believes he may be the right man for me," she blurted.
"Give me a break. That woman is just as kooky as her grandson. She's been looking for a bride for him for ages. Only no one in their right mind in Skye will have him."
Emma remained quiet.
Lisa watched her, worriedly. "Hon, arranged marriages of this sort either happens in the past or in books. Get out of it while you can."
Emma was quiet again. "You will come, Lisa? To my wedding?" she mumbled.
Lisa caressed her arms in a.s.surance and then sighed sadly.
Downstairs, she heard Hannah cry with delight, "Chris!"
She carried her basket of dirty laundry down and saw how her young daughter was carried at his waist, as he rubbed her nose with his, tickling her.
"Can I call you, Dad?" she was asking Chris. "You're going to marry Mum. So I can call you Dad, right?"
He saw her watching them. "If your mother doesn't mind," he said, indicating at Emma with his eyes.
She walked away to the laundry.
"Looks as if she doesn't," Hannah giggled.
Chris laughed. "Perhaps Papa, since you already have a Dad?"
"Okay, Papa," she chuckled.
He gave her a kiss on her cheeks and let her off. He wandered into the kitchen and found Emma there.
"What is it with you Kinnairds and make-believe relations?" she said, as she rinsed her dirty dishes.
"I didn't encourage her, Emma," said Chris. "She wanted it."
"She wants many things. But it doesn't mean we can indulge her," she said, bluntly. "Besides this isn't even a real marriage. It dies with Ethel, remember?"
"She'll always be my daughter," Chris said. "Regardless of how either of us feel about each other, I will always love her as my own."
"Yeah," she said. "You celebrities do have an awful habit of claiming children who aren't your own."
He grit his teeth, trying to stamp the anger coursing through him.
"I've signed the pre-nup, if that's why you're here," she continued, uncaring of how she had affected him. "It's there on the table. Don't forget to take it when you leave."
He picked up the brown envelope containing the doc.u.ments he had given her a few days ago.
"Did you understand the contents of it?" he asked, slowly. "You're not going to contest any of it?"
"What is there to contest? You're going to give me three million pounds at the end of the marriage in compensation for agreeing to this marriage. Not a penny more. And I have the Kinnaird mansion to live in for the rest of my life. It couldn't be any clearer."
Chris ran his fingers on the edge of the envelope. His eyes traced the grains of the wooden floor. "There are still two days to the marriage. If there is anything you want done..."
"I can't wait for the fifteen days of marriage notice to expire so I can have this whole wedding thing behind me," she said, tiredly. "It would be good just to get it over with."
"I meant, is there anything you needed for the wedding?" he said.
She gave a careless shrug of her shoulders. "It is a marriage of convenience. What could I possibly need?"
A muscle twitched in his jaw.
"And," she rambled on. "I have packed all I need to move into the Kinnaird residence. So if you don't mind sending someone to pick them up."
Chris nodded silently and walked out of the house, slamming the front door hard behind him.
She deliberately opted for a plain beige white blouse and a pencil skirt. She wore a printed floral matching long dress jacket over it. She could easily be mistaken for a guest rather than the bride, herself.
Standing now in the centre of the Kinnaird living room, she tried to sound as cheerful as she could as she attended to the guests at her small wedding reception. The civil marriage completed earlier that day at the local civil registry office sealed her status as Mrs. Chris Cameron.
She spotted Jai sitting alone in the gazebo outside. After a few more rushed thanks, she strolled towards him.
"Hi," she said, joining him at the bench.
"Hi," he replied.
"It's nice here," she said, admiring the yellow jasmine bush winding over the steel dome roof frame of the gazebo and its strong sculptural stone pillars.
Jai shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay." He hesitated and then said. "Uncle Richard called again."
Emma froze. "What did you say?" she asked, carefully.
"I didn't tell him you were getting married. Why are you avoiding him, Mum?"
"It's complicated, Jai," she said. "I don't know how else to explain it."
He nodded his head. "I see. Adult stuff. Probably, you'll tell me when I'm older."
"I promise, I will," she said. She bit her lips back. "Jai, you are okay with the marriage, though, right?"
He looked up at her and smiled. "He came to ask me for your hand. What was I supposed to say?"
"He did?" she said, surprised. "Why didn't you tell me before? When was this?"
"When you returned from London."
She slugged him softly in the arm and chuckled. "You shouldn't have accepted."
"Yeah, but he promised me a drink," he grinned.
"I'll throttle him if he did," Emma growled.
"Chill, mum," Jai said, chuckling. "In eight years, when I'm eighteen. For today."
Emma smiled. "That's nice of him."
"He is nice, Mum," he said, thinking. "A little weird though. He turns his spoon upside down once he's had his last bite and he eats ice cream with a fork."
"Hmmm...," Emma said, thoughtfully. "He has the perfect hair but he keeps running his hands through it whenever he's bothered."
"And peels his apples before he eats them," Jai added.
They stared at each other and then laughed.
"I guess he's not bad after all," smiled Emma. "Hannah's been calling him Papa."
"I know," Jai said. He paused briefly before speaking. "Do you mind if I call him that too?"
Emma frowned. "You like him that much?"
He shrugged again. "It would be nice."
"If it makes you happy." She put an arm around him and held him close to her.
In the distance, from the living room, Chris watched them, an odd feeling sweeping over him as his gaze lingered on the woman who was now his woman. His wife.
She heard a soft knock at the door and opened it. It was Ethel.
"I came to check if you were settling okay," said Ethel, studying the large bedroom.
"Thank you, Ethel," she smiled. "I'm absolutely fine."
"And happy? I hope."
Emma smiled again. "How are you feeling? I hope the excitement wasn't too much for your old bones."
"Too much? Aww la.s.s, I have been waiting for this moment for so many years. To hear the halls of this house fill with voices and laughter again," she sighed and sat on a small armchair. "Although, it saddens me seeing that you both have decided to sleep separately on the first night of your marriage."
"We need time, Ethel, to get to know each other."
"I suppose," she replied, sadly. "But I believe in you, Emma. I know that one day you will come to love my Christopher." Her hand held a small red box with a decorative lid. She opened it and pulled out a gold necklace with an oval pendant. It had an ornate filigree design with beadings and swirls and a beautiful, raised flower like centre. "Come here, la.s.s," she said leaning forward in her chair.
Emma walked slowly to her and knelt on her knees before Ethel.
"This is for you," Ethel said, handing over the necklace gently to her.
"Ethel, I can't," she protested.
"Don't be daft, child," Ethel said. "I've held on to it for a very long time, waiting to give it to Christopher's bride. I couldn't be more happier it is you." She placed the chain around Emma's neck and clasped shut the ends. "It's been in my family for four generations, pa.s.sing down from mother to daughter. I too had once given it to Anne on her wedding day. Now it's yours. I hope one day you could pa.s.s it on to Hannah when she gets married."