The Fiancé He Can't Forget Read Free Page B

the plate. Didn’t mean she had to eat it.
    â€˜I’ll help you. Come on, let’s find a quiet corner.’
    He scooped up two sets of cutlery, put them in his top pocket, snagged a couple of glasses of wine off a passing waiter and shepherded her across the floor and back out to the courtyard.
    â€˜OK out here, or is it too cold for you in that dress?’
    â€˜It’s lovely. It’s a bit warm in there.’
    â€˜Right. Here, look, there’s a bench.’
    He steered her towards it, handed her a glass and sat back, one ankle on the other knee and the plate balanced on his hand while he attacked the food with his fork.
    He’d always eaten like that, but that was medicine for you, eating on the run. Maybe he thought they should get it over with and then he could slide off and drink with the boys. Well, if the truth be told he didn’t have to hang around for her.
    â€˜You’re not eating.’
    â€˜I’m too busy wondering why you don’t have chronic indigestion, the speed you’re shovelling that down.’
    He gave a short chuckle. ‘Sorry. Force of habit. And I was starving.’ He put the plate down for a moment and picked up his glass. ‘So, how are you, really?’
    Really? She hesitated, the fork halfway to her mouth. Did he honestly want to know? Probably not.
    â€˜I’m fine.’
    â€˜How’s the job?’
    â€˜OK. I like it. As with any job it has its ups and downs. Mostly ups. The hospital’s a good place to work.’
    â€˜Yes, so Ben says.’ He stared pensively down into his glass, swirling it slowly. ‘You didn’t have to leave London, you know. We were never going to bump into each other at different hospitals.’
    No? She wasn’t sure—not sure enough, at least, that she’d felt comfortable staying there. Up here, she’d been able to relax—until Ben had arrived. Ever since then she’d been waiting for Matt to turn up unexpectedly on the ward to visit his brother, and the monoamniotic twins they’d delivered last night had been something he’d taken a special interest in, so once Melanie Grieves had been admitted, she’d been on tenterhooks all the time. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
    Well, now it had, and it was every bit as bad as she’d expected.
    â€˜I like it here, it was a good move for me,’ she said, and then changed the subject firmly. ‘Who’s Jenny Wainwright?’
    He laughed, a soft, warm chuckle that told her a funny story was coming. ‘Ben’s first girlfriend. We were thirteen or so. They’d been dating for weeks, and she wouldn’t let him kiss her, so I talked him into letting me take his place on the next date, to see if I had more luck.’
    â€˜And did you?’
    His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘No. Not that time. I did about two years later, though, at a party, andshe told me he kissed better, so I went and practised on someone else.’
    She laughed, as he’d wanted her to, but all she could think was that whoever he’d practised on had taught him well. She ought to thank her—except of course he wasn’t hers to kiss any more. Regret swamped her, and as she looked across and met his eyes, she saw tenderness in them and a gentle, puzzled sadness. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly, and she gulped down a sudden, convulsive little sob.
    â€˜I’ve missed you, too,’ she admitted, her voice unsteady.
    He stared at her searchingly, then glanced down. ‘Are you all done with that food?’
    Food? She looked at her plate. She’d eaten far more than she’d thought she would, to her surprise, and she was feeling much better. ‘Yes. Do you want the rest?’
    â€˜No, I’m fine, but I’m supposed to be entertaining you, so let’s go and dance.’
    Out of duty? Or because he wanted to? She hesitated for a second, then stood up,