To Love, Honour and Disobey

‘A few months ago.’

‘Why?’

She looked about to roll her eyes like some sulky teen caught out using peroxide for the first time. ‘It was a suggestion in a self-help book. Do something out of character—like get a tattoo or a piercing. I went for the non-permanent option.’

‘You did it because a book said to?’ He wanted to laugh but he was too busy staring. ‘What sort of a book is that?’

‘Quite a good one, actually.’

‘So you’re empowered now?’

‘Assertive.’

He did laugh then, for just a second. Ana was assertive? As if. Then he sobered and couldn’t resist touching. He pressed his hand flat to her belly, the navel ring centred between his thumb and forefinger. He felt her muscles quiver, felt the warmth of her skin. Felt the need for her bite harder. ‘Did it hurt?’

He lifted his gaze for her reply.

‘No.’ The challenge was back in her voice. ‘I’ve been through worse.’

The blue of her eyes was incredibly deep—ultramarine—and way too easy to drown in. And he was so close to kissing her.

If she was assertive, as she reckoned, he’d probably get a slap for it. And he deserved it, didn’t he? Because she’d taken their marriage seriously when he’d intended it to be a fun fling, never a forever kind of deal. He’d thought it was obvious, a holiday romance on steroids, but looking back he knew they’d been too busy sleeping together instead of talking about what they actually wanted. And still he wanted to sleep with her. The fire still burned—even now, months after she’d walked out.

‘Uh.’ He scrambled for words, any kind of coherent thought so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. ‘What did your mum say?’

She blinked, obviously surprised. ‘About the navel ring? Seb,’ she laughed—a humourless choke. ‘My mum’s dead.’

It was Seb’s turn to blink. Was that a recent thing? He’d had no idea. ‘Hell, Ana, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK. It was a long time ago.’

‘Oh.’ He matched her small smile and aimed to lighten. ‘So what did your dad say?’

Her smile faded. He should have known better—total foot-in-mouth syndrome.

‘They died together in an accident, Seb. I was six.’

Seb sucked in a breath. ‘Ana, that’s terrible.’

She stepped back, was going to walk away. But he didn’t want her to walk away. He wanted to know now—ask all the questions he hadn’t bothered with before. Maybe then he could understand her more. And his hand was cold now it wasn’t touching her. ‘Who did you go to, then?’

‘My mother’s brother and his wife.’

Seb walked slowly beside her, wary about asking the obvious but unable to resist. ‘Are they nice?’

She stopped walking. ‘You really want to know, Seb?’

He nodded.

She shook her head. ‘I was the stereotypical lonely orphan. They already had two children of their own—perfect little blonde things. I just didn’t fit in. Could never make the grade. And I was grieving. I guess I made it difficult for them right from the start. I closed up. I was hard work.’

She was smiling, a touch of sarcasm acting as cover-up, but Seb got the glimpse of a pain that just had to run deep. ‘You were six. You had a right to grieve. You were lost. They should have found you.’

She should have been brought safely home. And Seb understood what it was not to be wanted—hadn’t he had that vibe from a step-parent or two? ‘Did it get better? Did you get on with your cousins?’

‘Not really.’

It had got worse, huh?

‘I left home as soon as I could.’

Definitely worse.

‘What about you? You have brothers and sisters?’

Seb hesitated. Where to begin on any of that nightmare? Yeah, he knew how hard it was to try to get along with other kids you had nothing in common with but that you had to live with because of the adults in your life. In his case it was because of the marriages—and remarriages—of his parents. But that was too big a can of worms and he went for the easy option. ‘No.’ He looked at her, waited for her to look at him. ‘Jeez, we really didn’t know each other at all, did we?’

She held his gaze for a moment. Then laughed and turned away. ‘I don’t think we wanted to. I think we were both too happy in our own la-la lands.’

He laughed at that. It was true. It had been such madness. ‘But it was good, wasn’t it?’ He couldn’t resist pointing it out. ‘What we did have.’

There was a slight rise of her shoulders—and a total avoidance of answer. As a result he was compelled by the need to press her for more. ‘So why did you come to Africa? Did you send the divorce papers and then run away?’ That was a talent of hers, wasn’t it—running away?

‘I didn’t run away. I wanted an adventure. One that I was in control of.’

As opposed to the adventure they’d had together? The one in which neither of them had been in control? ‘Were you going to see me when you got back?’

‘No.’

She’d sent him the divorce papers, a brief note outlining her plans and asking for the paperwork to be sent to her new lawyer. She hadn’t wanted to see him; she’d hoped he’d simply sign and send it all away. ‘You’re a coward, Ana.’

She was silent for a moment. Then he saw her chin go up. ‘I was. For a long time I was,’ she agreed quietly. ‘But I’m not any more.’

Ana spent the late afternoon reading in the shade and ignoring the football game Seb had organised amongst the lads. She didn’t need reminding of how fit he was. She was already spending far too much time thinking of his incredible sex drive.

But at dinner he sat beside her and made her converse—asked her about other highlights of the Africa trip, about what she’d seen and done. Safe topics. And yet not safe—because it was so easy to smile, to laugh, to relax. And as darkness swooped the conversation lengthened, deepened until she lost track of time.

She didn’t sleep much through the night—conscious of him lying only yards away outside. She woke early, hot and bothered, and sat inside the tent to control her hormones and fast-beating heart. It wasn’t just his physical proximity, it was the talking-with-him thing too. It made him all the more attractive. What she needed was some confidence. Some ‘don’t think you can mess with me’ attitude. She delved deep into the bottom of her pack and resolutely strapped on the ridiculous shoes she’d lugged round for weeks. She couldn’t believe she’d brought them with her, nor that she was actually going to wear them now. But it was a desperate situation. Something about Seb made her want to have the guts to wear them and get away with it. He thought she wasn’t too tall? She’d show him.

He noticed them right away. ‘Oh, they’re so appropriate, aren’t they? High heels on safari.’

‘Yes, they are.’ She took up the challenge. ‘You don’t like how tall they make me?’

He shrugged, arrogantly uncaring. ‘I’m still taller than you.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘One day I’ll find a pair that’ll make me taller than you.’

‘Try the circus—they have stilts there.’