The Accidental Bride by Portia Da Costa Page A

Square that Clara and her latest husband Ernesto weren’t happy, and hadn’t been for a long time.
    ‘Yes, perhaps it would be nice to meet up some time. I’m sure you’ll love Lizzie.’ He didn’t know how to end the conversation without being unkind, but he sensed he had to do it. He could almost feel Clara scenting for openings, preparing gambits. That was another thing that might as well have been on a billboard. She was interested. After all the bloody nonsense she’d put him through all those years ago, she wanted him back.
    ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you from her. It must be late where you are.’ Just as she’d always proved herself a mistress of surprises, Clara sounded brisk, bright, no-nonsense. ‘It’s been wonderful to speak to you again, Jonathan. And I hopewe’ll meet again soon. And that we can be friends again, after all these years.’
    ‘Perhaps so,’ he said cautiously, not wanting to give false hope. ‘Now … as you say, it’s late. Goodnight, Clara. Take care of yourself.’ His finger hovered, ready to close the connection, but somehow, idiotically, it seemed too harsh to do it.
    ‘You too, darling. Goodnight. I’ll see you soon.’
    Then, crisp and decisive, she’d gone; and John’s anger surged. He wasn’t sure who he was angry with, probably himself mostly. Even after all these years, even now he’d found Lizzie, somehow Clara still had the power to wrong-foot him. But whether it was with the seductive skills she’d kept sharply honed since they were last together, he didn’t know; or perhaps with the vulnerability and fear he’d heard in her voice, that he could swear was genuine, and not a guise.
    Putting down the phone, he turned to his laptop, loving the sweet image there, and his spirits lifted, anticipating the even sweeter reality.
    Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie …
    He stood up. Determined. The living shade of Clara was fast fading.
    Tonight … Tonight he was really going to go for it. He was going to do his best to sleep, really sleep with Lizzie.

4
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
    Lizzie snapped awake. She’d been aware of voices in the room, the television droning on, and the sudden silence shocked her out of her puzzled doze. The light from the bedside lamp made her blink, but she smiled. John was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her.
    ‘Wake up, slumbering princess, your handsome young prince is here.’ He reached out and smoothed her hair back from where it had fallen across her face. ‘Or, should I say, the ugly old woodcutter, or maybe even the big, bad bear.’
    Pushing with her elbows, she sat up. ‘Nah … the big, bad, handsome prince, I think. Slightly wicked, but in the prime of his life.’
    He leaned forward and kissed her, a hand on her shoulder. His grip was quite hard, not painful, but with an intense, almost desperate quality to it, much like the kiss itself.
    What is it, John? What is it?
She slid her arms around him, feeling the tension in his muscles, so taut beneath his satin skin. He wore just his favourite blue cotton pyjama bottoms, but even though the northern night was farchillier than the Provençal ones, his skin was hot. Hugging him, she lay back, drawing him down with her.
    ‘So, Prince Charming, are you staying a while?’ she asked, when they broke apart, gasping.
    ‘Yes, I think I am,’ he said, kissing the corner of her mouth, ‘And not just because I can’t resist your gorgeous body.’ The intensity was in his eyes now, dark and vaguely troubled. She wanted to ask again, this time out loud, what it was, what it was … ‘I want to sleep with you, Lizzie, and there’s no way to know if that’s possible without trying properly, is there?’ He kissed her again, his hand sliding down her flank.
    She wanted to say,
but we tried at the villa and it didn’t really happen
, but she just accepted the kiss. Something had happened in the last half hour, something that bothered him, and now wasn’t the time to start