Helen Bianchin - The Marriage Bed

No, just a matter of when, Gabbi added silently, and wondered whether destiny had played a part. For if Conrad hadn’t died Benedict would still be living in America. And the marriage between Benedict Nicols and Gabbi Stanton would not have taken place. It was a sobering thought.

She lifted her head and moved away from him. ‘I must get ready.’ He made no attempt to stop her as she stepped out of the stall.

It took fifteen minutes to dry and style her hair, a further fifteen to complete her make-up. The gown she’d chosen to wear was dramatic black in a figurehugging design with shoestring shoulder-straps. Long black gloves added glamour, as did jewellery, black hosiery and stiletto-heeled evening shoes. A few dabs of her favourite perfume completed the image.

Benedict’s frame, height and looks were guaranteed to weaken a woman’s knees no matter what he wore... or didn’t wear. In a tailored black evening suit and white cotton shirt he was positively awesome.

Gabbi cast him a studied glance, and felt the familiar trip of her pulse as it leapt to a quickened beat. The heat flared inside her stomach and slowly spread, licking each nerve-ending into vibrant life.

Less than an hour ago she’d stood naked with him in the shower, yet she felt more acutely vulnerable now, fully clothed, than she had then.

To dispel the feeling she spread her arms, completed a full turn and summoned a mischievous smile. ‘What do you think?’

His eyes were dark, and his mouth tugged wide over gleaming teeth as he deliberated.

Perhaps she should have worn her hair down, instead of caught into a carelessly contrived knot? Was black too dramatic, too stark?

‘Stunning,’ Benedict complimented, and saw relief beneath her carefully guarded expression.

‘Flattery is an excellent way to begin the evening,’ Gabbi said lightly as she turned away to collect her evening bag.

Thirty minutes later a parking valet swept the Bentley down into the vast concrete cavern beneath the hotel as she walked at Benedict’s side through the main entrance.

Smile-time, show-time. She knew she shouldn’t be such a cynic at twenty-five. Yet years spent taking an active part in the social scene had taught her she was expected to play a part. And she’d learned to do it well—the radiant smile, the light-hearted greeting, the spontaneous small talk.

The Grand Ballroom looked resplendent with its decorative theme, the DJ had unobtrusive mood-music playing, and impeccably uniformed waiters and waitresses hovered dutifully, taking and delivering drink orders.

A sell-out, one of the committee members delighted in informing Benedict as she directed him to their appointed table.

Gabbi entertained the slight hope that Annaliese might bring a partner, and she brightened visibly for all of two seconds before recognising the man on her stepsister’s arm as none other than Dominic Andrea. More of a mismatch was difficult to imagine, and hot on the heels of that thought was...what about Francesca?

‘A migraine,’ Dominic said for her ears only as he seated Annaliese on his right and then slid into the seat beside Gabbi. ‘Annaliese’s date will be late.’

A smile curved her mouth. ‘You read minds?’

‘I anticipated your reaction.’

‘Am I that transparent?’

His smile was slow and his eyes sparkled with devilish humour.

‘Subtlety isn’t my strong point.’

No, but determination was. She thought of Francesca and smiled. If Dominic was intent on pursuit, Francesca didn’t have much of a chance.

‘She intrigues me.’

Gabbi’s smile widened. ‘I had noticed.’

‘Wish me luck?’

‘All you need.’

James arrived with Monique and they took the seats opposite, exchanged greetings, and placed orders with the drinks waiter.

Monique looked radiant in a royal blue gown and a matching evening jacket. Sapphire and diamond jewellery graced her neck and her wrist, and a large sapphire and diamond dress ring on her right hand almost eclipsed the magnificent diamond above her wedding band.

Annaliese had chosen deep emerald silk that hugged her curves like a second skin, with a side-split that bordered on the indecent.

The two remaining couples at their table slid into their seats as the DJ changed CDs and played an introductory number that was followed by the charity chairman’s welcoming speech.

A prawn cocktail starter was served. Soft music filtered unobtrusively while the guests ate, providing a pleasant background.

The main course followed, comprising grilled chicken breast served with mango sauce and vegetables.

Delicious, Gabbi complimented silently as she forked delicate portions. A sandwich eaten at her desk around midday seemed inadequate sustenance by comparison.

A few sips of excellent Chardonnay proved relaxing, and she listened with interest as the host extolled the virtues of the charity, cited the money raised at this evening’s event and thanked various sponsors for their generous donations.

A tall male figure slid into the empty seat beside Annaliese and, when the speech was concluded, Annaliese performed the necessary introductions.

Not that one was needed. Aaron Jacob was equally well-known as an eminently successful male model as he was as a star in a long-running television series.

A heartthrob and a hunk, Gabbi acknowledged in feminine appreciation of a near-perfect male specimen. Pity he had an inflated ego and a reputation for changing his dates as often as his socks!

As a couple, Annaliese and Aaron were guaranteed to have their photo prominently displayed on the society page in tomorrow’s newspaper. Perhaps that was the purpose of their date? Be nice, Gabbi silently chided in self-admonishment as she sipped her wine.

Soon the DJ would increase the volume of the music and invite guests to take to the dance floor. It would be a signal for everyone to mix and mingle, dance and provide an opportunity for the society doyennes to flaunt their latest designer gowns.

‘More wine?’

Gabbi turned slightly and met Benedict’s warm gaze. ‘No, thanks. I’d prefer water.’

One eyebrow lifted in silent enquiry, and she offered him a brilliant smile. ‘I thought you might like me to drive home.’

‘Considerate of you.’ His quiet drawl held a degree of musing cynicism, aware as she was that he rarely took more than one glass of wine with an evening meal and that therefore the offer was unnecessary.

‘Yes, isn’t it?’

‘Benedict.’

Monique’s intrusion commanded his attention. ‘I’ve managed to get a few tickets to Phantom of the Opera, Wednesday evening. You and Gabrielle will join us, won’t you?’

Was it coincidence that Monique had tickets for the same night that Gabbi and Benedict had invited Francesca and Dominic to make up a foursome?

‘Thank you, Monique. I already have tickets.’

‘Perhaps we could arrange to meet afterwards for supper?’

Familial togetherness was a fine thing, Gabbi acknowledged. But Monique’s stage-managing was becoming a little overt.

‘Unfortunately we’ve made other arrangements.’

‘Annaliese and Gabrielle are so close, and see so little of each other.’ Monique injected just the right amount of regret into her voice then moved in for the figurative kill. ‘It seems such a shame not to take advantage of every opportunity to get together while Annaliese is home.’

Oh, my, her stepmother was good. Gabbi almost held her breath, waiting for Benedict’s response.

‘Another time, Monique.’

‘You must come to dinner. Just family. Monday, Tuesday? Either evening is free.’

Persistence, thy name is Monique!

‘Gabbi?’

That’s right, she thought wryly; pass the buck. Avoiding the dinner was impossible, therefore decisiveness was the only way to go. ‘Monday. We’ll look forward to it.’ Were polite lies considered real lies? If so, she’d be damned in hell. Yet she felt justified in telling them for her father’s sake.