Fiona McArthur - Christmas with Her Ex

He gestured to the seat beside his grandmother with all the reluctant invitation of a toddler giving away his last lollypop.

Damn if he didn’t feel like sitting down again and turning his own back. But that would be childish and he hadn’t indulged in such weakness for a long, long, time.

Stinking bad luck, though, to meet her here, and if he knew his grandmother it would be the perfect diversion for the boredom that, despite her assurances, would ultimately descend on her before they reached London.

Kelsie felt like sinking into the grey concrete, maybe even through that and into the murky bottom of the Venice waterways that were probably somewhere under the railway station.

This was the first time she’d seen Connor since the day she’d run away.

She’d written, trying to explain why she thought she’d ultimately ruin his life if she married him, sent the tear-streaked missive, had watched from around a corner as he’d paced in agitation waiting for her to arrive, committed every line of his worried face to memory because she’d never see him again.

Though one glance at his face this morning when he’d recognised her and she could tell there still might be something he wanted to say to her about all that. As time had gone on she’d had a little more insight into how he might have felt. She swallowed nervously.

Fifteen years ago, as a teenager, she’d wanted to expect more from herself, too, had wanted her own career, and even then she’d had a core of sense and clarity that the more romantic Connor had lacked. She had wanted to be a wife who brought more to the table than hero-worship.

She’d seen, through eyes that had seen it before between her mother and father, that her deference and his growing tendency to take control might just bring more than order to her sometimes scattered life.

Connor would always be her hero, but as the wedding date had grown closer, slowly it had sunk in further that she hadn’t wanted to rely on Connor all her life. She’d wanted to be a woman her husband could be proud of and she wouldn’t have been able to do that under his very protective wing.

Well, they were adults now. He’d morphed into a gorgeously handsome hunk with just a touch of silver at his temples—where had those years gone? she wondered in awe. He certainly wasn’t nineteen any more, and they’d been far too young to elope anyway. Everyone had told her that. She was also a very different woman now, she thought as he gestured her, less than graciously, to his seat.

‘Thank you,’ Kelsie said. Not much else she could do. He didn’t answer as she sat down, just looked at the older lady in the gorgeous pink designer suit next to her and raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘I’m having coffee. Would you like me to get two, Gran?’

‘Three.’ The older lady turned a sweet smile her way. ‘Do you take sugar?’

Kelsie blushed when she realised the woman’s intent. No. No. He wouldn’t want to buy her coffee, and when she glanced at Connor his smile had such a bitter sardonic tilt to it she lifted her chin. ‘White, no sugar. Thank you.’

Connor couldn’t believe his stupidity. He’d just wanted to walk away, get his head together—not that he wasn’t over her, good grief it had been years ago, but it had been a shock—and coffee had seemed a good excuse. Of course, now the conversation was open there would be no stopping Gran from pumping Kelsie. Her name echoed in his brain and travelled through his body and stirred every nook and cranny into alertness. He shook his head to be rid of it and sighed. Gran would burrow for all the information she could get.

If he’d stayed around and damped down the friendliness, instead of sloping off, he might have been able to hustle Gran onto the train and only bad luck would have made them meet again.

Too little, too late, too bad, and he’d just have to move on, he thought as he picked up the pace and clenched his fist in his pocket. Now he really needed the coffee to wash away the bitterness at the back of his throat.

Funny how feelings he’d thought he’d forgotten rolled in his belly like it was yesterday, and he searched for the anger that had finally obliterated the hurt of her no-show at their wedding. The one person he’d thought he could trust. Damn her.

The forgotten embers flared and the heat of it gave him pause. The rational person he was now frowned it down and locked it away. Douse it. It was water under the bridge, and there were plenty of bridges in Venice to let it wash away, quite symbolic really.

It was just the shock. Not a huge deal after all. He began to feel better.

Sitting uncomfortably on a seat she didn’t want, Kelsie watched Connor Black stride away, the man who used to be her best friend, so tall, so rigidly straight, waves of disdain emanating from him like mist from the canals, and she remembered the last time she’d seen him. She hadn’t expected it would be fifteen years before she saw him again.

The elderly lady next to her leaned closer and the serene scent of Arpège perfume drifted across the seat. Kelsie inhaled it with a pang and the penny dropped that this must be the woman who rode the Orient Express whom Connor had talked about all those years ago. The reason Kelsie had sketched in this journey on her bucket list.

The elderly lady twinkled up at her, her faded blue eyes shone, brightly inquisitive, and despite the pit that had just opened Kelsie couldn’t help a small smile back.

‘I’m Winsome Black. And if I’m not mistaken, you know my grandson, Connor?’

‘Kelsie Summers. I knew him a long time ago.’ She sighed for the idealism of a young Connor and her part in fracturing it.

Winsome snorted. ‘Must have been memorable because I rarely see any expression cross my grandson’s face and that was a positive grimace.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Kelsie couldn’t help the rueful smile that escaped. True, it hadn’t been a happy face on poor Connor, and she couldn’t help another swift peek to where extraordinarily broad shoulders were just disappearing into the station coffee shop.

He’d changed. A lot. She blinked the last image away. He’d always been a favourite with the girls but she’d bet his wife hated having him out of her sight. Where would they be now if she hadn’t run away?

‘So you’re that Kelsie!’ It wasn’t a question. ‘How fascinating.’ This was accompanied by a demure smile and an even brighter twinkle in the eye of the older lady, and Kelsie almost wished she’d followed Connor. Her thoughts must have shown because Winsome touched her arm.

‘Don’t go. I’ll be good. But it’s Christmas in two days. You could humour an old lady’s curiosity just a little.’ Not waiting for permission, Winsome launched into her cross-examination. ‘Are you married?’

Not a lot she could do about this, Kelsie thought as she accepted the inevitable, so she settled back for the interrogation with what composure she could muster. ‘No.’

‘Why not? A young, attractive woman like yourself must have had her chances.’

Kelsie shrugged. ‘I didn’t marry the man I did love. So I wasn’t going to marry one I didn’t.’

Winsome looked dubious. ‘I think that makes sense.’

‘And I love my independence and my work.’ She hadn’t meant to sound defensive. She wasn’t feeling defensive!

‘I know someone like that.’ Winsome shook her head at a thought she didn’t share. ‘So you’re not even engaged?’ Inquisitive faded blue eyes twinkled at her again.

Kelsie lifted her chin. ‘No.’ Her life was good just as it was.

Winsome sat back. ‘Connor’s not married either.’ She acknowledged Kelsie’s narrowed gaze and obviously decided she’d pried enough. ‘I’ll stop.’

Kelsie raised her brows. ‘You seemed to have acquired the salient information.’ And imparted a bit as well. Why wasn’t Connor married?