‘I’m sure he does. But what do you think? Is he worth it?’
‘He’s a great guy, anybody would be lucky to have him. I’m lucky to have him,’ she said but even she could hear the uncertain tone of her voice.
‘You don’t need to convince me,’ Carrie replied.
Maia didn’t answer; her mind was wandering, off on its own little tangent. They’d been engaged for eighteen months, since just before her dad had died. Was she lucky Todd was so patient or had she been secretly hoping that he’d get tired of waiting for her? Maia looked down the river as she pondered the question. The water was flat and green. A light breeze stirred the willow trees, making their leaves brush over the water. A rowing eight glided past, young, fit men wearing university colours disturbing the surface of the river as she stared off into the distance.
‘My dad loved Todd. He became like the son he’d never had. He gave us his blessing before he died and you know how important that is to me,’ she said, answering her own question. ‘Family was everything to Dad.’
‘I know that but are you sure you’re marrying him because you want to, not just because your dad approved? Are you sure it’s the right thing for you? Are you ready?’
She knew what Carrie was asking. She and Carrie had been friends for ever. They’d been friends before Maia’s dad had got sick, before Maia had met Todd, before everything. They’d been friends before boyfriends, even, and Carrie had been there every step of the way. She knew which boys had been important, which one Maia had loved and which one had left her heartbroken.
Carrie knew her history with Henry. She knew that Henry had broken her heart—unintentionally, but it had been broken all the same. It had taken a long time for the cracks to heal and Maia knew they could easily be prised apart. But, despite heartache, life went on. Todd had filled a gap for her and somewhere along the way he’d helped her look to the future. A future that was different from what she had dreamed of and hoped for in some ways, but getting married was Maia’s choice. She knew she’d been influenced by her father’s thoughts and feelings, and by circumstances, but it didn’t necessarily mean it was the wrong thing for her.
‘It’s a new year,’ Maia said in reply. ‘And my resolution was to look to the future and be happy with what I have.’ Todd might not have been her first love but he would be a good husband. He was loyal, trustworthy, dependable and he adored her.
But, if she’d known the future was going to bring Henry back into her life, would she have made a different choice? It was too late to ask that question.
‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘everything is booked—the cathedral, the reception venue, the cake, the photographer and the hairdresser.’
‘It can always be un-booked.’
Maia wasn’t so sure. ‘We posted the invitations yesterday.’
The wedding was six weeks away. The sun kept rising and setting, the days kept turning over, and suddenly she was near the end of her engagement. This was it.
Maia closed her eyes as she started another song. It was one of her favourites, made famous by Ella Fitzgerald. She left the microphone fixed into the stand but steadied it with one hand as she swayed in time with the music. She’d chosen to wear a long, black dress tonight and it brushed her calves and ankles as she moved. It was cut low in the front and hugged her curves but a split up one leg to her thigh allowed for movement. Sequins scattered over the dress caught the light. There were more than a few men in the bar who were watching her with interest but, for the moment, she was oblivious to the attention as she let her mind drift.
Tonight the band was performing in the piano bar of the Cathedral Square Hotel in the city centre. This had become a semi-regular gig for her and the band. There were five of them tonight: the pianist, the bass player, the drummer, the trumpeter and her. The band had a different repertoire for the nights when she was unavailable due to nursing shifts and on those nights the pianist became the lead singer.
A spotlight was focused on her but she wasn’t aware of it. When she sang she wasn’t aware of anything except the music and the lyrics. It was one of the things she loved about singing. It transported her to another world where she wasn’t thinking about work or weddings or loss.
The spotlight highlighted Maia’s exotic features. Her English and Maori heritage had blended together, giving her the best of both worlds. Her shape and colouring was courtesy of her Maori background on both sides of her family. Her round face, round cheeks, generous bust and generous hips, along with her masses of thick dark hair and brown eyes, were definitely Maori, as was her skin, with its hint of coffee. Her facial features were the image of her half-English mother, with the same almond-shaped dark eyes, finely arched brows and narrow nose.
She’d done her make-up tonight to suit the atmosphere of the piano bar. She’d painted her lips red and gone with dark, smoky eyes. She wasn’t normally much of a make-up wearer—she was far too lazy to bother most days and she never wore make-up to work—but she made an exception on the nights when she performed with the band. She enjoyed the chance to get dressed up and performing on stage was all about playing a role and she was determined to do her part justice.
Tonight’s performance was going smoothly. The crowd was reasonable; their first set had been well received and the applause was reassuring. Some nights Maia felt invisible on stage despite the spotlight.
She was pleased to have this gig tonight; it meant less time to think about Henry’s reappearance. Despite her reassurances to Carrie, Henry’s return had unsettled her more than she was prepared to admit. She had been twenty-two when they’d met, he’d been her first love and it seemed that neither her head nor her heart had forgotten him. But in a day or two she was sure she’d be fine. In a day or two she would have recovered from the shock of seeing him again.
She was halfway through a song, her eyes still closed, when she felt an odd stirring in the air as if someone had opened a window and let a breeze in. The breeze floated past her, caressing her skin and whispering in her ear. She opened her eyes and looked out into the crowd.
He stood by the bar on the far side of the room, watching her.
She watched him back. There weren’t many things that could distract Maia when she was singing, but there was always one exception to any rule, and she knew this man was it.
He had showered and changed after work and he wore a black business shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Maia’s eyes swept across his chest and followed the line of his arms before drifting down to his narrow hips which were encased in a pair of dark jeans. He had one hand hooked into the pocket of his jeans and in the other he held a glass of beer. He raised the glass towards her in a silent salute. Maia felt the breeze brush over her again and this time it whispered his name.
Henry.
Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked and she lost her place in the song. Even at this distance she could see the intensity in his indigo eyes and feel the heat in his gaze. Warmth flooded through her, pooling in her belly, and she couldn’t even begin to try to find the words to continue singing. She had been swaying to the music but now she was worried that her knees were going to give way beneath her. She gripped the microphone stand with both hands as she tried to keep herself upright. She turned her head to look at the pianist, breaking eye contact with Henry in the process. Sean, the pianist, mouthed the words to her and somehow she managed to pick up the pieces and finish the song with a breathless voice and her eyes tightly shut.
As the song wrapped she didn’t give the band a chance to launch into the next one. The moment the music ended, she stepped away from the microphone and said, ‘Can we take a short break, guys?’
‘Is everything all right?’ Sean asked.
Maia nodded. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she lied.
Things were definitely not all right.
She didn’t remember stepping