Abby closed the bathroom door and took off the sweater. She grimaced at the state of her bra. Why had she worn the virginal white one when she could have worn the red?
Because you’re a virgin?
Don’t remind me.
Which made her wonder...when was the last time Luke had sex? Had he had sex with anyone since Kimberley’s death? Five years was a long time to be celibate if you’d had a regular sex life before. Which Abby was pretty certain he’d had. Men as sexy as Luke Shelverton did not have to work too hard to find lovers. One look from him and women came out of the woodwork like termites.
There was a knock at the bathroom door and Abby held a hand towel across her breasts and opened the door. Luke handed her a finely woven sweater the colour of his eyes. ‘I know it’s too big but I don’t have anything your size.’
Abby took the sweater from him and held it against her chest along with the towel. She could smell the clean scent of wool wash on the soft fibres and even a faint trace of him. ‘Ella told me she thought you still had some of Kimberley’s clothes.’
His eyes hardened to chips of blue ice. ‘Is this scheme of stand-in fiancé something you and Ella have cooked up together?’
Abby held the sweater against her chest like armour. ‘No. It was my idea but she thought it was a good plan. She said it was high time you went to something other than a boring engineering function. And since you and Ella are the only people in my life who know I’m not really engaged, in a way you’re the only one who can help me.’
‘What about your family? Don’t they know?’
Family. That was another thing Abby had done some considerable embellishing over. She hadn’t even told Ella the truth about her background. Abby didn’t have a family. She didn’t want her friends, much less her adoring public, to know she had grown up in numerous foster homes with a bunch of other needy kids and overworked, overwrought, overbearing at times foster parents. The last family she’d stayed with had been the most functional, but even they hadn’t kept in touch with her once she’d left the foster system.
Even Abby’s surname was a stage name because she had more skeletons in her closet than she had clothes. She didn’t want anyone putting her real surname in a search engine and linking her to a now deceased drug-addicted prostitute and a man currently in jail for assault with a deadly weapon. She couldn’t bear reliving the shame all over again. Being reminded she had never been loved as a child should be loved, never protected as a child should be protected.
Never wanted.
There were some things you just had to keep private.
Abby couldn’t quite meet Luke’s gaze. ‘Of course they know. But it’s not like they can do anything. You’re the only one I can ask to do this.’
‘I’m sorry, Abby. You’ll have to find someone else.’
Abby forgot about covering her wine-splashed bra and handed him back his sweater. ‘Look, Luke, I know the last five years have been tough on you, really tough, but don’t you ever want to just go out and have a night on the town like normal people do?’
His eyes flicked to her bra-covered breasts and then returned to hold her gaze in a steely blue trap. ‘What’s normal about pretending to millions of people you’re in a relationship that doesn’t even exist?’
Abby grabbed her sweater from the marble basin console and pulled it back over her head, thrusting her arms through the sleeves with such force she nearly tore a hole in one of them. ‘I’ll tell you what’s normal,’ she said, popping her head out of the collar to glare at him, not caring that her wavy hair was as ruffled and wild as her temper. ‘It’s normal to help friends out when they’re in a pickle. But you keep pushing all your friends away since Kimberley died, which is so sad because your friends and family are who you need to get you through this. You’re needed, Luke. Ella and your mum need you and I do too.’
His mouth was so tightly set a postage stamp couldn’t have been pushed between his lips. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’
No way had Abby said enough. She wasn’t going to be put off her plan. She had to get him to agree to it.
She had to.
‘My entire career is at stake here. I can’t go to the ball without a partner. I’m supposed to be half of one of London’s most influential couples. I’ll be fired on the spot if they find out I’ve made him up. I want so much to raise funds for this charity. It’s my way to really make a difference in the world. There’ll be sponsors there who are going to pay hundreds, possibly thousands of pounds to see me there with my fiancé. You have to help me, Luke. You have to go with me. You have to!’
He slowly shook his head at her as if she were a child having a tantrum, his arms folded across his chest, his feet firmly planted like centuries-old tree trunks. ‘No.’
Desperation was climbing up Abby’s spine like hundreds of faceless creatures with hooked claws. So many people would be at that ball. Important people. Stars, celebrities, movers and shakers and even minor royalty. Possibly major royalty. Maybe the Queen would be there—she’d turned up at the Olympics, so why not the Spring Ball?
People were expecting to see Abby there with her fiancé. It was unthinkable for her to be there on her own. Her chance to do her bit for disadvantaged kids like her would be ruined if she didn’t show up on the arm of her soulmate. The thought of those poor little kids missing out on the things she had missed out on because her fundraising attempt had blown up in her face was heartbreaking.
Why couldn’t Luke do this one small thing for her?
Abby stalked past him out of the bathroom and went back to the sitting room, where she had left her bag and phone. ‘Right, well, then. I thought you were a friend but clearly I’m mistaken about that.’
His expression showed no trace of emotion. ‘Your sweater is on back to front.’
Abby looked down at her sweater and suppressed a groan. Why was she always so clumsy and gauche around him? It hardly helped her cause to be acting like a clown in a farce. She put her phone down and drew her arms out of the sleeves while still wearing the sweater and turned it around so it was facing the right way before poking her arms back through the sleeves. ‘There. Happy now, Mr Perfect?’
Mr Perfect?
His eyes dropped to her mouth but then just as quickly jerked back to her eyes as if he was fighting some inner demon and only just winning the battle. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to Ella about that night?’
‘How do you know I didn’t tell her?’
‘She would’ve mentioned it by now if you had.’
Abby let out a long breath. ‘I didn’t want her to know you were drowning your sorrows in booze. She worries about you enough as it is.’
He looked taken aback. ‘I wasn’t drunk...’ He paused for a beat. ‘I had a migraine.’
‘A migraine?’ Abby frowned. ‘But there was an empty wine glass on—’
‘I’d had one drink after work but it triggered a migraine. I get them occasionally.’
Did his sister and mother know about his migraines? Did anybody know? Abby couldn’t stop her gaze from darting to his mouth and back again. Had it been wishful thinking on her part to think he had almost kissed her? Had she wanted him to kiss her?
Damn right she had.
‘Do you remember anything about that night?’ Abby said. ‘Anything at all?’
‘Not much.’ His tone had an edge of something she couldn’t quite identify. ‘I didn’t...do or say anything to you that I shouldn’t have, did I?’
She