Chapter 2

Predictably, Lucas did not even wince, but she flushed uncomfortably at the look he shot her. But then, very few things bothered Lucas Jack, and regular sex was as important to him as ordered meals and exercise, and ranked no higher than either. He was a very logical male, and he saw no need to explain himself when he and Beverly had yet to share a bed. The very fact that they had both chosen to retain the freedom of taking other lovers during their long engagement had convinced them that it would be much more straightforward just to save the sex for when they were married. His father had only said that an hour or so before, but Lucas had not expected to be confronted with definitive proof of that statement so soon. His high opinion of Beverly had been damaged because it was obvious that she saw nothing inherently wrong with sleeping with another woman’s husband. Had his own views become so archaic, so unreasonable? Was he guilty of allowing childhood experiences to influence his adult judgement too much? He was well aware that he had friends who engaged in extra-marital affairs, but he would never accept such behaviour from anyone close to him or indeed, within his own home. I’m sorry, but I’ve had Father on my case. Beverly confided ruefully, "He's not ready to retire and let you take over yet, but he’s terrified that I’ll scare you off. ‘As I supposedly did with your brother—’ Lucas tensed, disliking the reminder that until today, Beverly’s single flaw in his judgement was the reality that she had once enjoyed an ill-judged one-night stand with the younger half-brother whom Lucas loathed. That douchebag had treated Beverly appallingly and the aftermath was another thing Lucas never forgot. More than anything else, Beverly was virtually Lucas’ best friend and he had always trusted her implicitly. "Perhaps we should set a wedding date to keep everybody happy," the brunette suggested wryly. I may only be twenty-nine, but my father’s already getting scared that we’re getting too old to deliver the grandkids he wants.’ Lucas frowned, barely managing to suppress the need to flinch when she mentioned children. He still wasn’t ready to become a father. Parenting required a level of maturity and unselfishness that he was convinced he had yet to attain. "What about fixing it for October for the wedding?" Beverly proposed with the sort of cool that implied she had not the faintest idea of his unease. I’m no bridezilla, and that would give me three months to make the preparations. I’m thinking of a very boho-casual wedding in Bahamas with only family and our closest friends attending. They lunched out on deck, catching up on news of mutual friends. It was very civilized and not a single cross word was exchanged. Once Beverly had departed, Lucas reminded himself soothingly that he had not lost his temper. Even though he had agreed to the wedding date, however, his strong sense of dissatisfaction lingered. Even worse, that reaction was backed by an even more unexpected feeling, because suddenly Lucas was astounded to register that what he truly felt was...trapped. * * * "Nonsense, Layla. Of course you’ll go to Turkey with Emily, "Layla’s aunt, Madison, sliced through her niece’s protests in her usual brusque and bossy manner. A free holiday? Nobody in their right mind would turn their nose up at that!’ Layla gazed out stonily at the pretty garden behind her aunt and uncle’s substantial house in California. Her thoughts were in turmoil because she was trying to come up quickly with a polite excuse to avoid the supposed treat of a holiday with her cousin. I mean, you’ve sat all your stupid exams now, haven’t you? Layla's cousin, Emily, piped up from the leather sofa in the snug beside the kitchen, where she was seated with Emily’s mother. Mother and daughter were very similar, both of them tall, slender blondes, in stark contrast to Layla’s, who was small and curvy with a fiery mane of red hair and freckles. ‘Yes, but...’ Her pale green eyes troubled, Layla bit back the admission that she had been planning to work every possible extra hour at a local bar so that she could save up some money to cushion her when she returned to university at the end of the summer. Any overt reference to her need for financial support was always badly received by her aunt and regarded as being in poor taste. On the other hand, although her aunt was a high-powered lawyer and her uncle a very well-paid business executive, Layla had only ever been given money when she worked for it. From a very early age, Layla had learned the many differences between her standing and Emily’s within the same household. Emily had received pocket money, while Layla had received a list of household chores to be carried out. It had been explained to her when she was ten years old that she was not their real daughter, would never inherit anything from her aunt and uncle, and would have to make her own way in adult life. Thus, Emily had attended an expensive private school school while Layla had attended the public school at the end of the road. Emily had gotten her own horse and riding lessons, while, in return for the occasional lesson, Layla got to clean the riding-school stables five days a week after school. Layla had been denied birthday parties and sleepovers because of her age. Emily had got to stay on at school, sit her A-levels and go straight to university, and at twenty-five years of age, work for a popular fashion magazine. Layla, on the other hand, had had to leave school at sixteen to become a full-time carer for Madison’s late mother, Mrs Grey, and those years of care and the strain of continuing her studies on a part-time basis had swallowed up what remained of Layla’s far from carefree teenage years. Complete shame at the bitterness of her thoughts flushed Layla’s heart-shaped face. She knew she had no right at all to feel bitter because those years of caring for an invalid had been payback to the family who had cared for her as a child. She reminded herself sternly. The White’s, after all, had taken Layla in after her mother’s death when nobody else had wanted her. Without her uncle’s intervention, she would have ended up in the foster care system, and while the White’s might not have given her love or equality with their own daughter, they had given her security and the chance to attend a decent school. So what if she was still the modern-day equivalent of a Victorian charity child or poor relative within their home? She told herself firmly that that was a comparatively small price to pay for regular meals and a comfortable bedroom. She always reminded herself of that truth whenever her uncle’s family demanded that she make herself useful, which generally entailed biting her tongue and showing willingness even if she didn’t feel willing. Sometimes, though, she feared she might explode from the sheer effort required to suppress her temper and watch every word she said. Well, then, ‘I suppose I’m going to be stuck with you,’ Emily lamented, sounding far younger than her years. ‘I can hardly go on a girlie holiday alone, can I? And none of my mates can get time off to join me. Believe me, you’re my very last choice, Layla.’