The Honeymoon Proposal. Hannah Bernard
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Название: The Honeymoon Proposal
Автор: Hannah Bernard
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Cherish
isbn: 9781474014120
isbn:
No. Or if it was, it had to be a draft from the window. Grandma wasn’t the type to hide her interference, anyway. If she’d heard anything, she’d have come right out and demanded to know what was going on.
Jo pulled the door quietly shut, relieved that Grandma hadn’t been listening in. She wasn’t ready for Grandma to know she’d broken up with Matt. Grandma would ask questions. She’d probe and poke in wounds that hadn’t healed yet, and she would meddle.
Grandma would have to be told, of course, but not right now. In a few days, when she was more composed over the whole thing, Jo would tell her. Now wasn’t the right time.
“Jo?” Matt was saying when she raised the phone back to her ear. “What’s wrong?”
She hurried back downstairs to the kitchen before speaking again. “Nothing.”
“How are you doing, Jo?”
The question almost made her anger spill over, but with the self-restraint of a lifetime of practice she managed to contain it and keep her voice as calm and as chilly as a snowman’s nose. “How am I doing? You mean, apart from the fact that you ruined my life?”
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” he said impatiently. “You’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting? I’m being melodramatic? I lost my job, had security invade my office and to top it all off, my…” Her what? What had Matt been to her? “My lover,” she ended up saying with a sardonic twist in her voice, “doesn’t even believe in me. And you’re surprised I want you out of my life?”
“I do believe in you…” Matt broke off and swore. “Why can’t you trust me? Look—I’ll come over tonight and we’ll talk. Will you please let me in this time?”
He was trying to use charm on her. It wouldn’t work. Not now, when she knew the truth about what he felt for her—when she knew he’d rather have her accused of a crime than admit they were a couple. But she wouldn’t bring that up now—bruised pride wasn’t the most comfortable emotion to have trampled on. “We’ve had this conversation before, Matt. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not interested in having a fight.”
“You never are. Maybe that’s the problem. We need to have a real fight.”
“We don’t need anything. There is no we. If there ever was a we, we’re over. Don’t call me again. Bye.”
Matt cursed and his voice rose. “No way. This is not over, Jo—”
She didn’t hear another word, because the phone was firmly back in its cradle and her back was turned to it.
CHAPTER ONE
Five weeks later
SHE would have to see him again.
Joanna twined together curses in the most creative manner she could think of as she yanked the cordless phone off its stand and strode to the living room, to the security of the sofa, complete with an old scruffy blanket in case she needed additional comfort.
Seeing Matt again. The thought almost managed to nudge the burning worry about Grandma from her mind. Almost.
She sank into the sofa, and pulled her knees to her chest, clutching the phone in one hand. She reached for the ancient comforter lying across the back of the sofa and pulled it over her shoulders, huddling under it, suddenly feeling cold. A painful pounding in her temples had started as soon as her grandmother had made the request. She wasn’t surprised. If ever there was an occasion to get a migraine headache, this was it.
She stared at the phone in her hand, amazed that her fingers weren’t trembling. She would have to call Matt, and ask him to come over.
This was not a phone call she wanted to make. He was not a man she wanted to see again. Too much had happened, and after only five weeks the hurt and anger hadn’t even begun to fade.
But she had no choice. Grandma did want to see him. And he was her godson, her late husband’s nephew, probably her favorite person in the world.
Of course she would call him. There was no question. For Grandma, she would, even if her own personal preference was to replace that two-minute phone call with a whole afternoon of root canals. Or a casual stroll across hot coals. Or two full hours of public speaking. Or…
She gritted her teeth, realizing she was procrastinating.
She’d do it now. Right this minute while shock was still running her emotions, or courage would leap out the window into the early-evening dusk and never return. This wasn’t a big deal. It was absurd to find her heart racing in anticipation of hearing his voice again.
It was over. She was over him. “It’s over,” she muttered to herself, and it almost became the truth when she heard her own voice say the words. It was over.
She took a deep breath, and with eyes half-closed, made the call.
It was a melancholic—and annoying—discovery that she still knew his number by heart. Five long weeks had passed, but her fingers still punched the series of numbers as easily as they’d ever done. As easily as they’d done when this was the number she called just to hear his voice, when the warmth of him, the heat of his feelings for her, had seemed to reach her through the phone lines no matter what the distance was between them.
Now he was a stranger, the distance internal, emotional instead of geographical, but even more real. She needed to remember that, even as her mind recalled the way his voice used to alter the moment he heard hers, from the distracted, hurried voice of a busy businessman to the warm, loving one a man reserved for his woman.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the phone hard against her ear. It was over, she repeated to herself. Now he was nothing to her, just her grandmother’s godson, a friend of the family. That was all!
Still, she was just about to lose her nerve and end the call when he picked up the phone. The sound of his voice caused her heart to halt in her chest as truth grabbed her by the nose and forced her to face reality.
Over him? Hah!
Nope, she wasn’t over him.
Not even close.
She’d almost managed to convince herself she was, but that was because she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard from him. Grandma had his picture on the mantelpiece, between her pictures of Grandpa and of Jo herself, but Jo had managed to tilt it ever so slightly, so his laughing green eyes didn’t mock her every time she stepped into that room.
But now his voice was in her ear, and her entire system was going crazy.
His voice sounded the same. Brisk, slightly absent, hurried, impatient when he had to repeat the hello because she didn’t respond right away, her voice having tightened and her breath hitched. She cursed herself for letting him affect her that way. It had only been a few weeks, she reminded herself. Time would fix this. Broken hearts did СКАЧАТЬ