Hawk's Way: Rebels. Joan Johnston

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      PROLOGUE

      ‘I CAN’T do this.’

      ‘What? Lydia, don’t be so silly. All you have to do is stand there, looking beautiful, and kiss everyone and say it’s lovely to see them. Of course you can do it,’ her mother said flatly. ‘Now, Melanie, you’ll be standing here, and Tom, you’ll be here—’

      ‘Mum!’

      Her mother sighed and turned back. ‘What is it, darling? What on earth is the problem?’

      Lydia took a deep, steadying breath, and said loudly, ‘I can’t do this. Not the reception line thing, the marriage thing. I can’t do it.’

      There was a second of shocked silence, and everyone turned to look at her—her mother, clutching her clipboard like a ruffled hen hanging on to a perch; her father, jerked out of his boredom into confusion; her sister, Melanie, aghast and fascinated; Tom, the best man, his jaw dropping slightly in astonishment—and Jake. Her dear, darling Jake, who was marrying her on a whim.

      She met his eyes—his beautiful, stunningly blue eyes, so full of fun and teasing laughter usually, now shuttered and expressionless, his mouth a grim line in his stony face.

      ‘Jake, I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘Can we talk about this?’

      ‘I think that would be a good idea,’ her mother rushed in, and hustled them out of the marquee. ‘You go and talk it over, and come back when you’re ready.’

      Lydia didn’t think she’d ever be ready. The heat was closing in on her, and yet she felt chilled to the bone. Hot and cold, like a baked Alaska. Oh, God.

      Jake’s hand was firm on the small of her back, and he wheeled her out into the sunshine and turned to face her.

      ‘OK, let’s have it,’ he said tightly.

      He was angry. She should have expected it, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t had time to work out her own feelings, never mind anyone else’s. She’d just felt this huge pressure on her, and her mouth had just opened and spoken.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I just feel—I don’t know, railroaded. I think we’ve rushed into this and don’t know how we feel, and it’s all sort of happening to us. I feel acted on, and I shouldn’t. I should feel as if it’s our wedding, but I feel like we’re actors, and I don’t know if we’re really doing it or just playing a part—going through the motions, you know? I just don’t feel sure any more.’

      He scanned her face, his eyes still expressionless, and then looked down, his toe idly scuffing the edge of the matting laid down for the endless guests that were expected in just forty-eight hours.

      Guests for a wedding that might not now take place.

      Oh, Lord, talk to me, she thought. СКАЧАТЬ