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A good thing too, because once she stopped touching the skin where the ring had been she might be tempted to rub her forehead to erase the big fat C branded there.
C for coward, because she was, a spineless, quivering, coward for yanking the wedding band off in a fit of madness and bolting into the early-morning light while Nick slept.
Last night had changed everything.
She didn't trust words, she needed actions, and Nick had proved to her how much he wanted this marriage for real, how much he loved her.
Building that room for her with no knowledge she’d ever see it…that was love. And his eyes…the way he looked at her…that depth of emotion can’t be faked.
Then with every silken caress, with every murmured endearment, with every soul-reaching kiss, he'd shown her he loved her.
He’d left her no option but to run.
She couldn't have left if they'd woken together and he'd asked her to stay and the realisation terrified her. She prided herself on being an independent career woman, yet she’d fallen so completely in love she no longer had control over her actions.
Nick sleeping in had provided her a final window of escape and she'd taken it.
She fled. She had to.
Nick didn’t know the truth about her father, about why her financial debt to Darby weighed so heavily on her, about how much the people who loved you could hurt you.
Telling Nick the truth would've been the brave thing to do, but thinking about discussing that horrific period in her life made her tremble.
She didn't want Nick’s pity or his sympathy. She couldn't rely on his love because one day it would no longer be there.
She'd nearly lost herself before. This time she knew if she let herself fall further, there'd be no coming back.
She didn't want Nick dragged into her sordid family life, didn't want to tell him the whole truth.
That was her past.
She needed to wipe it clean before she could concentrate on her future.
Courtesy of a minor catastrophe with the new FantaSea project in the Bahamas, Nick spent three weeks stewing over his wife's disappearance.
He tried calling; she didn't return his calls.
He tried emailing and texting; she sent him a brief response about how busy she was in her new position, how she didn't have a spare moment, how she'd get in touch soon, yada, yada, yada.
A crock, all of it.
How long did it take to tack an 'I love you' at the end of an email? A quick text message saying 'I miss you'?
While his wife might be industriously breaking through the glass ceiling, he'd had three long weeks to replay, rehash, and remember every moment of their marriage, culminating in their last night together.
If she didn't understand the depth of his love for her after that night she never would, and he had every intention to pack his bags, head back to Noosa, bury his nose in business, and forget their short-lived marriage.
But Red wasn't the only one with a temper and twenty-one long days had served to fuel his fury.
He wanted answers.
He deserved answers.
And, by hell, he'd get answers.
He picked up his phone, his thumb poised over the screen. If he called she wouldn't answer so he'd text her of his impending arrival. But what good would that do? Considering the cold shoulder she'd been giving him, she'd probably take off on some fake business trip to avoid him.
Better to have the element of surprise on his side.
