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‘Certainly is. Very nice,’ Didi drawled as she gave Cam a smouldering look and took a long slow sip of champagne.
Dominique didn’t have a comeback.
Cam cleared his throat to cover a chuckle and signalled a waiter bearing spring rolls. Not many people stopped Dominique in her tracks. But then hadn’t Didi O’Flanagan stopped Cam himself in his tracks?
Dominique recovered enough to turn on the charm again. ‘So where did you two meet?’
Cam smiled at Didi, remembering the event-filled evening with a certain fondness and said, ‘At a function a few weeks back.’
‘I was waitressing, actually,’ Didi said with dead calm, meeting his eyes as she plucked a roll off the proffered plate. ‘Thank you.’ This directed at the waiter with a sunny smile.
‘Oh…’ Dominique laughed uncertainly and glanced at Cam. ‘Helping out in a volunteer capacity?’
‘Making a living.’ Didi bit into her spring roll.
‘Making a living?’ Dominique echoed faintly.
‘I’ve commissioned Didi to complete an arts project for me,’ Cam cut in to curtail what looked like developing into a ‘situation’. He placed his hand on her back, cruised it up the black fabric till he found skin. Heaven knew what Didi was capable of under such circumstances. He nudged her forward, excusing them both. ‘I think they’re about to start seating us and we haven’t found our table yet. Catch you later, Dominique.’
‘Rich bitch,’ Didi muttered beneath her breath. ‘Your friends—’
‘They’re not my friends. They’re mostly business associates. It’s important to project the correct image at these events.’
He felt her spine stiffen beneath his hand. ‘Yeah, and haven’t I heard that before.’
‘I—’
‘Do you have friends, Cameron?’ She stopped mid-stride to look up at him. ‘And I don’t mean bed partners.’
A muscle in his jaw ticced. ‘Yes, of course I do. That’s our table.’ He prompted her forward.
But how many could he name? He realised he’d been too busy making his mark in his new life without any links to his past to form any lasting friendships.
Mouth-watering food was served on elegant dishes, the wine flowed, the speeches were made. Didi sat opposite him conversing easily with the people around her, as if she’d been born to it. Which, he had to constantly remind himself, she had.
But every time he looked at her it was like looking at someone else. And when their eyes met—there it was again—that vulnerable, sad look in her eyes as her smile dropped away. Just a glimpse before she snapped her gaze to Lady Johnson beside her and with a smile renewed their conversation.
He fingered the stem of his wine glass and watched her. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, but she wasn’t his Didi.
His Didi.
It steamrolled over him with a force that made his heart thud harder and his muscles cramp and his hand tighten on his glass till he thought it might snap. They had one more week. He didn’t want their relationship to end yet. She was like stepping into spring sunshine after a long cold winter. He wanted to bathe in that warmth a little longer. What would she say if he suggested renegotiating their arrangement, extending it a little?
He didn’t get a moment to ponder that further because it was time for the lucky door prize. ‘And the winner is…Didi O’Flanagan,’ the MC announced. ‘Dinner for two at the Candle-side restaurant. Come on up, Didi O’Flanagan.’
Cam watched her lay her napkin on the table and make her way to the stage, her short skirt flaring around her upper thighs. Those silky thighs had rubbed along his only twenty-four hours ago. And again he felt that overwhelming sense of ownership and pride.
And imminent sense of loss.
‘And no second guesses, ladies and gentleman, as to the lucky guy sharing the evening with our lovely winner.’
She took possession of the tickets, held them high, then grinned at Cam. The necklace he’d given her winked in the lights. He could only nod, his throat constricted, his chest tight. Couldn’t manage a smile. The noise seemed to dim, the crowd faded to black and all he could see was Didi.
But she wasn’t Didi. She was dressed and styled like a woman he might have dated a few weeks ago if he hadn’t met her. He didn’t like the changes; he wanted the old Didi back. The girl with the offbeat fashion sense and spiked hair.
As she watched him her hand fell to her side, her smile faded. He saw her step off the stage and walk back to the table, chin high. But she didn’t sit down—she swiped her purse from the table and headed to the Ladies without looking at him.
