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The idea made her feel uneasy as she walked over and began to lift lids. From chilled soup to chicken in some sort of delicate sauce that smelt wonderful, it all looked delicious. She unenthusiastically ladled some soup into a dish and carried it to the table. She had lost her appetite, and her wandering glance landed on the chilling bottle.
She stood up and reached across, pulling it from the ice with a smile of defiance on her lips. Pulling the cork was less easy than she had anticipated. She struggled with it for a minute or so but when it came she got the dramatic flourish she’d wanted. It exploded like...well, like a bottle of champagne that someone had just shaken half to death.
The white tablecloth had absorbed most of the liquid but there were some small pools on the polished wood floor. She looked in the bottle and laughed as her anger drained away, leaving her feeling pretty foolish and very glad there had been no one around to witness her temper tantrum, and all that breathless anticipation that she had refused to recognise for what it was—a passing meaningless comment. With a groan she lifted the bottle to her lips and drained the last teaspoon of champagne that remained in the bottle.
Just because he said he liked my stutter! Rose closed her eyes, feeling unbelievably stupid.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BACKINTHENURSERY, Camille was surprised to see her so soon.
‘I wasn’t very hungry.’
The girl wrinkled her nose. ‘What is that smell?’
‘I had an incident with a glass of wine.’ She tugged at her top, which was clinging unpleasantly.
‘Oh, that’s...’ She looked at Rose’s face. ‘So not a good evening?’
‘Not so much,’ Rose agreed.
‘Do you want me to do anything? There’s coffee on the go.’
Rose smiled her gratitude. ‘No, you get off and I’ll get out of these soggy things. How was Declan?’
‘Great. He woke after you’d left but once I patted his back for a while he went straight back off.’
When Camille had collected her things and left Rose headed for her room, desperate to strip off and shower. She paused in the doorway of the nursery, smiling as she heard the sound of his even breathing.
She walked over to the cot and looked down at the baby-soft features, and wondered how her own mother could have walked away from her. If you couldn’t trust your own mother, who could you trust? Which was one reason she was never going to put her trust in another person. If that meant she became a sad woman with a cat, so what? It was better than being rejected.
‘They wouldn’t have left you, never think that. Your mum and dad would have loved you. Your new dad will love you too.’
A child should always know they were loved and wanted.
Rose had reached her bedroom when she heard a soft tap on the door. Assuming that Camille had forgotten something, she swallowed her irritation and went to answer it.
She opened the door and her glance travelled upwards, stopping when it reached his face. The sensual jolt to her senses when she saw him standing there had stalled her brain, cognitive thought was not on the agenda, just shaking and feeling, feeling too much. It was a definite overload.
Zac’s nostrils flared at the odour of alcohol. Realising his suspicion was correct gave him no satisfaction.
He was angry, but also felt pity, though it was hard to feel sympathy for someone who was throwing away their life. He’d known people who’d lost everything...but some came back after reaching rock bottom.
‘Is Camille here?’
Rose shook her head, not trusting her vocal cords to respond.
‘Then I think I’d better come in,’ he said grimly.
Her chin went up. ‘And I think you’d better not,’ she retorted.
‘Look, it’s none of my business what you do to yourself but when you’re in charge of a baby that is very much my business.’
She planted her hands on her hips, angling a look of angry mystification up at him. ‘What the hell are you t-talking about?’
‘There’s no point denying it, you reek of the stuff.’
‘Reek of...?’ The dots in her head suddenly connected and made crazy sense. ‘You think I’ve been drinking?’
