More Than One Night

chapter TWELVE



CHARLIE’S VOICE SOUNDED small and choked. Gina took her hand, her face creased with sympathy.

“Everyone takes that risk when they fall in love, Charlie. Everyone.”

But Charlie knew that some people were better at being loved than others. At being lovable. Some people simply had the knack for it. Gina and Rhys, the whole of Rhys’s family… But not Charlie. She’d always had to work hard to be loved. And it seemed to her that the harder she’d worked, the more she’d wanted it, the harder it had been to hold on to.

“I don’t think I’m enough for him.”

“What does that mean? Enough what?”

“Beautiful enough. Smart enough. Interesting enough.”

Gina’s frown deepened. Her fingers squeezed more tightly. “It kills me to hear you say that. How can you not know how special you are?”

More than anything in the whole world, Charlie wanted to believe what her friend was saying. Wanted to believe that the lessons life had taught her were wrong, that she’d somehow been mistaken all these years.

But the lessons had been too harsh, and too hard hitting. They sat in her bones, a part of her. Incontrovertible.

“Here’s how special I am—when I was thirteen, Billy Hendricks wouldn’t go in the cupboard with me when we were playing Spin the Bottle. When I was seventeen, I was the only girl at my school who didn’t have a partner for the debutante ball. When I was five—” Charlie swallowed and took a deep breath, very aware of the hot pressure building behind her eyes. No way was she sniveling self-pityingly, not when she was already exposing herself so fully. “When I was five, my father asked my aunt to take me in, but she refused and he was stuck with me. When I was eighteen, he told me it was time for me to leave home and stand on my own two feet. I know you’re trying to be kind, and I love you for it, but I am not a special person, Gina. I don’t know what I am, but I am definitely not that.”

“Charlie.” Gina’s hand tightened painfully on hers as she blinked away tears. “Those people are all stupid. Your father… I don’t even know what to say about a man who was willing to give up his own child. But I know that whatever it is, it’s about him, not you. You are lovely, Charlie. Lovely and extraordinary and smart and loyal and so many good things that I can’t even begin to list them. I was thrilled when you took me up on my offer of the spare room, because it meant I’d lured you to Sydney and I’d get to see you more often. Those three years we lived together were some of the best of my life.” A tear slid down Gina’s cheek.

“I didn’t tell you any of that stuff so you’d feel sorry for me,” Charlie said. “I just want the truth. All my life, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t want people to pretend or be polite or kind. I’d rather know what’s what, and get on with things. I don’t want to be some sort of obligation or duty.”

Gina wrapped her arms around Charlie. “I don’t pity you. I feel sad for you. I feel angry for you—angry that life can be so bloody sucky to good people sometimes. You deserve a whole lot better than the shitty hand you’ve been dealt, Charlie. But your father’s failure as a parent does not define you. It certainly doesn’t mean that you should stop trying and believing.”

Charlie rested her head on her friend’s shoulder, suddenly incredibly weary. She was so sick of fighting all the time. Of being strong. Of pretending she didn’t care.

She cared. She cared too much. She always had.

After a minute Gina released her and pulled back.

“I want you to promise me something—the next time Rhys tries to kiss you, promise me you’ll let him.”

“It probably won’t happen.”

“I’m betting it will. And I want you to believe in it, Charlie. Don’t push him away because you think he’s being kind. Men don’t kiss women to be kind. They definitely don’t have sex with them because they’re being kind. I want you to give Rhys a chance to prove himself to you. I want you to give yourself a chance.”

Charlie started to shake her head. Gina was asking too much. Rhys was so overwhelming, so…everything. If she allowed herself to believe that she might have a future with him and nothing came of it… She had no idea how she would recover.

“It’s too messy. We have to think of the baby. If things didn’t work out, it would be horrible.”

“But what if they did? What if you fell in love with Rhys and he with you?”

“It’s a fairy tale. Too convenient and twee to be real.”

“I bet it’s happened in the history of the world. Why can’t it happen for you and Rhys?” Gina’s gaze was challenging.

A thousand reasons why it couldn’t happen for her and Rhys circled her mind.

Because I’m me.

Because life doesn’t work like that.

Because it would be too perfect. Too much.

“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. You are the gutsiest woman I know. You can go on this journey with Rhys. I know you can. Give yourself a chance to be happy.”

Charlie shook her head, but there was no conviction behind the gesture. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I need to think about this…”

Gina didn’t say anything and when Charlie finally met her eyes, she saw understanding there.

Gina knew she was lying. She knew what Charlie wanted. She also knew Charlie was too scared to reach out for it.

“I love you, C,” she said simply.

Charlie’s chest squeezed all over again and she blinked rapidly. “I love you, too.”

Her voice sounded rusty. How long had it been since she’d dared to say those words to another human being?

Gina’s phone beeped, the sound incredibly loud and unnaturally bright in the small space. She checked the display.

“Shit. I have to go in. There’s a problem with the oysters we ordered for tomorrow’s wedding.” She looked at Charlie. “Are you okay? Do you want me to come over after work?”

“I thought you were seeing Spencer tonight.”

“I can see him another time.”

Charlie smiled faintly, touched by her friend’s loyalty and concern. “I’ll be fine. I need to do some thinking, anyway. Sort a few things out.”

“Okay.”

They said their goodbyes, then Gina slid from the car with a wave and headed inside.

Charlie drove home, Gina’s words whirling in her mind.

Her friend thought she was brave. The gutsiest woman she knew. She also thought Charlie was lovely and funny and smart and interesting. Gina wanted Charlie to take a leap of faith. To believe that all the things she wanted in her heart of hearts were possible.

That Rhys might be attracted to her in the way she was attracted to him.

That they might have a future.

That he might fall in love with her, the way she was sure she could fall in love with him.

It wasn’t until she climbed the stairs to her apartment that she realized she’d been frowning the entire drive. She lifted a hand to her forehead, easing the muscles with her fingertips.

She didn’t have to make any decisions today. It wasn’t as though Rhys was going to burst in the door right now and try to kiss her again. She had time to mull over her friend’s words. To try to take on board what Gina had said.

Charlie walked into the study and her gaze went straight to the dark corner where she’d shoved the box from the hospice, drawn like iron filings to a magnet. She still hadn’t gotten around to unpacking it. Had been avoiding it, if she were honest.

She strode across the room and dropped to her knees and pulled the box toward herself. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she would find inside. Preparing herself.

Some papers, maybe. Some books. Possibly her father’s old transistor radio.

She opened her eyes and folded back the flaps and peered inside. Two pairs of folded pajamas sat on top—plain, serviceable blue cotton. She pulled them out, resting them on her knees. The weight felt wrong and she delved between the two tops and slid free an old metal picture frame with a black-and-white shot of her parents on their wedding day. It was the same photograph that had graced her father’s bedside table all her life and she wasn’t surprised that he’d taken it to the hospice.

She studied her mother’s face, a small, pale oval with dark eyes and hair and a bright, hopeful smile, and felt only the same dull, distant ache that she always experienced when she thought of her. It was impossible to truly miss or grieve someone you’d never known. Her gaze shifted to her father, very upright and proud in his dress uniform. He looked impossibly young. She could see her own reserve in his expression.

They looked happy. Expectant. As though they were ready for life’s next adventure. Sadly, her mother had only lived another two years before she’d bled out after a difficult labor and delivery.

The silver frame was tarnished and Charlie took a swipe at it with her sleeve before placing it on her desk. Perhaps she’d buy a new frame for it sometime.

She turned back to the box. Her next find was a narrow case, which, when she opened it, revealed her father’s reading glasses. They were the same frames he’d had for years and she had a flash of him wearing them, sitting in his favorite armchair, reading one of the many biographies he’d enjoyed. If she’d interrupted him, he’d always taken his time before looking up from his book, fixing his cool blue gaze on her over the tops of the lenses. Letting her know that she had his attention only temporarily.

She put the case to one side. Next she found a handful of pens and a foolscap manila folder. A quick inspection revealed that the folder contained word puzzles her father had clipped from the newspaper. Again, she set it all to one side. As she’d predicted, her father’s transistor radio was next, the yellowed power cord wrapped neatly around it. There was only one item left, a book lying facedown. She pulled it out, turning it over. She stilled as she realized what it was.

When she was ten years old, her father had celebrated his fortieth birthday. Even though he wasn’t a very social man, she’d known it was an important occasion, and she’d wanted to give him something meaningful to commemorate it. After weeks—months—of reconnaissance, she’d settled on a book on Gallipoli she’d heard her father discussing with a friend. She’d claimed coins from the couch cushions, sacrificed a portion of her lunch money and sold some of her most precious comic books to a neighbor, Jimmy Chandler, to afford the purchase. Her father had opened the gift in his usual methodical manner, easing the tape from the paper, folding it away from its contents carefully, painstakingly. Twenty-two years later, she could still remember the rising excitement she’d felt as he’d revealed the book. She’d watched his face, waiting for understanding to dawn.

Waiting for him to understand how much love and planning and care and anticipation had gone into this gift.

His eyes had scanned the title. Then he’d opened the book and spent a few seconds flicking through the first chapter or so. Then he’d met her hopeful, yearning gaze and nodded. Once.

“It’s a good book. Thank you,” he’d said.

He’d stood, crossed the room and put it on the bookshelf. And, to her knowledge, he’d never taken it down again. He also hadn’t pulled her into his arms and told her that she was a good girl and that he loved her, or that he knew how much she loved him. He hadn’t said any of the things that she’d dreamed of him saying. That he was glad she was his. That she made him happy. That she was important to him. That she mattered.

She had cried herself to sleep that night, heartbroken that he hadn’t recognized her love. That he didn’t seem to want it or value it. At some point in the small, dark hours she’d come to the understanding that life had reinforced again and again throughout her lifetime: love could not be earned, and just because one person loved did not mean that that love would be reciprocated. In fact, in her experience, it almost seemed the opposite. The more she loved her father, the more distant and unattainable he’d become.

Yet he’d kept this book. He’d cleared out the house and sold it once he’d been diagnosed and knew the prognosis, determined to leave nothing but a bank account, a will and a corpse behind when his illness got the better of him.

He’d disposed of everything he’d ever owned, passing his belongings to friends or local charities—except for this book.

She lifted the cover. Inside she found her own childishly round writing, as perfectly formed as she could make it at the time.





Dear Dad,



Happy birthday.



With all my love,



Charlotte (Charlie), your daughter





She shut the cover again and rested her hand on the glossy jacket, trying to figure out why he kept this book—other than for the reason that she wanted him to have kept it, of course. But for the life of her she couldn’t come up with a single explanation other than the fact that it had meaning for him, right up until the end.

It was something. In a lifetime that had been short on sentiment and approval, it was something. Especially in light of what had almost happened with Rhys and the discussion she’d had with Gina and what she’d challenged her to do.

Charlie stood and added the book to her bookcase among her reference and design manuals. It looked out of place with its big, thick spine and larger format, but that was okay. She could live with it.

Before she could think it to death, she reached for the phone and called Rhys.

“Charlie. Hi,” he said carefully.

“I wanted to make sure you got home okay.” She immediately felt stupid—as if he couldn’t travel ten kilometers across the city without supervision.

“I did. Thanks.”

Idiot. Say what you mean for a change. Be brave.

“I was wondering what you were doing on Saturday? That comic-book exhibition you mentioned starts on Friday. If you wanted, I thought we could maybe go see it then have lunch together afterward.”

She stared at the wall as she waited for what seemed like a long time for Rhys’s response.

“I’ve actually got something on this Saturday. But maybe we could go on Sunday?”

“Sure. Sunday is good for me, too.”

“Shall I swing by and pick you up?”

“What if I pick you up for a change?”

“Okay. Good.”

She wrote down his address and they discussed options for lunch before deciding to simply check out the offerings near the gallery.

Charlie felt ridiculously buoyant when she ended the call. She was seeing Rhys again, sooner than their usual weekly lunch appointment. She’d made the first move. And if he tried to kiss her again… She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

She could almost hear Gina chastising her and urging her to be bold and brave, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Anyway, Rhys might never try to kiss her again. She may have blown her one chance with him, rejecting him the way she had.

In which case, it wasn’t really a chance, right?

It was a little shocking how disappointed she felt as she considered this prospect. Which went to show what a huge, messed-up hypocrite she really was.

Sunday. Just wait till Sunday, idiot.

Not the worst advice she’d ever given herself.





THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY, Rhys hit the gym before showering and getting dressed for his date with Heather. He’d almost canceled twice during the week, but both times common sense had prevailed. He owed Charlie his support and friendship, but he didn’t owe her his entire life. And she’d made her own feelings more than clear. There was no point in him sitting at home twiddling his thumbs, trying to second-guess Charlie when he could be moving on with his life.

He glanced in the mirror before heading for the door. Polo shirt, jeans, a pair of dark brown boots, his leather jacket in case it got cold. He strapped on his Hugo Boss watch, avoiding looking himself in the eye.

He grabbed his keys and wallet and locked up before walking up the hallway to Heather’s apartment. He knocked, and after a few seconds she opened the door.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He gave her an appreciative once-over. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans that made her legs seem to go on forever. On top she wore a soft-looking pale blue sweater that accentuated her full breasts. Like him, she carried a leather jacket.

“You look like you’re ready to go,” he said.

“I am.”

“Then I guess we should go.”

She matched his smile with one of her own before locking the door. He allowed her to precede him to the elevator and his gaze slid to her backside. Between Tuesday and now he’d somehow managed to forget how attractive she was—and sexy. She’d clearly gone to a lot of trouble to prepare for their date, too—her hair was a smooth, glossy fall down her back, her makeup was perfect, she smelled good.

She looked great. Really great. And she seemed like a nice person. Fun. Bubbly. This was going to be a good afternoon.

Who are you trying to convince, buddy?

“So, where are we going?” Heather asked as they rode the lift to the garage.

He hadn’t really given the venue for their date much thought. Quickly he plucked a restaurant from the air. “I was thinking the Icebergs at Bondi.”

The restaurant was perched at the top of the cliff beside Bondi Beach and offered sweeping views of the bay, as well as the saltwater Olympic-length pool that was part of the fitness club located beneath the restaurant. It was a good, solid first-date option. Definitely a safe bet.

“Perfect. I love it there. I especially love that you can watch people sweating it out in the swimming pool below while you lounge around with a drink in your hand.”

“A recreational voyeur. Nice,” he said.

“I’m a lounge lizard, in case you couldn’t tell. If I didn’t have good genes, I swear I’d be the size of a house.”

They talked easily on the drive. He learned that Heather had two older brothers, and that she was thinking of quitting the airline to go back to university to study law.

“That’s a bit of a sea change,” he said as they turned the corner into Bondi Parade.

“I know. Especially at my age, but I always wanted to study law. I let myself get talked out of it when I was younger by my mother. She was a hostie before she married and loved the lifestyle. She said there wasn’t a better way of seeing the world, and in many ways she was right.”

“But?”

“But I don’t want to be handing out coffee and tea when I’m fifty. And there are only so many times you can see the Eiffel Tower or the pyramids or the Golden Gate Bridge and feel excited about it, you know?”

He found parking on a side street and they walked across the Parade and down a short stretch of residential road to the club entrance. They were shown a table on the balcony and they both put on their jackets to defeat the cool breeze.

“We can ask for a table inside if it’s too cold for you,” Rhys said.

“The sea air is nice and fresh. I like it.”

They continued to talk as they ordered food and a bottle of wine, a little stiffly at first but with increasing ease as the meal progressed. He couldn’t help thinking of his first meal with Charlie. She’d been so tense, nothing like Heather with her air of casual confidence. But there had been a lot more at stake then, too. The baby, the tenor of their future relationship.

He realized that Heather had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly, obviously awaiting a response. He replayed the previous few minutes in his head but drew a blank.

“You have no idea what I said, do you?” Heather asked, amused.

“Sorry. I drifted off for a second.”

“I asked if you wanted dessert here or if we should go for cake someplace else? There’s this little place I know in Rose Bay that makes awesome chocolate brownies.”

“Sounds great,” he said.

He pushed Charlie to the back of his mind, where she belonged, and signaled for the bill. When it came, he slid his credit card in the folder. Heather didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. A refreshing change from the constant battle of wills with Charlie.

Although, as he’d pointed out to himself on several occasions, his outings with Charlie had never been dates.

“There’s a place my friends told me about in Annandale that we should try next time,” Heather said as the waiter came to take his card away. “Really good Italian, apparently.”

There was an assured assumption behind her words. Rhys hadn’t projected beyond today’s outing in his head, but he forced himself to do so now, trying on the idea of seeing Heather again.

She was fun and a good conversationalist. Sure, they hadn’t touched on any deep or serious subjects, but it was a first date, not a counseling session. And she was undeniably an attractive woman—more than one head had turned when they’d walked in the door.

He became aware that he was essentially talking himself into a decision that should have been a no-brainer. Because of Charlie, of course. Because he felt responsible and beholden.

The waiter returned with his card, then he and Heather stood and headed for the door. The wind whipped their faces as they exited to the street.

“Wow. The building must have really been protecting us, hey?” She laughed as her long hair swept out behind her like a flag.

“I guess. Or maybe the wind’s just picked up.” He glanced toward the sky, but the only clouds were very high and a benign fluffy white.

“I love the wind. It’s so energizing. Don’t you think?”

He was about to respond when he spotted a tall, willowy woman fifteen feet ahead of them. She was in profile, about to step onto the road from the concrete steps that led to the beach. His subconscious mind registered who it was a split second before Charlie glanced to her left to check if the path was clear before stepping onto the road. He knew the exact second that she recognized him—her eyes lit from within, full of warmth and unexpected pleasure, and her mouth curved into a delighted smile. She lifted a hand, and seemed ready to call out a greeting.

Then her gaze slid to Heather and her smile froze. Charlie’s gaze traveled back to him, and the pain and hurt and betrayal he saw literally took his breath away, as real and visceral as a blow to the solar plexus. Suddenly he realized that he’d been fooling himself by taking Heather out, fooling himself hugely in relation to Charlie.

He took a step forward, searching for the words to convince her that this was not what it looked like. That he wasn’t seeing another woman. That this had nothing to do with them, with her.

“Charlie.”

She whipped her head around, her body following jerkily as she walked away from him.

“Charlie!” He lengthened his stride, charging ahead of Heather.

After a few steps Charlie stopped. Her shoulders lifted, then dropped, and she turned to face him.

Her smile was perfectly judged—friendly, a little surprised, not too effusive. Her eyes were opaque, giving nothing away.

“Rhys. I almost didn’t hear you. This is a coincidence.”

He stretched out a hand to touch her, needing to comfort her, to soothe away the hurt he’d seen—the hurt he’d caused. She shifted deftly to one side, her gaze focused over his shoulder.

“Hi,” she said.

He glanced back as Heather walked the final few feet to join them. She was laughing, one hand attempting to stop her hair from flying across her face. She looked model perfect and beautiful and utterly desirable—and again he cursed himself for a fool for thinking that she could act as a substitute for Charlie. It was an insult to both women, not to mention completely futile.

“Isn’t it a great day?” Heather said.

“It is. Really nice,” Charlie agreed, smile still firmly in place.

There was so much pride and courage in that smile… It hurt him to look at it, especially when he’d seen the pain that lay beneath her mask.

“You look like you’ve been making the most of it,” Heather said.

“My second attempt at the Bondi-Coogee track. Still not quite up to the full return trip yet. I’m Charlie, by the way.”

“Heather. Nice to meet you.”

Rhys watched as the two women shook hands. Heather glanced at him, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could think about was what he’d seen in Charlie’s eyes.

“I’d better keep moving,” Charlie said. “I don’t want to hold you up.”

He stepped forward to block her path. “Charlie. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

She met his eyes, her expression completely neutral. Her soldier’s face, controlled and calm. “Your private life is none of my business.”

She stepped around him and he started to go after her.

“Am I being thick or am I missing something here?” Heather said.

He stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t chase Charlie and leave Heather here to cool her heels. He’d already been enough of an a*shole for one day. He glanced at her, taking in her bemused expression and defensive body language.

“Please tell me that wasn’t your girlfriend, because I am really going to hate myself if I’m the other woman,” she said.

“Charlie isn’t my girlfriend.”

Heather’s eyes narrowed. “But she was, right?”

“No.”

Charlie had been his for one night only.

“Then what was all that about?” Her tone sounded a little pissy.

Fair enough. He deserved it. And Heather deserved the truth. The problem was, every fiber in his being was straining to go after Charlie. To comfort and reassure her. To explain.

If she’d let him.

He cast a look up the hill. Charlie was crossing the road, her step brisk, her head high. Graceful and dignified and strong, as ever.

“If you want to go after her, just go,” Heather said, shooing him off with a dismissive gesture.

He wasn’t stupid or rude enough to take her at her word. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said. “And I’ll explain.”

“An explanation would be good.” She looked at his face then shook her head ruefully. “Although I have a feeling I’m not going to like what I hear. So much for the cute guy in 4D.”

He attempted a smile and willed her to start walking. He needed to get her home then he needed to find Charlie and talk to her.

If she’d let him.