The Contract by Marsh, Nicola (read aloud books .txt) 📕

she rushed past him and he’d put them there with his accusations. In his defence, what was he supposed to think when his wife met another man in secret and dressed the part?

You could have trusted her.

Trust wasn’t an emotion that sat easily with him. He’d been a gullible child, believing the empty promises of his mother, only to be repeatedly let down when she didn’t attend his first soccer game, his first rowing tournament, his first debate. Back then, he’d sworn to never trust anybody again, particularly women. Even his grandmother, who he loved, had her own agenda and didn’t fully trust him.

Why else would she stipulate his child inherit her fortune rather than him? She’d made a joke of it, saying he had a hard time standing up to his mother and her dream would be better realised if he oversaw the management of her funds rather than handle them himself. What she really meant was she thought he didn’t have the guts to take a stand against his mother, no matter how much she turned up the heat.

So he’d learned to harden his heart and shut off his emotions, all in the name of self-preservation.

And now he’d hurt the one person who had started to broach his carefully erected barriers, the woman who he could learn to trust given half a chance.

Dumbass. He trudged up the stairs, hoping he could mend the damage he’d inflicted on the one woman who didn’t deserve it.

* * *

Amber appreciated Steve’s apology; she knew how much it must have cost him. However, it didn’t change the fact he thought her dream sucked. Not that he’d said so, she could tell by his remarks. Rather than embracing her dream wholeheartedly, he’d fired a barrage of technical questions at her, leaving her with a distinct impression he found her and her business plan lacking.

So much for the support of her spouse. She would have to do it on her own, like everything else in her life to date.

“We’re almost there,” he said, as the taxi drew up outside an imposing set of wrought-iron gates.

Amber craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of Steve’s childhood home. However, the Rockwell mansion, in the exclusive Melbourne suburb of Toorak, was well screened by some of the tallest oaks she’d ever seen. She watched him speak into an intercom and tried to quell her growing apprehension.

All the reassurances in the world couldn’t calm her nerves. Steve had said he’d be with her every step of the way but he couldn’t change facts: she didn’t belong here, alongside a filthy rich lawyer as his wife and worse, pretending she loved him.

Not that the latter would be difficult. Despite their differences, which threatened to broaden with every passing day, she’d fallen for him.

“You okay?” He squeezed her hand as he slid back into the taxi after speaking into an intercom.

She nodded, grateful he understood how she felt.

“We’ll see grandma first and leave the best for last.” His serious expression only served to send her nerves into panic mode.

“Is your mum that bad?” She clung to his hand, needing the physical contact to keep her butterflies grounded.

“She’s worse.” He grimaced, and the butterflies took flight. “But don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in a few hours.”

Amber remembered those words as she entered the lavish foyer of the mansion and struggled not to gape. Sure, she’d known the Rockwell’s were rich, but nothing Steve had told her had prepared her for this: soaring ornate ceilings, several chandeliers, brocade walls covered with oil paintings, a sweeping staircase and marble floor her heels clacked too loudly on.

She performed a slow, three hundred and sixty-degree turn, keeping her jaw firmly clamped. “What? No servants?”

He shrugged as they entered a large room filled with overstuffed chairs and priceless antiques. “Must be Jeeves day off.”

She stopped short, wondering if he was serious.

“I’m kidding. Come on.”

She trailed after him, carefully picking her way through the maze of bric-a-brac that cost a small fortune. This wasn’t wealth, it was obscenity. What little money she had she donated to an orphanage in Nepal; the furnishings in this mansion alone could feed and clothe the orphans for the next decade.

Schooling her face into a mask of impassivity, she looked at her husband. “So this is home?”

His brows drew together, as if sensing her censure. “Hasn’t been for a long time. Probably never was.”

“Don’t you like it?” Curiosity egged her on, as Steve rarely spoke of his family. In fact, what little he’d told her, she’d had to drag from him.

He quirked an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

She glanced around, once again struck by the coldness of the place. It looked like a museum, not a home. “Not really a place for kids, I suppose.”

“Got it in one. Come on, let’s meet Grandma.” He tugged on her hand and she gladly followed, eager to escape the imposing room and its tomb-like feel.

He led her through several passages, each lined with mahogany, until they reached the back of the house.

“Through here.” He pushed open a door and she almost gasped at the beauty of the small room. Sunlight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lending the room an atrium-like feel. Potted plants and vases filled with roses lay artistically arranged on tables, brightening the room further. No clutter of ornaments here; instead, a cream coloured sofa scattered with gold cushions and a coffee table covered in glossy magazines lent a cosy feel without being threatening. Amber could have curled up with a magazine on the sofa quite comfortably.

“This is nice,” she said, hoping the aura she sensed in this welcoming room matched the lady who inhabited it.

He smiled, a genuine tilting up of his lips that softened