don’t envy you. It’s absolute hell being out there, and then almost worse coming home.’
Smoothly Kit changed the subject by turning to Sophie.
‘Nick, let me introduce you to Sophie Greenham. Sophie, Nick McAllister. He’s an old friend.’
‘He’s flattering me.’ Grinning again, Nick McAllister shook Sophie’s hand firmly. ‘I was far too low down the pecking order to be a friend of Major Fitzroy. We served alongside each other in some fairly joyless places, until I couldn’t take any more and quit to get married and do a nice, safe job.’
‘Do you miss it?’ Sophie asked. It was impossible not to like him, and it was always a good idea to be nice to the person who was about to fly you across Europe.
‘Not in the slightest, but then I’m not made of the same heroic stuff as Kit. Leaving it all behind was the best thing I ever did, especially as my wife only agreed to marry me if I gave up. She’s expecting our second child in a few days.’
Sophie felt as if something sharp had just pierced her side. ‘Congratulations,’ she managed in an oddly high-pitched voice.
Luckily Kit was already beginning to move away. ‘In that case we’d better get going or you’ll be on the way to Marrakech while she’s on her way to the delivery room,’ he said.
The cabin of the small plane was the most insanely luxurious thing Sophie had ever seen. Everything was in toning shades of pale caramel and crème, even the stewardess who appeared as soon as they were airborne with champagne and strawberries. It reminded Sophie of the villain’s lair in a James Bond film.
‘Kit Fitzroy, you big show-off,’ she said, struggling to suppress a huge smile as the stewardess disappeared through the suede curtains again. ‘You don’t impress me with your fancy private plane, you know. Just think of your carbon footprint—how do you live with the guilt?’
‘Years of practice.’ He took a mouthful of champagne, and for a split second a shadow passed across his face. ‘But I’d
heard the recession has had an impact on business and I was selflessly prepared to put Nick’s income before my carbon footprint.’
‘Spoken like a true hero.’ Sophie settled back in a huge cream leather seat and looked around. ‘He seems happy enough that he made the right decision though,’ she added casually, idly twirling a strawberry around by its stem. ‘Would you ever consider …?’
‘Giving up my career to get married?’ Kit drawled in mock outrage. ‘In this day and age?’
Taking a mouthful of champagne, Sophie almost snorted it out of her nose. ‘Shut up,’ she spluttered, laughing. ‘You know what I mean.’
Suddenly his face was serious again, his silvery eyes luminous in the clear light above the clouds. ‘Yes. And yes.’ He gave her a twisted smile that made her stomach flip. ‘I don’t want to go back. The question is, do you still want to marry me?’
Below them the sea stretched in a glittering infinity. Sophie’s heart soared. This was exactly the kind of conversation that had seemed so impossible in the big, empty house in Chelsea, but up here it was different. She could be herself.
‘Of course I do,’ she moaned, then added hastily, ‘I mean, if that’s what you want.’
He put his glass down on the gleaming wood ledge. His eyes were on hers.
‘Come here,’ he said softly.
She was about to mutter something about seat belts, but stopped herself just in time as she realised those kind of rules didn’t apply to private planes. And anyway, she couldn’t imagine anything safer than being held by Kit. She went over, settling herself sideways on his lap, her feet hanging over the arm of his seat.
‘I don’t need a piece of paper or anything, you know that,’ she said quietly. ‘I know that five months is a long time and a
lot has happened since then. You’ve been away and … I don’t know, I thought that maybe when you’d had time to think about it you might have decided it wasn’t such a good idea.’
Taking a deep breath in, Kit closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the leather headrest. That was exactly what he’d decided yesterday morning, waking up beside her and realising that they were little more than strangers. Understanding that what had happened to Lewis could so easily have happened to him, and that his life wasn’t the only one he was playing Russian roulette with any more.
But now, with her body folded into his, her hair soft against his jaw, the decision was abstract. Irrelevant. The rightness of his initial instinct to make her his and never let her go was indisputable.
‘I haven’t.’ He picked up her hand, stroking his thumb over her empty third finger. ‘And I need to get you a ring as soon as possible so you don’t think that again.’
‘A ring? Ooh—exciting! How soon can we do it?’
He couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face as the uncertainty and darkness receded. ‘Well, we can do it tomorrow if you don’t mind having a ring that comes from a back alley in the souk and costs the same as a glass of Chardonnay in a pub in Chelsea, or as soon as we get home we can—’
She silenced him by kissing the corner of his mouth. ‘I wouldn’t mind that at all, but I didn’t mean the ring. I meant how soon can we get married? Can we do it when we get home?’
He reached around her to pick up his champagne. ‘I think there might be a few things you have to do first, like get a licence and book a place and a person to do it.’
She shifted her position so that she was sitting astride him. ‘That can’t take too long, surely?’ She licked her lips and didn’t quite meet his eye. ‘I mean, we don’t want one of
those full-scale epics with a football team of bridesmaids, a cake the size of Everest and three hundred guests.’
‘No? I thought that was what every bride wanted?’
He actually felt her shudder. ‘Not me. Or not unless there are two hundred and ninety-nine people you want to invite, and I get to have Jasper on my side of the church.’
‘You must have people you want there? Family?’
In spite of the clear light flooding the cabin her eyes had darkened to the colour of old green glass, but he only glimpsed them for a moment before her lashes swept down and hid them from view.
‘I don’t have family. And I certainly don’t have a father to walk me down the aisle and make a touching speech recapping significant moments on my journey to being the woman in the meringue dress.’
Her tone was light enough but everything else resisted further questioning. He could feel the tension in her body, and see from the way she was avoiding his eye that they’d stumbled into a no-go area. Very gently he ran a fingertip down her cheek, tilting her face upwards when he reached her chin.
‘You have a mother,’ he said softly. ‘And most mothers would probably say that getting to be Mother of the Bride is one of the highlights of the job.’
She
