The Silver Bride

Yes, of course, he would see how she felt. He always had been able to see inside her. Crushed by the awareness that even her love was obvious to him, she made no demur when he curved a surprisingly tentative arm around her and walked her away. The limousine was collecting a parking ticket beyond the park gates.

Dior felt guilty. He felt guilty. He knew how much he had hurt her. And what was to be gained in trying to avoid a meeting that he was determined to force on her? In the silence, Stella stole a glance at him as the opulent car purred through the slow-moving traffic. In two and a half weeks he had contrived to lose quite a bit of weight, she noted.

And now it was as if a divide the width of an immeasurable abyss separated them. She had never dreamt that Dior could look as downright somber as he did now.

The end of a marriage. Well, he wasn't so superficial that he was about to celebrate, particularly when she would be giving birth to their child in a few months. 'It's OK,' she said flatly. 'Nothing's OK,' Dior countered harshly.

'Where have you been staying?' 'A B&B out in the suburbs. I didn't feel like the hassle of looking for somewhere more permanent yet,' she admitted stiltedly.

'Didn't it occur to you that I'd be going out of my mind with worry?' he demanded with sudden force. 'Why should it have?' Stella sighed. 'I've been looking after myself for a heck of a long time. I'm not the helpless type.'

The silence seemed to thunder. 'No,' Dior conceded gruffly. 'But you can make me feel helpless.' Her brow furrowed. 'Oh, you mean you looking for me and not being able to find me?' she gathered. 'There was no need for that. I wasn't planning to vanish forever, or anything stupid like that. I made that clear in my note—'

'Ne...yes: "Dior, I'm sorry, but I had to empty your wallet to get some cash.'" Dior quoted the opening line of her note flatly. '"Marrying you was a mistake. I'll be in touch. Don't look for me...but then I don't suppose you will, will you?"'

'I don't see why you have to quote the whole thing," Stella protested, feeling even more foolish and exposed by that verbatim delivery.

'I was upset and I didn't have much time. You're lucky you got a note!' Instead of exploding at that rather unjust stab, Dior froze in his distant corner of the back seat. 'I guess you're right about that.' Stella sent him a slightly bewildered glance, registering the raw tension etched into his bold, dark profile.

'I honestly didn't think you might get worried until later—' 'Much later. It took you eleven days to phone Chloe,' Dior reminded her tautly.

'I had some stuff to work out' Like how to live without him, how to exist with a ceaseless craving that got more agonizing with every passing hour, how to close out the flawed memory of good times that could only have been utterly superficial on his terms.

Great s.e.x, she had assumed on their honeymoon, but dared she assume even that now.? For her, m.a.k.i.n.g. .l.o.v.e with Dior had been earth-shattering sensational perfection.

But how did she know what it had been like for him? He had been flatteringly insatiable, but maybe he was just rampantly overs.e.xed, she reflected grimly.

'So what have you been doing with yourself?' 'I've been making plans.' She had done nothing but walk around all day, sit in the public library when she got tired, eat for the baby's sake and use up boxes of tissues at night.

However, it would have taken torture to force an admission like that from her. She had climbed out of the limo before she realized that they had not arrived at Dior's apartment building.

'I was joking.' Had he been? Stella had spent two and a half wretched weeks picking apart everything Dior had ever said or done, seeking evidence with which to bolster up her resistance level. Waste of time, she now conceded gloomily.

One look at him, even in this strange, muted mode he appeared to be in, and she was back where she had been that first night on Chandos.

Mesmerized. Poised there in his exquisitely tailored charcoal-grey suit, he was so gorgeous he still took her breath away. 'What did you do with the rest of my things?' Stella asked to fill the simmering silence. Dior frowned.

'They're here.' 'Where?' 'In the main bedroom.' 'Oh, right. You didn't tell the staff that I wasn't coming back.' Stella started up the grand staircase. 'Where are you going?' Stella barely glanced over her shoulder. 'I might as well get my stuff packed up while I'm here,' she said briskly. 'It'll save me another trip.' 'Stella...' Dior began heavily.

'I know I've acted like a total four-letter word—' 'Dior, I don't need to hear that sort of stuff.' Stella marched on up the staircase at an even faster rate of knots.

This is nobody's fault. We only got ]married because I was pregnant, which was just plain stupid...OK? It's no big deal, is it?' 'No big deal?' Dior repeated thickly. Stella could not resist the urge to turn and peer down at him from the landing, but he had swung away.

'Look, all I'm trying to say is I don't want to talk about it There's no need.' Dior appeared hi the dressing room doorway while Stella was frantically trailing clothes off hangers. Her hands were all thumbs.

What on earth had possessed her? In another minute she would either crumble into embarrassing hysterical tears or she would seize him by the throat and ask him how he could prefer Arctic Woman to her.