The Token Wife. Sara Craven

      She went to the wardrobe, dragged out a pair of black jeans and a round-necked sweater in fine grey wool, and pulled them onto her body.

      She found her soft leather travel bag, and began hurriedly to fill it with underwear, more trousers and casual tops, flat shoes.

      Escape, she thought, the word echoing like a mantra in her brain. Escape…

      But where could she go?

      There was Somerset, she thought. She could stay with her aunt and uncle, and find kindness with them. Use their farm as a sanctuary while she tried to decide what she could do with the rest of her life.

      On her way downstairs, she paused outside the main bedroom and tapped on the door.

      Her father opened it. ‘What is it?’ He looked at her bag. ‘Is it Ellie? Has she come back?’

      ‘No,’ she said, wincing. ‘That’s—not going to happen, Dad. But I’m going away for a while.’

      ‘But she must come back,’ he said. He looked past her. ‘You don’t realise how serious all this is. It was part of the deal with Fabian, and he’s walked out on us. We need that injection of capital, or the business could go under. We could lose everything.’

      Lou stared at the man in front of her, and wondered when he had first become a stranger.

      She said, ‘I think you already have lost everything. At least everything that matters.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be in touch—some time.’

      She went out of the cottage the back way, feeling fresh tears springing up as she realised how much of her life she was leaving behind. Yet knowing at the same time that she had no other choice.

      She’d expected—hoped—maybe even prayed that Alex Fabian would be long gone. But there was to be no respite for her on this merciless day.

      Because, as she came out into the yard, he was there, loading his own bag into the boot of his car.

      She checked instantly, wondering if she could duck back into the house before he saw her. But it was too late.

      He was already straightening, turning to look at her, the green eyes curiously intent.

      ‘So there you are,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE knew, of course, what he was seeing. The drenched eyes, the trembling mouth, and the pale face smudged with tears. She couldn’t even hide behind her hair, because her final act before leaving her room had been to drag it back and confine it at the nape of her neck with an elastic band.

      Oh, God, she thought desperately. Why did this man of all men have to be around when she was at her most vulnerable?

      She lifted her chin. Kept the betraying quiver from her voice. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve detained you, Mr Fabian, although I can’t imagine why that should be. We’ve said everything that needs to be said, and now we can go our separate ways.’

      ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘None of your damned business.’ She reached into her shoulder bag, found her sunglasses and jammed them on her nose. One small barrier to shelter behind, she thought, searching for her car keys. ‘Will you please leave me alone?’

      ‘No,’ he said. He walked across, picked up her travel bag and slung it into the boot of his car next to his own case.

      ‘How dare you?’ Lou’s voice cracked with outrage. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

      ‘Taking over,’ he returned tersely. ‘Someone needs to. Most families are hell at times, but you seem particularly unlucky in yours. Your sister runs off with your man, and your father and his wife are too caught up in the financial ramifications of it all to notice that you’re falling apart.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She was shaking again, but this time it was with temper. ‘But I can manage on my own.’

      The green eyes swept her dismissively. ‘Well, you certainly can’t drive in that state,’ he said. ‘You’d kill yourself within a mile.’

      She glared at him. ‘Do you think I’d care?’

      ‘Suicide may have its attractions,’ he said, meditatively. ‘And the news might well put a temporary blight on married bliss for the happy couple, although I wouldn’t count on it. But it also tends to drastically reduce all future options. So I think you should consider living. And living well. That’s a far better revenge on your ex-fiancé.’