Marry Me: The Proposal Plan / Single Dad, Nurse Bride / Millionaire in Command. Lynne Marshall

with either of them for years now. It hurt, too, that this had come from Gabriel, on whom she had always relied for justification of her actions.

      She dripped red food colouring into a bowl of white icing and began to beat it with a wooden spoon. It streaked a lovely shade of pink. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d always known she wanted a proper settled family one day. Her childhood had been so difficult it would be some kind of miracle if it hadn’t shaped the person she was now. It wasn’t so much this that bothered her as Gabriel’s implication that what had happened years ago was the only reason for a decision she was making now. That getting married was the wrong thing for her to do but that she was incapable of seeing it. Why would he say that? Why was he being so horrible, seeming to try everything in his power to put her off the idea?

      She began to deftly spread the icing over some heart-shaped shortbreads. Her childhood did affect her decision because it had contributed to who she was. But the reasons she wanted to get married now were present-day reasons, not past ones. Her age, for example. She knew she wanted children and she was nearly thirty. She wanted to get started on that sooner, not later, and she also knew she wanted to be married beforehand. Her work, her financial security—the business had really gained a foothold now; it was doing exceptionally well, far exceeding her expectations. And of course her relationship. She had been happy with Ed for a good length of time now. She knew his bad habits and she knew she could live with them. He wasn’t Mr Perfect, but she honestly believed he was Mr Perfect For Her. He was fundamentally a good man, he was good to her and, very importantly, he supported her business ambitions wholeheartedly, even when she was having success and he was putting up with setbacks. She was just ready to take the next step; it was that simple.

      But do you love him, Lucy? Really love him? Yes, she told herself, firmly. That wasn’t up for debate. She squashed the nagging little voice that reminded her she didn’t feel the same depth of passion for Ed as she once had for Gabriel. She was just a kid back then. She knew now there were different kinds of love, and the kind she needed for the life she wanted was the reliable, constant kind, wasn’t it? She refused to let her mind explore what alternative to that there might be.

      Yet however hard she tried to stop it her mind kept slipping back to what Gabriel had said. She was unable to brush it aside, put it out of her mind. She worried at it, picked at it. She liked to think she was fully in control of her life now. She was in the driving seat, no one else. If that’s true, then why not talk to your parents and test it? The idea made her heart beat faster and her palms feel clammy, classic signs of nervousness. Slamming the empty icing bowl into the already-full sink, she finally made the decision that had been lurking at the back of her mind for hours now. The only way to prove to herself that she was really and truly her own person, to prove Gabriel wrong, was to talk to one of them. It would have to be her father, she supposed. She had no idea where her mother was except that it was somewhere in Las Vegas. She had her father’s address stashed somewhere and Birmingham was only a few hours away. There was nothing else for it if she was to put the niggling doubts Gabriel had planted behind her.

      Gabriel made himself put the telephone down. He’d left three messages now and had sent a couple of texts. She would speak to him when she was ready. She always did. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he’d gone too far this time. He’d gone to meet her intent on encouraging her to follow her plans to settle down with Ed. To play the supportive best friend, just as he always did. Certainly not to betray his true feelings for her. But watching her talking about how she could do her best to persuade another guy to marry her had gradually, minute by minute, become unbearable. Ed took her for granted and patently didn’t deserve her. If he did he would have married her ages ago.

      Gabriel sighed miserably. He’d lost control. There was no other way to describe it. He’d wanted to try and talk her out of it, question her love for Ed, persuade her she was making a mistake, but he hadn’t quite dared. He was too afraid of what she might say, that it would be something he didn’t want to hear. And so instead he’d hit her below the belt. He had mentioned her parents for no other reason than to selfishly put a damp cloth over her excitement at the prospect of proposing. In doing so he hadn’t considered for a second how she might feel about him throwing her family into the mix. He could kick himself. He’d been there throughout her childhood. He’d dried her tears when she’d run to the manor house to escape the rows. He’d dressed the cuts on her hand that time when she’d hurt herself cleaning up a broken bottle after one of the more physical arguments. She’d been just a kid at the time. What the hell had he been thinking dragging all that back up for her again?

      He desperately wanted to go to her and apologise, make things right. But knowing her as well as he did, he knew there was no point trying to force her to talk until she was ready. He had to go to an important client meeting but he found it impossible to follow properly what was said. His mind was consumed by Lucy.

      ‘Would you mind waiting? I won’t be long.’ Lucy leaned forward and spoke to the taxi driver before climbing out of the cab. She surveyed the house on the opposite side of the street. A tiny nondescript terrace in a nondescript street. She briefly checked the slip of paper in her hand. This was it; this was the place. His place. Her palms felt hot and clammy and she unconsciously rubbed them slowly against her coat as she walked towards the grimy front door. To knock or not to knock, that was the question.

      Before she could back out, she raised her knuckles and knocked. Then knocked again, loudly.

      He isn’t home. Let’s just get back to Bath, Lucy. Bad idea.

      She banged this time with her fist and, bending to open the letterbox, called out, ‘Dad!’ for good measure. She could see through it into a dingy-looking hall with a brown carpet.

      At last a shuffling sound could be heard and a shadow loomed behind the frosted glass of the front door. She caught her breath as the latch rattled and then as the door swung open her heart began hammering in her chest. And there he was. Old now and grey, with a few days’ scruffy growth of white stubble and unkempt clothes. Her father. Not quite what she’d prepared herself for. In her mind she’d built him up to be some kind of monster, but this was the reality. A pitiful, scruffy old man. A stale smell drifted from the hallway behind him.

      ‘Lucinda,’ he said in obvious surprise. ‘Well, well, well. What are you doing here?’

      No endearments. No ‘pleased to see you’. Just an indifferent tone. Had she really expected anything else?

      ‘I was in the area,’ she said lamely. ‘Work… you know. I’m on my way back to the station. I thought I’d drop by and see how you are.’

      The eyes looking at her from the heavily lined face were shrewd. ‘Ten years long gone, and in all that time nothing more than a card or phone call.’

      Lucy looked away with a jolt of embarrassment, and was immediately angry with herself for doing so. What did he expect after the way he’d treated her? By the time she’d finally left he was drunk every night. He’d rarely spoken to her except to hurl insults and she’d been cleaning, cooking, shopping, trying to hold things together. She’d tried to make him get help with his drinking but he’d been sinking in his own self-pity since her mother had left and he had no inclination to find a way out.

      Then she’d got a place at catering college. A means of escape. And once she’d left she’d simply kept running, that was all. Instead of going back home when her course finished, she’d rented a tiny flat in Swindon because it was cheap. Working for a pittance in a local restaurant to build up her experience, she’d spent every spare minute baking cakes and had built up a steady bank of customers in the local area who came to her for wedding and celebration cakes. After Swindon, she’d stayed with Gabriel in Bath before getting her own place and starting her business. It hadn’t been a difficult decision to not return to Gloucestershire. Staying away had always been the better choice than going home. Oh, she’d kept in touch of course, but only the bare minimum. A phone call now and then, cards occasionally. Any guilt she might have felt at leaving was assuaged by the fact her father had never once made any proper attempt to contact her himself and make things right. He’d let her know when he’d changed address but he never bothered with birthday