Wedding Party Collection: Don't Tell The Bride. Kelly Hunter

which he convinced himself that if he took nothing too seriously, he could probably get through another day of being married to Lena without losing his mind.

      ‘So would you wear a brushed-platinum wedding band?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes.’ Not a lie. More of a theoretical answer to a theoretical question.

      ‘There could be a glossy strip running through it like a wave. And there could be diamonds, little ones, like a little wavy strip crosswise across the band. Or little sapphires the colour of the sea. But not the deep blue sea. The light blue sea.’

      ‘I see.’ And he did.

      ‘Maybe we should consult a jewellery designer.’

      ‘Maybe. Are you tired?’ he asked. ‘I’m tired.’

      ‘Hot water does that. May I ask you another question that I can’t remember the answer to?’

      ‘Shoot.’

      ‘It’s December the fourth already and we’re in Turkey on our honeymoon. How long is our honeymoon going to take and where are we going for Christmas?’

      ‘That’s two questions.’ And he didn’t know the answer to either. ‘Two weeks for the honeymoon—though if your memory doesn’t reappear in all its glory soon I want to cut this trip short and take you home.’

      Lena said nothing.

      ‘I mean it, Lena.’

      ‘I know you do. I can hear it in your voice.’ She brought her hands to the surface of the water and started churning slow circle patterns in the froth. ‘I’m remembering more. I can tell you that. I remember tagging after you and Jared when I was a kid and resenting the hell out of you both for being stronger, faster and more fearless than me. I remember wanting to rip Jessica’s eyes out because you took her to your year twelve formal.’

      ‘Really? You remember that?’

      ‘As if it were yesterday. First time I’d ever seen you wearing a suit and tie and the things it did for your shoulders and my libido. As for Jessica, she had an hourglass figure, waist-length auburn hair and a smile just for you. In another universe I might have even liked her. She didn’t even look at Jared.’

      ‘Yeah, that was always a good sign in a date. Jessica was a good sport.’ Who’d known by the end of the night that Trig didn’t want to take things any further. ‘Probably still is.’

      ‘Jealous wife here,’ warned Lena.

      ‘You’re a good sport too,’ he offered hastily.

      ‘Are you sure? Because I seem to recall that I really, really like to win.’

      ‘This is true.’

      ‘I also have this niggling suspicion that I’m a bad loser.’

      ‘Sometimes you react badly when you’re forced to reveal weakness in front of others,’ he offered carefully. ‘You hate that.’

      ‘Well, who wouldn’t?’

      ‘Borrowing strength from someone else when you need it doesn’t make you weak. Makes you human.’ He laid out his thoughts for her; honest in a way he’d never been before. ‘Sometimes I wish you’d lean on others a little more.’

      ‘Doesn’t that make me needy?’

      ‘Not saying I want to tie your shoelaces for you. But when you’re railing against your body’s limitations and when you’re scared about being left out or left behind, would it kill you to say something?’

      ‘Like what? Carry me?’

      ‘Something like that.’

      ‘You’ve carried me before.’

      ‘I have.’

      ‘Which must give you a certain sense of self-worth.’

      ‘I’m usually more focused on staying alive at the time.’

      ‘Can’t you see that me borrowing strength from others gives me less self-worth? That the last thing I want is to be a burden to you?’

      ‘It’s not like that. That’s not what offering and receiving help is all about.’

      ‘I hear you,’ she said solemnly. ‘I do, but, Adrian, ask yourself this: when has anyone ever carried you?’

      * * *

      Lena couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment in the bath house when the conversation had turned from teasing to her pleading with Trig to understand her thoughts and feelings when it came to relying on others for things she ought to be able to do for herself.

      She did rely on him when she needed to.

      She’d relied on him yesterday—for memories and form-filling-out, for safety, and she’d let him carry her and rejoiced in the act; she remembered that part quite well. She was relying on him now, for information and companionship. What more did he want from her? Did she really try to hide her weaknesses from him?

      They lasted an hour in the hot pool and beneath the cascading falls of water. There was a ledge you could lie on beneath one of the cascades and let the water beat down on you, and it did it with exactly the right amount of pressure. She made Trig try it but he preferred the more directed pressure of a side spout. Neither of them took up the masseuse’s offer to soap them up and wash them down.

      Maybe next time.

      An hour and twenty minutes after they’d entered the bath house, they stepped out onto the street, squeaky clean and smelling ever so faintly of roses. Lena liked smelling of roses. She liked Trig smelling of roses too.

      She came down the bath-house steps, feeling freer in her gait than she had been in days.

      ‘You’re walking easier.’ He didn’t miss much, this husband of hers.

      ‘I know. Turkish baths are my new favourite place. And I know I suggested we look for rings after this, but I’m having second thoughts.’ Never let it be said that she couldn’t admit to weakness. She could work on that. Work on it right now. ‘I’m tired, my head’s beginning to throb and all I want to do is curl up on that hotel bed with a plate of fruit and a movie.’

      ‘Lena West, are you admitting that you’re not up to shopping with me?’

      ‘I am. And I hope you’re impressed and it’s not Lena West. The name’s Lena Sinclair.’

      She did love a man with a wide and blinding smile.

      They hailed a taxi and when they reached the hotel foyer they dropped by the restaurant and ordered a plate of fresh fruit and pastries, and hot coffee and tea to be brought to the room. She was getting used to this hotel now. The foyer and the lifts, the long walk from the lifts to the room.

      She got halfway down the corridor before deciding she could use some more help. Especially if it involved being up close and personal with a husband who smelled ever so faintly of roses.

      ‘Ouch,’ she said and stopped. Trig stopped too. ‘Could be I need a little more help.’

      ‘With what?’

      ‘Walking. I have this burning need to be in our room right now, and we’d get there a whole lot faster if you carried me.’

      ‘Burning need, huh?’

      ‘Scorching.’

      He swung her into his arms. Damn, but she loved his smile. ‘You feeling any less worthy there, princess?’

      ‘No, I’m feeling kind of smug.’

      ‘I’ve unleashed a monster.’

      ‘Pretty sure I’ll get the asking-for-help balance right eventually. Right now I’m feeling so breathless all of a sudden. I may need mouth-to-mouth.’

      He got