It Started With... Collection. Miranda Lee
he was she’d never have fallen in love with him in the first place, let alone agreed to marry him.
Rachel gave herself a swift mental shake. She wouldn’t think about Eric. Ever again.
But, perversely, when she walked up to the reception desk the man booking in reminded her strongly of Eric, despite only viewing him from the back. He had the same sandy blond hair. The same way of holding his shoulders. The same elegance.
The attractive brunette standing next to him seemed familiar as well. Rachel listened to them chatting away together as they checked in, their voices horribly familiar.
And then, suddenly, they both turned around.
JUSTIN was suitably impressed the moment he stepped inside the apartment. It had a cool, comfy feel, with plenty of space, even to having its own foyer, which was unusual in hotel apartments.
As he dropped their two suitcases next to the hall stand—a sturdy yet elegant piece with a smoked-glass top and carved oak base—Justin caught a glimpse of himself in the matching mirror above. His hair, which possibly needed a cut, was all over the place. That’s what happened when you had to walk across windy tarmac, as they had at Coolangatta airport. No tunnels to spoil you.
Straightening, Justin smoothed back the wayward top and sides with the flat of his hands, then moved a little closer to the mirror to peer at the bags under his eyes.
Could do with a good eight hours’ sleep, he thought as he turned and went over to slot his room key into the gizmo beside the door. The lights came on automatically, as did the air-conditioning. That done, Justin strode into the main living area, where he stripped off his jacket and tie, tossed them over the back of one of the nearby dining chairs then took himself on a quick tour of the rest of the apartment.
Absolutely everything met with his approval, even the crisp citrus colours they’d used on the walls and soft furnishings. Normally, lime and yellow and orange would not be to his taste but the brightness was offset by the wall-to-wall cream carpet, the cream woodwork and the extensive use of pine. The kitchen was all pine, with white counter-tops and white appliances, and the bathrooms—thank heaven—were white as well. Justin had had about enough of that all-over black marble in the hideously pretentious bathroom at his office.
He contemplated giving Rachel the main bedroom, then decided she would only protest, so he put her bag in the second bedroom, which suffered little for size. Both bedrooms also had access to the balcony that stretched the full length of the apartment and had a view that looked pretty spectacular, even from inside.
How much better would it look from the balcony itself?
Justin decided to find out before making the coffee, and wasn’t disappointed. You could see for miles, from Tweed Heads on his right to Surfer’s Paradise in the northern distance with its tell-tale skyline of skyscrapers. The sea was looking breathtakingly beautiful, even now, with the sun having set and the sky darkening from its earlier bright blue to a dusky grey. Admittedly, first thing in the morning the sun might be a bit too brilliant as it rose over the horizon and slammed straight into the windows behind him, but in the afternoon and evenings it would be wonderful to sit outside here in one of the deckchairs, sipping some chilled white wine.
‘I wonder if Rachel likes white wine,’ he said to himself, and seriously hoped so, because the scenario he’d just pictured in his mind didn’t seem quite so appealing on his own. He would ask her when she got back, and if she did he’d see about having Room Service send up a bottle or two. Then later he’d take her to the swankiest restaurant in the place for dinner. Hotels like this always had at least one à la carte eating establishment.
Rachel deserved a bit of spoiling, he decided, after all she’d been through these past few years.
Justin breathed in the refreshing salt-sea air for thirty seconds longer before returning to the living area and going in search of the coffee-making equipment. It crossed his mind whilst he rummaged around in the cupboards that Rachel was taking a good while. Presumably, the front desk was still busy. Or maybe they couldn’t find another key to this room. He made a mental note to find out what had actually happened. Guy would want to know what he thought of the service. The last thing a new owner needed to do was to have to sack staff then find replacements. Far too expensive and time-consuming an operation.
The electric jug found, Justin filled it and put it on, then set about emptying a small packet of—wow!—quality coffee into each of the two white mugs he’d located. No cheap muck. That was good. Very good. He hated hotels that supplied low-grade products. He’d have to remember to ask Rachel what the shampoo and conditioner were like. He could actually never tell the good from the bad in that department, but a woman would know. Guy was right in that regard.
The water had boiled and Justin was standing there, deciding whether to pour his or wait for Rachel to come back, when there came a knock on the door. He hurried over to answer it, tut-tutting to himself on the way.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said when he wrenched open the door to find Rachel on the other side. ‘They didn’t have another key.’
Rachel just stood there, her face ashen, her eyes anguished, her hands clutched tightly in front of her.
Justin, despite not being the most intuitive male in the world, was quick to appreciate her distressed state.
‘Rachel!’ he exclaimed. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘I…I…’
Clearly, she could not go on, her throat making convulsing movements as she struggled for control.
‘Come inside,’ Justin said and, taking her left elbow, steered her quite forcibly into the apartment. Her hands remained clutched tightly in front of her and she looked as if she was going to burst into tears, or faint.
Once Justin had kicked the door shut behind them, he guided her over to the three-seater opposite the television and plonked her down into the middle cushion, then sat on the pine coffee-table, facing her.
‘Rachel,’ he said softly, taking her still clasped hands within his. ‘Tell me what happened?’
She gave a small laugh that held a decided edge of hysteria.
‘What happened?’ she repeated. ‘They didn’t recognise me, that’s what happened. He didn’t recognise me. Can you believe that?’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Eric.’
‘Who’s Eric?’
‘My fiancé,’ she choked out, ‘till I told him I was leaving my job to stay home and mind Lettie.’ She started shaking her head as though still not quite believing the situation she found herself in. ‘I thought I knew why he broke our engagement,’ she went on in shaken tones. ‘I thought he didn’t love me enough, or care enough to support my decision. It never crossed my mind that there might have been another woman in the wings all along, and that I’d given him the perfect excuse to call our wedding off.’
‘What makes you think there was another woman at the time?’
‘Because I’ve just seen the bitch,’ she said, surprising Justin with the unexpected flash of venom. ‘She was downstairs just now, checking in with him.’
‘And she is…?’ Justin probed, knowing it couldn’t be Rachel’s best friend, since she was overseas on her honeymoon. Thank God.
‘The real-estate agent who sold him the fancy unit which was supposed to be our marital home,’ she elaborated bitterly.
‘I see. And are they married now?’
‘No. Living together, I presume from the conversation I overheard at the desk. Either that or they just go away together on what he called weekend junkets associated