One Night She Would Never Forget. Amy Andrews
‘You two know each other?’ Genevieve asked.
Patrick felt his gut tighten at Miranda’s less-than-enthusiastic welcome. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We met at the medical symposium in September.’
‘Excellent.’ Edna beamed. ‘It’s always nice to see a familiar face when you’re new.’
Patrick wasn’t sure Miranda agreed. Why on earth did she look so mortified? He knew what had happened between them had been out of character for her but there was no need to look so guilty about it.
They were both adults, for crying out loud.
‘Listen, Miranda, Patrick, do you mind if I snaffle Edna while I’ve got her?’ Geneveive asked. She turned to Edna. ‘I need to make some changes to tomorrow’s theatre five list.’
Edna nodded. ‘Sure. Come to the office.’ She looked at Miranda. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’
Neither of them waited for approval from Miranda and Patrick and within seconds they were alone.
Patrick frowned at her as Miranda continued to look at him like he’d given her a particularly nasty disease. ‘I gather you’re not too thrilled to see me?’ he started tentatively.
Miranda snorted, galled at his calmness. ‘You could say that.’
Okay … she was obviously annoyed about something. ‘Look, if you’re worried I’ll … talk about what happened with us, there’s really no need. I don’t kiss and tell.’
Miranda folded her arms across her chest. ‘How very magnanimous of you.’
Patrick’s extremities almost contracted frostbite from the ice in her tone. ‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand. Did you expect me to call you?’
That hadn’t been the impression he’d been left with that morning. True, they hadn’t had the talk but there’d been something about their goodbye that had been final.
Sure, in another time and place, if his circumstances had been different, he’d have followed up but they’d both lived in different cities and had had obligations to their families.
He’d been pretty sure she’d known it too.
‘I expected you to not be married!’ she snarled.
For a second or two Patrick was very confused then he looked down at his wedding ring.
Damn it! He was so unused to wearing it he’d forgotten he’d put it back on.
‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head emphatically. ‘No, no, no. This is not what it looks like,’ he hastened to assure her.
Miranda was so angry she could barely see straight. He’d lied to her. To get her into bed. She’d specifically asked him the question and he’d denied it. And like some stupid young affection-starved fool she’d believed him. ‘So you aren’t married?’ she demanded.
Patrick sighed. ‘Well … technically I am, but—’
‘Oh, God,’ Miranda wailed, shutting her eyes, hoping she could block him and what had happened out. It had been the most amazing night of her life and now it had been totally sullied by his lies. ‘I don’t believe this.’
‘Look,’ Patrick said, taking a step towards her as she opened her eyes.
Miranda stabbed her finger in the air towards him. ‘Stay right there,’ she hissed. ‘Do not come any closer.’
Patrick stopped, holding his hands up in surrender. He was pleased that the daggers in her eyes were purely metaphorical because she looked like she could do damage with a sharp pointy weapon right about now. ‘Let me explain.’
Miranda laughed at his audacity. ‘Oh, okay, fine.’ She folded her arms again. ‘Go ahead. Explain to me how you’re married but not really and how it doesn’t make you and me lying, cheating, despicable human beings?’
Patrick heard the tap, tap, tap of her clog against the hard floor. Saw the determined little tilt to her chin. God, he couldn’t go into it all here. It was a life he still found difficult to believe he was living. ‘Not here, Miranda. It’s … complicated.’
Miranda nodded. She knew all about complicated relationships. Growing up an illegitimate child of the other woman, she was intimately acquainted with complicated.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘the married ones always say that.’
Patrick frowned. What on earth did that mean? ‘Why don’t we get coffee or lunch together today? I can explain, Miranda.’
Miranda shook her head. It didn’t matter. What was done was done. And having lunch, coffee or any contact with this man simply wasn’t on the table.
Thankfully Edna and Geneveive bustled back through the door and she was spared from any further conversation.
Miranda rushed to the school later that afternoon. Flexibility of hours at St Benny’s had been one of the draw cards, along with its closeness to home, but it was unavoidable that Lola was going to need to use the after-school care facilities from time to time—her grandmother already did too much without adding to her burden of care. Luckily Lola was a social little girl who made friends easily.
Today, though, not even thoughts of her daughter could elicit a smile as she went over and over her conversation with Patrick, her head thumping a little harder each time. Thankfully she’d seen very little of him for the remainder of the shift and then only at a distance. Twice it had looked like he was going to approach her and she wasn’t too proud to admit she’d deliberately walked in the other direction.
A squall of emotions had taken up residence in her belly and she didn’t want him near her until she’d thought them through.
It was hard to get her head around the startling implications of his beringed presence and its impact on her sense of self. Dressed in pink scrubs, he had indeed looked like the sex god he’d been declared but having grown up the casualty of infidelity Miranda hadn’t allowed his devastating sexual attraction to be a factor.
She’d formed very early opinions of the sanctity of marriage that she had staunchly lived by. Married men were simply off limits.
No exceptions.
No grey areas.
And yet she’d slept with one. The mere thought kicked up the squall in her stomach another notch.
Sure, he’d said he could explain and she had no doubt there was some tale of woe about being separated, about how his wife didn’t understand him or how they had an open marriage.
She was sure there was some easy patter about the technicality of his marriage.
But she didn’t want to hear any of it.
What they’d done had been unforgiveable. What he’d done had been unforgiveable. And after eight hours of stewing over it she was even more annoyed now than she had been initially. White-hot anger boiled in her belly.
Add to that disgust, abhorrence and humiliation and she had a headache the size of Australia banging away at her frontal lobe.
Frankly, she couldn’t wait to go home and have a shower and wash away the guilt and the stain of her transgression. She’d spent six months fantasising about that night, living every deliciously sexy moment over and over, and he’d dashed it all in one day.
She felt dirty. She felt used.
She felt like a fool.
All she wanted to do was get home, have that shower and hug her daughter hard.
Lola gave her one of those big, girly, whole-face grins as she walked into the centre and Miranda felt her headache ease a little. Her heart did its usual squeeze in her chest.
Being