Our Honeymoon Isn't Over, It Has Only Begin

han anyone else in the world, knew how hard it had been when Marianne’s beloved mother had died horribly

ad to bear the added weight of seeing her normally cool and compo

dogsbody in Josh’s small but busy surgery, which was situated in the front of their

tepping quietly and efficiently into her mother’s shoes both domestically and in the surgery. And she had had her reward over t

d other members of their set talking about all they’d done and seen when they came home for the holidays, whilst she’d been stuc

his jet-black hair and smoky grey eyes that ha

e chill came from within rather than from without. Once the water was steaming, and as hot as she could stand it

nd she’d smiled back. ‘You’re one in a million, and I don’t just mean

ust a tiny bit pre

e she’d said, passing Pat a mug of steami

nub nose appreciatively as she’d drawn in the heady

een sure of how Pat would react to the

ear, yo

s ye

coffee all over her white top, chosen specifically t

than marry the man she loved. ‘Zeke doesn’t want to wait and neither do I. He can afford to pay to have everything brought swiftly together. H

dress. M

Pat’s green eyes opening wider ‘—has just finished a special collection for a show in Paris all to do with weddings. One of the

h with a little snap as she’d leant back in her seat with her eyes glued on Marianne’s f

olut

considered that little phrase, “Marry in haste, rep

e never been more sure about anything in

carpeting below. And she had been sure, one hundred per cent sure, that she and Zeke were going to be blissfully content and happy

tles and the set of mother-of-pearl jewellery boxes dripping with expensive ite

to Zeke word for word when he’d arrived to

her home village on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells every evening, claiming that the th

e had needed to see him every evening, to feel his strong arms about her, his lips on hers. He had been like a drug, a sensual, handsome, powerful and

e had innocently prattled on about Pat, that a s

grey eyes creasing at the edges as he’d smiled at her briefly before concentrating on the co

Pat’s cautionary advice as he’d seemed to be, and Marianne had glanced at the hard, handsome profile for a moment bef

ightly, but still with the slight edge to h

ion—she was more than capab

ndsight, she thought now—but she’d been unwilling to spoil the lovely summer evening by pro

lways at his office by seven in the morning—and she couldn’t expect him not to be a little tetchy now and again. And perhaps she’d been unwise to repeat the conversation with Pat. But s

old, he had spent most of his childhood in and out of foster homes, with two attempts at adoption failing. But he’d had a brilliant mind and an even more formidable will, and

lass degree, and after two years of working all hours of the day and

mb to wealth and power which had made him—at the age