CHAPTER ONE
TORI WELLS STOOD just inside the entrance to the massive conference room in Hôtel de Nice and swallowed hard, digging deep for composure as she scanned the sea of faces and listened to the many languages swirling back and forth. It wouldn’t do her reputation any good to go around grinning like a clown.
The excitement that had been gripping her since her plane had taken off from Auckland International two days ago threatened to spill over and have her dancing on the spot in her new and very gorgeous avocado-green high heels. French, of course. As for the price tag, she could’ve fed a very small nation but for once didn’t feel guilty at all about indulging her passion. Not even the littlest bit.
Accepting the invitation to speak in front of all these people had been a no-brainer. Even though she doubted that world-famous experts would be interested in what a cardiologist from New Zealand had to say about heart problems in children who’d suffered from rheumatic fever, she hadn’t been able to say no to the director of the Cardiac Forum. She’d have come if Monsieur Leclare had asked her to talk about racing snails in the sand, the opportunity to visit France being too awesome to miss. He could’ve saved many euros if only he’d known she’d have slept in a tent on the beach if necessary, but he’d promised, and delivered, a suite in a beautiful hotel overlooking the stunning Mediterranean Sea. The Mediterranean Sea. Her excitement intensified, gripping her.
And then... She grinned. And then he wanted her to go to Paris after this convention to talk to medical students about her work. Oh—my—goodness. Paris. How cool was that? Her hands squeezed tight and she squashed her lips together to hold back the joy from spilling out loud.
‘Hello, Tori. I’ve been looking out for you.’
The excitement vanished in a flash. Gone. The air chilled. She shivered. Benji? Here? She’d checked. His name hadn’t been on the programme. But that was definitely his voice. Turn around and acknowledge him. Can’t. Her lungs had stopped working. Her composure had gone to hell in a barrow. Do it. Face him.
Slowly gathering a steadying breath, she turned to lock gazes with her ex-husband. ‘Hello, Ben.’
Her tongue felt huge in her dry mouth. He looked...stunning. As usual. But different. Older, of course. World-weary, like he’d taken a hit somewhere over the years. Hardly surprising given the circumstances surrounding them seven years ago when he’d walked out on her. Finally she managed, ‘What are you doing here?’
Lady Luck had thrown a wild card. No, make that a grenade. Fragments of pain, anger, bewilderment, even need, cut into her, making a mockery of what had become her well-put-back-together life.
‘I’m a last-minute fill-in for one of the partners I work for. He’s handling a family crisis back in London.’
The voice she’d have to be dead not to recognise whispered across her skin, reminding her body of things she didn’t want to recall. Hot nights on the beach in Fiji, where they’d gone for thei
r honeymoon. The first time he’d taken her on a date—at the hospital cafeteria because they’d had less than an hour between shifts in the cardiology surgical department. I don’t want to remember those times. She used to call him Benji. Too intimate. Too loaded with memories.
Tori reached for normality, came up with, ‘How are you finding living in London?’
His smile appeared genuine, but appearances could be deceptive, had become so with Ben in those last bewildering months before he’d left. To be fair, which she mostly was, she had no idea what he was like these days. And didn’t want to know. Oh, really?
Ben replied, ‘I’m working towards a partnership in the cardiology clinic I’ve joined, so I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do I indulge my passion for English history by visiting more castles and historic homes than even I could’ve imagined back in NZ.’ He wasn’t having trouble talking, made it seem perfectly normal to be chatting with her for the first time since he’d said goodbye on the doorstep of their apartment. Tears had been streaming down his cheeks then. Tears he’d tried hard to hide from her.
Concentrate on what Ben had just said, act like this was nothing to be in such a turmoil over. He’d mentioned castles. She used to buy him books filled with photos of the most stunning homes set in the English countryside. ‘The château at Mount Ruapehu doesn’t quite compare, then?’ Thinking of the tourist hotel back home where they’d stayed for their first wedding anniversary made her smile tightly despite the way her heart was pitter-pattering in her chest.
Stop smiling. He’ll think you’re happy to see him.
‘No comparison at all.’ Ben was no longer smiling.
She could see in his eyes the memory of those wonderful couple of days spent in the snow and back in their hotel room afterwards. She also saw regret. For stopping to talk to her? Why had she mentioned the château? It was loaded with their history.
Then Ben straightened even taller and stole her breath with, ‘You’re looking fabulous.’ The words were glib and exactly what she’d expect. He’d always been an expert in saying the right thing. Not always the whole truth and nothing but the truth at the end, but definitely always the right thing.
These days she’d learned to do glib, too, and so could ignore the compliment. ‘Why, Ben, thank you.’ If she said ‘Ben’ often enough then surely her brain would get the idea and forget Benji had ever existed.
‘I mean it,’ he said softly, sincerely.
Talk about knocking her in the back of her knees. Any second now her legs were going to dump her in a heap in the midst of this crowd. At Ben’s feet. ‘Thank you,’ she squeaked.
She was stunned. It had been seven years since she’d seen Benji—Ben, damn it—and the circumstances back then had been too awful to ever want to revisit. Long, lonely years in which she’d struggled to get over him, to put their failed marriage behind her and make life work in a way she could be proud of. She’d thought she’d succeeded, right up until this moment when her heart was beating like a drum. Like they had unfinished business, or something equally ridiculous. Crazy, because she’d loved him with her whole being, and then he’d gone and left her and she’d had to face life without him at her side. Then there’d been the tragedy that had occurred weeks later that she’d had to deal with on her own.
A few minutes in his company and her brain was stalling, unable to bring up anything coherent and sensible to say. She was well-known for her good sense back home at her clinic. But this was a rerun of those months towards the end when she hadn’t known how to talk to Ben without feeling like she’d been underwater, slowly drowning.
A woman jostled her as she squeezed past and Ben stepped closer, using his body to shield her from the stream of people now pouring into the enormous room. He touched his hand to her elbow. Contrition darkened those eyes that she’d always called pools of caramel. ‘Tori, I’ve upset you by appearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry.’
Hello? This definitely wasn’t Benji. An apology? To her? He’d said more words in the last couple of minutes than he had in the final months of their marriage. She studied him quickly, thoroughly. The intervening years had added a depth to his gaze, deeper lines at the corners of his mouth, and a few grey hairs in his dark curls, but it was definitely the Benji she’d once loved with all her heart. A long time ago. Except the man of her past hadn’t done apologies. No, he’d packed his bags, said bye, and gone out the front door, out of her life. So this had to be Ben, not Benji. See, she was getting better at this already. Ben.
Tori gave a nonchalant shrug that hopefully hid the storm of emotions battering at her, and at the same time removed his hand. She didn’t need reminding of the heat that used to consume them at every touch. Lovemaking had never been an issue between them. ‘I’m not upset. Just surprised to see you. That’s all.’ If she said it often enough she might start believing herself. Glancing around, she was amazed at how quickly the chairs were filling. ‘I need to find a seat.’
‘Come on.’ Those fingers were back at her elbow, turning her toward the front. ‘Monsieur Leclare sent me to escort you to where you’re sitting with the other speakers.’
‘But I’m not on until tomorrow.’
Ben led her along the side of the auditorium, again protecting her from the crowd. ‘All the speakers are requested to sit in the front row for the duration of the conference.’
She hadn’t got that memo. So there’d be no getting away from Ben while she absorbed the shock of seeing him. Seeing him and hearing again that deep, gravelly voice she’d fallen in love with the first time he’d spoken to her would take some getting used to. Right now she didn’t have time to think about her reaction to him. You’re not angry with him any more. After all those years she shouldn’t be. That’d suggest she was still keeping him alive in her heart. And she definitely wasn’t doing that. Ben was history, no more, no less.
‘Madame Wells—the Heart Lady.’ Monsieur Leclare stood in front of her, greeting her with the traditional kisses to both cheeks. So typically European that her excitement began returning. ‘I’m thrilled to meet you in person, and thank you for coming so far to talk to us.’
Tori listened carefully to his heavily accented English, and found him a smile. A Frenchman speaking her language was intriguing, and a little bit romantic—even if this cardiologist was in his sixties and looking decidedly the worse for wear. She’d done basic French at school in Auckland but the few times she’d tried to make herself understood since arriving in Nice yesterday hadn’t been very successful, her accent apparently a disaster. ‘Monsieur le docteur, I’m honoured and thrilled to be here.’
‘Please, I’m Luc. Is this is your first visit to France?’
‘Yes. Coming here has been on my bucket list since I was a teenager.’
‘Bucket list?’ he asked. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s a list of things I want to achieve in my lifetime. People make them all the time. Visiting Paris will be ticked off by the time I return home.’
Ben wasn’t to be left out. ‘I imagine Tori’s got going to see the Moulin Rouge somewhere on that list. She loves shows.’
‘Ah...la liste de choses à faire. Now I understand.’ Luc smiled. ‘It is good you are going to Paris. It is the city of romance.’ He gave Ben a knowing nod. ‘My assistant will arrange a table at the show for you.’
Tori quickly shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’ve got other arrangements in place.’ And I’d only need one ticket.
Luc was smiling happily and ignoring her reply. ‘No, you must go. It will be my pleasure.’
Tori managed a thank-you. Going to the city of love on her own was pathetic enough, but going to Moulin Rouge alone, with a spare ticket? Downright tragic.
Ben replied, ‘Thank you. We look forward to it.’
Disappointment and envy unfurled inside Tori. Of course there’d be a woman in his
life. The man didn’t do solo. Was she here at the hotel? Out spending bags of money while Ben was at the conference?
Does it matter? You’re over him.
‘Madame Wells, Monsieur Wells, please be seated. I will talk to you some more tonight at the dinner.’
Ben nodded before turning back to Tori. ‘Why haven’t you changed your surname back to Carter?’
She didn’t want to talk about that. Not here. Not ever. She went for flip. ‘Think of the expense and all the messing around involved in changing practising licences, passport, the property title for the apartment. Far easier to leave things as they are.’
‘I’d have thought it would be the first thing you did on becoming single again.’ He looked bewildered, and a little pleased. ‘You’re still living in our apartment?’
Forget it, Benji. It’s my apartment nowadays. If she was being honest she hadn’t moved out or changed her name because—well, because that meant the final cut from him, and at the time of their divorce she hadn’t been ready for that. ‘If it’s bugging you I’ll get on to sorting it the moment I get home.’ But she wouldn’t move out of the apartment that she’d always adored and where she’d created a little sanctuary for herself by repainting in different colours and changing the furniture to remove memories.
Tori dropped onto the first vacant chair in the front row. Ben was here. In Nice. At the conference. Her stomach knotted.
He stood beside her. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ she snapped, then instantly regretted her tone. But she wanted to be alone. Okay, it was hard to be alone in the midst of hundreds of people, but if only Ben would go and sit somewhere else to give her time to get over their first meeting.
He looked along the row, shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Then he smiled. ‘I promise I won’t cause you any trouble.’
Translated, that meant he’d be charming and cordial so as to win her over, because he’d be hating it that she hadn’t fallen all over him. Charm was his modus operandi. It won him anything, anyone he aspired to. Well, it wouldn’t work with her. Not any more. ‘Fine.’ She crossed her legs and turned to face the stage directly in front.