Celebrity Bride by Alison Kervin Read Free Book Online Page B

in New York, not to mention the villa nestling in the Tuscan hills. He took me there early in our courtship and I've never seen anywhere so stunning.
    I did used to worry about the disparity in wealth between Rufus and me – I don't have anything of value while he is surrounded by things of value – but what difference does it make? Actually, that's not true anyway; I do have something of value: a gorgeous little jewellery pot that has been passed down through the generations of my family. It's porcelain (I think) and tiny and I adore it. On its lid there are three simple diamonds in a row. I keep my grandmother's wedding ring in there, and it means more to me than any other possession. I haven't even had it valued because that seems disrespectful somehow. Why do I care what it costs?
    I was given the jewellery pot by my grandmother; 'pot' is such an inelegant and insufficient word to describe my beautiful nineteenth-century porcelain jewellery box, but that's what it's always been called. Granny Edith said that the round porcelain box with its azure blue, enamel-tiled interior and beautiful tiny diamonds on the top would be mine. It's been in the family for generations, and we're really not the sort of family that has heirlooms or anything like that 'handed down' through the family. We're a make-do-and-mend sort of family – full of people who remember the war with great affection because it was a time when people looked after each other. My family's origins are in the East End of London.
    They moved out of the area when I was ten years old. I think they realised that if they were going to make the move, they'd better do it before I went to senior school and got settled in. We moved down to Hastings where Dad was working. I remember it being just as rough as where we'd come from but somehow so much nicer with a blast of sea air drifting through it. It's amazing how nothing's quite as bad when the beach is round the corner.
    The newspaper's still spread across the bed in front of me. I see Rufus looking over at it as he sips his coffee.
    'And what's all this about me quitting my job?' I rant. 'I haven't given up my job! I've taken a few days off.'
    'You could you know . . .' he says with a lazy smile.
    'Give up work and do what?'
    'Anything you want. You don't need to work. You could be around here, help me out.'
    'What? Turn into a housewife?'
    I may not have pictured myself as a madly focused career woman but I'd certainly never seen myself as a housewife at the age of twenty-eight. Sophie would beat me to a pulp if I left the theatre and turned into a domestic goddess.
    Rufus just shrugs.
    'We need to take stock of things,' I say, looking up at him sternly as he places his cup next to mine. I want him to know that I'm taking all this seriously, and that there won't be any leaks.
    'Mmmm . . .' He lies down on the bed next to me, leans in close and stares at me with eyes the colour of palest moss. He has the most amazing thick, jet-black eyelashes, fluttering out from around these astonishing eyes. The fact that everything about Rufus is dark except for his eyes seems to highlight their lightness even more. His skin always looks tanned, his hair is thick and dark and glossy, but those eyes – they lift out of his face, full of laughter, joy and this alluring intensity. God, he's gorgeous. He pulls me towards him. 'That's enough taking stock. Stock all taken,' he says as he pulls the duvet off me and I feel his eyes travel the length of my body before resting on my breasts. 'Come here,' he growls, throwing the duvet over us.
    I can feel his erection digging into my leg. 'Mmmmm,' I murmur back as he begins to kiss me and all my worries about Great-Aunt Maude and shadowy figures on the CCTV screens drift quickly from my mind.
     
    We're sitting at the breakfast table in the snug enjoying a range of berries and some fruits I've never heard of before, like goji berries. Goji berries? We only had apples and bananas at home.