In Bed With a Stranger by India Grey Read Free Book Online Page A

football team of bridesmaids, a cake the size of Everest and three hundred guests.’
    ‘No? I thought that was what every bride wanted?’
    He actually felt her shudder. ‘Not me. Or not unless there are two hundred and ninety-nine people you want to invite, and I get to have Jasper on my side of the church.’
    ‘You must have people you want there? Family?’
    In spite of the clear light flooding the cabin her eyes had darkened to the colour of old green glass, but he only glimpsed them for a moment before her lashes swept down and hid them from view.
    ‘I don’t have family. And I certainly don’t have a father to walk me down the aisle and make a touching speech recapping significant moments on my journey to being the woman in the meringue dress.’
    Her tone was light enough but everything else resisted further questioning. He could feel the tension in her body, and see from the way she was avoiding his eye that they’d stumbled into a no-go area. Very gently he ran a fingertip down her cheek, tilting her face upwards when he reached her chin.
    ‘You have a mother,’ he said softly. ‘And most mothers would probably say that getting to be Mother of the Bride is one of the highlights of the job.’
    She slid off his knee, getting up and taking the champagne bottle from the ice bucket in which the stewardess had left it. Kit felt a moment of desolation as the contact with her body was lost.
    ‘My mother is not most mothers,’ she said in a tone of deep, self-deprecating irony as she poured champagne into her glass. Too fast—the froth surged upwards and spilled over. ‘Oh, knickers—sorry,’ she muttered, making a grab for it and trying to suck up the cascading fizz.
    ‘It’s fine—leave it.’ Taking the glass and the bottle from her, he tilted the glass as he refilled it. ‘So, why wasn’t she like other mothers?’
‘Well, for a start I wasn’t even allowed to call her that.’ She slid back into her own seat, took a mouthful of champagne before continuing, ‘Not “Mother” or “Mum” or anything that would pin her into a narrow gender-stereotyped role that carried political and social associations of subservience and oppression.’ She rolled her eyes elaborately and he could hear the inverted commas she put around the phrase.
    ‘So what did you call her?’
    Sophie shrugged. ‘Rainbow, like everyone else.’
    ‘Was that her name?’
    ‘It was for as long as I can remember.’ Absently she trailed her finger through the little puddle of champagne. Two lines were etched between her narrow brows, and Kit found himself longing to reach over and smooth them away. ‘It was only when I went to live with my Aunt Janet when I was fifteen that I discovered her real name was Susan.’
    ‘So why did she call herself Rainbow?’
    Sighing, Sophie slumped back in the seat, her glossy maple-coloured hair bright and beautiful against the pale upholstery. Nick ought to hire her as a promo model, Kit thought wryly, then instantly dismissed the thought. Over his dead body.
    ‘For the same reason she called me Summer, I suppose. Because it fitted in with her barmy hippy friends, and marked us out to be “alternative” and “different” and “free”. Which to her, was a good thing.’
    ‘But not to you?’
    She threw him a pitying glance. ‘Please. You try being the only person in the school assembly hall wearing a violently coloured stripey handknit jumper and patchwork dungarees instead of a grey skirt and a navy cardigan because your mother believes “every individual has a right to be an individual”.’
    She said this last bit in a tone of dreamy wistfulness that gave Kit an instant snapshot of her mother; Rainbow, the
feminist, peace-campaigning free spirit. None of those were bad things to be, he reflected idly, and behind Sophie’s exasperation he sensed genuine love.
    ‘At least your mother was there,’ he said wryly.
    ‘Yes. Even if I often wished she wasn’t.’ She gave a swift