Page 39 of Bride Under Contract

‘I think that’s lovely.’

‘Until it isn’t. They had children.’

It had been Carter who had given Hugo his bottle when they’d gone out to gaze at a full moon. Carter who had checked there were enough provisions when they’d set out on yet another adventure.

While waiting for the coffee to brew he loaded a tray with a bowl of fruit and some pastries, and took some jugs from the fridge, scooping out some shaved ice.

‘What are you making?’

‘ABC,’ he told her. ‘Air batu campur,’ he explained, adding little balls of pale pink jelly to a bowl. ‘Well, the cheat’s version. Malay has made it—you just add your own fruit...’

And nuts, Grace thought, then tried to not pull a face when she saw him add to the tray a small dish of creamed corn. ‘It looks more like a dessert.’

‘Maybe...’ In truth, he was unsure whether it was because of his mother’s somewhat lackadaisical ways that Malay always served it for breakfast, or simply down to the heat.

There was too much he didn’t know, and too many memories. As he walked down the corridor, past the framed photos, he deliberately didn’t pause to look at them. He didn’t need them, for there were new images dancing before his eyes: a flash of himself feeding Hugo spoonsful of ice-cream.

He was certain now that it was seeing the teething ring that was to blame for this surge in sensation. Arif might just as well have unearthed Carter’s deeply buried heart.

There was a deep purple hue to the sky as they set up on the balcony, and he filled two bowls with ice, added the little balls of rosewater jelly and topped them with a red bean ice-cream.

‘Choose your fruit...’ he said, selecting some berries for himself.

She picked up a dark, heavy fruit, like a cross between a pomegranate and plum, but then, clearly unsure what to do with it, put it back.

Carter hesitated before reaching out for it. ‘Give it here...’

She handed him the fruit she’d discarded and he carved it effortlessly, the dark flesh opening to reveal pieces of white swollen bulbs. Carter stared at the lily-white pockets of flesh for a moment. He had always been averse to the delicate sweet scent they delivered—not that he showed it.

‘Mangosteen,’ he informed her, scooping out the fruit onto her plate, but taking none for himself.

‘It’s delicious...’ she said, popping a bulb in her mouth.

He wrinkled his nose.

‘You don’t like them?’

‘Not particularly.’

He’d lived off them for a week—not plump and ripe, as those ones were, though, but rotten and bitter...

Carter glanced at her, pouring syrup over her breakfast, and knew he had to broach things. But first he watched as Grace took her first tentative taste of the sweet, icy, milky concoction, then went back for a second taste.

She met his eyes and actually blushed.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Well, you’re either having an allergic reaction or...’

‘Okay, okay!’ She laughed. ‘Look, I’d never had sex until last night, but I’m guessing this is the perfect breakfast to have after.’

‘I guess I’m about to find out.’

He hadn’t really considered it in that way before.

He took a generous taste and nodded. ‘Correct,’ he said. ‘It’s definitely a good choice for...’

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