Page 208 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘How is she now?’

‘She’s coping, some days better than others, but she has a progressive form of MS so her symptoms will get worse over time. That’s why she moved to Melbourne.’

‘To be closer to you.’

She gave a small shrug as if it was self-evident. ‘I’m her only family now. I couldn’t do anything to help her if she were still in Sydney.’

‘I understand.’

‘It’s cruel,’ Marianne said. ‘She was so happy, so in love. And then to have the rug pulled from under her feet like that. It was a double whammy.’

‘I’m sorry. It must be hard for you, too.’ And he’d just made it harder by whisking her half the world away from her sister.

‘Oh, take my word for it, it’s way harder for her.’

He nodded. ‘Who’s looking after her?’

‘She has a carer, but she’ll need more full-time help soon. Along with a bigger house with more space to accommodate all the equipment she needs. I’ll know it when I find it.’

A bigger house.

She’d been looking at real estate on the plane. He’d assumed Marianne had been looking for a house for herself. Not for her sister. No wonder she hadn’t been satisfied with his offer of one or two million dollars. He had no idea what the kind of property Suzanne needed cost, not to mention her ongoing care, but Melbourne real estate didn’t come cheap. Little wonder Marianne had demanded such a sum.

And the million dollars advance she’d asked for? Did that have something to do with putting arrangements in place for Suzanne to cover Marianne’s absence?

Steel plates shifted in his gut, grating against each other, telling him he’d made a mistake, that he’d been wrong. He didn’t like being wrong. His business success relied on him being right, of making informed decisions, even educated guesses. It was just as well he didn’t rely on assumptions in that case.

Because, by all accounts, Marianne wasn’t the gold-digger he’d assumed her to be.

Maybe the Marianne he’d known twenty years ago hadn’t changed that much after all.

She’d settled into silence, staring at her knees. Wondering about her sister back in Melbourne? Who could blame her?

And now it wasn’t just his mother that had made Marianne sad. Now it was Dom.

The driver turned onto Zubieta Kalea running along La Concha beach, and Dom had an idea.

He asked the driver to pull over.

‘Why are we stopping?’

‘I thought we could do with some fresh air. Do you fancy a walk on the beach?’

‘Now?’

He shrugged. ‘No time like the present.’

She gave a hint of a smile, the first he’d seen since getting in the car. ‘All right.’

The driver opened Dom’s door and Marianne scooted over. He offered his hand and she took it without thinking.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ she said, content to stand a moment, drinking in the beauty of the curved bay and its guardian mountains, the silvering sea dotted with small boats at anchor. Beyond the Isla de Santa Clara the sky was streaked with red, lighting up the wispy clouds to slashes of pink in the darkening blue.

They shucked off their shoes and stepped onto the cool sand. It squeaked underfoot and tickled their toes and made him wonder how long it had been since she’d been to the beach and enjoyed the simple pleasure of walking on sand.

‘You’re lucky,’ she said, ‘living so close to this beauty. I bet it never gets old.’

‘It is a good place to come home to,’ he agreed.

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