The Millionaire (13 page)

It was over.

“We should head off,” Chris announced and there were more hugs all round. Once they’d loaded their bags into the rental car, there were more waves as they drove away.

Ellie was silent all the way to the airport.

‡

C
hris returned to
Sydney and said yes to his next job.

It was what he did.

In just over two weeks, he’d be flying out to Bangkok to cover the protests expected around the national elections. He knew the city well, the smells of it, the chaos of its streets, the enigma of its politics.

And he knew himself. That part of him, the adrenalin junkie part of him, that dark angel on his shoulder, had seduced him once again with the promise of scoring that one shot. One image, which would be flashed around the world, which might appear on news websites and newspapers all over the globe, which might shine a light on injustice or incompetence or corruption, because the world needed that now, more than ever.

He felt he had no choice. There was no way he could stay in Sydney and get sucked further into the Malone family bullshit. And that left him with one choice only, and that was to get on and do his job.

Now, he had less than two weeks left.

And he couldn’t leave without telling Ellie the truth. His truth.

What kind of a fucking fool was he? Ellie had opened herself to him, bared her soul to him and he’d pulled back. She’d shown him her heart and he’d thrown a bulletproof vest over his own. He had to convince her that the words he’d said were true, that she was beautiful and strong.

Because he knew himself. And he would never forgive himself if he left the country with Ellie in any doubt about how he felt about her.

*

Ellie’s phone rang
six times before she picked up the call. “Hi, Chris.” Her voice sounded distant.

“Ellie. I have something for you. The photo for the auction. It’s framed and ready to go.”

*

“Great.” She sounded
businesslike and organised. “I’ll organise a courier to come pick it up. Does Monday suit you?”

Hell, he could have organised a courier himself. But he wanted to see her. Needed to see her. “Nope. I’m not handing over one my precious images to just anyone. I’m an award-winning international photojournalist, you know.”

She didn’t bite at his joke. He wasn’t going to let her keep this distance between them.

“Chris… I really appreciate all your time and how you’ve donated to the fundraiser, but I think it’s better this way.”

“I’m going to text you my address. And I’m waiting for you.”

*

Ellie looked once
more at Chris’s address as she sat in the back seat of the cab. He lived in Petersham, two suburbs over from her place. In the inner-west, where there were no water views or mansions. Although, the more she’d got to know him, the more she realised those trappings weren’t his style.

The taxi pulled up outside a double-storey terrace house, with wrought iron lacework on the top balcony and other heritage features, which were highlighted by light shining from the front window. She paid the driver, who drove off with a squeal of tyres, and walked up to the heavy wooden front door.

Before she had a chance to knock, it swung wide open.

Chris looked like something out of a fashion shoot. His blond hair looked freshly washed and tucked back behind his ears. His loose T-shirt still managed to emphasise every muscle in his chest and arms, and bare tanned feet poked out from his faded denims.

Chris’s smile slayed her. She wished the taxi was still there so she could run back to it and be whisked home. Staying away from him had been hard, but seeing him again was killing her.

“Hey.” His sapphire eyes bore down on her so hard she quivered.

“Hi.” She rearranged the strap on her handbag so it didn’t slip off her shoulder.

Chris stepped back. “Please come in.”

When she hesitated, he reached for her hand. “It’s good to see you.”

He kissed her on the cheek, softly, and she didn’t want to feel anything. Didn’t want to like it. Didn’t want to give him this power over her, of making her chest constrict and her breath hitch, of wanting him.

But it was all too late for that. She ached for him.

Chris led her to a living room to the left of the hallway. It was a big, wide space with high ceilings, white walls, and had a few pieces of furniture dotted around the room. A long leather sofa, a coffee table with an ice bucket and two glasses, and a wide screen TV.

“Are any of these yours?” She walked to the framed photographs on the wall, six black and white shots framed in simple white wood.

“They’re all mine. I take happy snaps, too, you know.”

Ellie looked at the exquisite shots, all shadows and greys. “I love the Flatiron Building in New York. And isn’t that the Guggenheim Museum?”

Chris joined her as she gazed at the black and white print. “Yeah. And that’s Hundertwasser Haus in Vienna. They’re amazing apartments. And that’s the Gaudi Museum in Barcelona.”

Chris handed her a glass.

Ellie took it and sipped the crisp Riesling. “Buildings, not people?”

“No. I like to be reminded every now and then that there are beautiful things in the world. That people sometimes can create great art rather than great pain. It’s easy to forget that in my line of work.”

Ellie offered him an understanding smile.

“How’s all the planning going for the fundraiser?” he asked.

“Everything’s in place now and it’s a sellout, which is brilliant news.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be a raging success.” He moved across the room and sat on one of his sofas.

“Thank you, Chris.” Ellie paused for a moment. She couldn’t be there chatting with Chris as if nothing had happened between them. This had to be about business.

So she got down to it. “You said you had something to give me?”

“Yeah.” Chris crossed one leg over the other, swirling the wine glass around in lazy circles.

“The photograph of Grandpa, I assume?”

“That’s right.” He stretched an arm out on the back of the sofa and shot her a grin. “You get the framed picture, signed by me, on one condition.”

Ellie closed her eyes. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She really, really wanted to hate him.

She was afraid to ask but she had to. “And what’s that?”

“That I’m your date for the charity ball.”

‡

E
llie put her
wine glass on the low coffee table and dropped her head into her hands. If she didn’t need the photograph for the auction, she could have said goodbye to him already. Except on the internet, after she’d googled him, of course, because after everything that had happened, she was still a fan of his work. And she still secretly believed he might be engaged to that European princess.

“So, what do you say? You up for it? Can I be your date?”

Ellie let out a deep sigh. “You want to be my date. Why?”

“Because I’m getting on a plane in two and a half weeks, and I want to spend every minute I have left with you, Ellie. We’re not done.” His voice was like an entire bottle of Barossa Valley red wine and just as intoxicating.

Ellie straightened her back and turned to look at him. “I saw the way you looked at me, Chris. Out at my grandparents’. When you saw my scars. You don’t have to pretend. I’ve seen that look a thousand times. So something started and then stopped. I’m going to forget it ever happened. You don’t owe me a pity date or anything else.”

“That look… fuck, Ellie. You’re right. I looked at your scars and I did flinch. But not for the reason you think. I’ve seen worse, so much worse, and when you took off your shirt, when I saw you naked, for a minute I was back in Iraq. I’m not even going to start talking about what I’ve seen, but you reminded me of something… someone in particular, I photographed. Something I don’t want to remember.” Chris took a big gulp of wine. “That’s why I hesitated. Because of my history, not yours, Ellie.”

Her pain, his pain. Was that all they shared? Was that all he would see when he looked at her scars? Would she always be a reminder of all he was trying to forget?

“Isn’t that the problem?” Ellie’s voice hitched on a sob. “Won’t you be reminded of all of that every time you look at me? Won’t you look at me and see all the hurt in the world?”

He reached for her, grabbed her hand, and held it like he was never going to let it go. “When I look at you, Ellie Flannery, I see all that’s good and beautiful.”

He stood. “Come with me.” Chris led her through the darkened house and he flicked a switch by a doorway and the room to their right was flooded in light. Ellie blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to it and she took in the modest space. A huge bed with grey sheets, unmade. A chair covered with clothes. A wardrobe with its doors ajar. A rucksack in the corner, unzipped and forlorn. No pictures, no other adornments. It appeared temporary, like a hotel room.

Chris released her hand and began stripping off his clothes. His T-shirt was off so fast she wasn’t sure if he’d ripped it down the middle, and then he was stepping out of his jeans and tugging down his Calvin Klein’s.