He frowned as he took in her unsophisticated appearance. Her shorts and tank top did not comprise a suitable outfit for accompanying him today, certainly not to the type of restaurant Lyall favoured. She wanted to emphasise with absolute finality how very unsuitable she was for him.
His mouth thinned into a grimace of impatience. ‘I told your sister I’d be taking you out to lunch.’
‘I told you our relationship was over, Lyall,’ Serena countered. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you today or any other day. You’re wasting your time here.’
Another deeper frown. Faced with rigid opposition, he tempered his arrogance, trying a tone of firm authority. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that. You misunderstood what was going on in the conversation you overheard, Rene.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘That guy was my architect. No one you’re likely to meet again,’ he stated, as though it excused the offence. Or warranted overlooking it.
At least this statement echoed Nic’s—business associates, not personal friends—but it painted her current situation with black irony. ‘That’s not the point,’ she argued. ‘It was the revelation of what you expected from me as your wife.’
‘That was only what I said to him, not what I really think.’ Lyall made a dismissive gesture. ‘He’s one of the Morettis. Huge in the construction business and they’ve got connections that run through everything to do with building. I mean, we are talking about money you wouldn’t believe. Billions, not just millions.’
‘So?’ It was a defiant stance, hiding the cramp that had hit her stomach at this sickening information.
‘So he brought Justine Knox to the party. Her family made a fortune out of mining gold at Kalgoorlie. Her old man is known as Fort Knox, he’s sitting on so much loot.’
The penthouse pet… No doubt Justine was well accustomed to penthouses and everything else money could provide, putting her on the same elevated plane as the Morettis—an appropriate coupling of two huge fortunes.
‘And since you couldn’t compete with me, you put me down. Is that it, Lyall?’ Serena asked coldly, feeling the chill of hopelessness running down her spine. She was way out of her league with Nic, even more than she’d been with Lyall.
Her ex-fiancé finally realised he might have to offer some appeasement. ‘I’m sorry, Rene. You weren’t meant to hear those things. It just got to me…Nic Moretti being amused that I’d choose to marry a hairdresser.’
A bitter blow to his ego.
Far more important to him than anything else.
‘Well, I guess you evened up the score by letting him think you’d lined up an obliging little slave-wife instead of having to pander to a gold-plated heiress.’
He grimaced at her interpretation but Serena knew in her bones it was true.
‘I swear it was a one-off thing, Rene. It’ll never happen again. I love the way you are. I love…’
‘No!’ she cut in quickly. ‘Please don’t go on, Lyall. I’m sorry if it’s not over for you, but it is for me.’
‘But we had it good. I can give you anything you want…’
‘No, you can’t. You kind of swept me off my feet, courting me as you did, making me feel special…’
‘You are special!’
Serena took a deep breath and spilled out the truth. ‘I don’t love you, Lyall. I thought I did, but I don’t. I’ve met someone else who’s shown me that what we had wasn’t real. Not for me. I’m sorry, but there it is.’
‘Someone else!’ he repeated as though she could not have delivered a worse insult.
No doubt it would be if she tagged Nic Moretti’s name onto it, but Serena wasn’t looking for more trouble. She just wanted out. Eventually she stone-walled long enough for Lyall to give up beating his head against unrelenting resistance.
It was not a pleasant parting but at least Serena was satisfied it was final this time.
This was, however, a hollow achievement, doing nothing to stop the depression that rolled in on her after Lyall had gone. He’d deepened all her doubts about getting involved with Nic Moretti, adding an edge of sharp pain to them now that she had succumbed to the temptation of following her instincts.
Trust them, Michelle had advised, but her sister didn’t know what she knew. Michelle had never aspired to the high life, had no experience of how it worked. Her only contact with it had been Lyall, and Nic was different to Lyall.
One of the big differences, Serena reasoned, was that Lyall was a self-made millionaire and liked to show it off. The Moretti family wealth was clearly a given, no need for Nic to demonstrate it or flaunt it. He’d had it in his background all his life, something he took for granted, yet it had to influence his choices…life choices.
Construction…architecture…it was probably a natural path for him, an extension of the family business, and he certainly had the talent for it. He enjoyed the work, too, liked seeing his designs translated into solid reality. That had come through very strongly in their conversation over dinner last night. He was a natural achiever, and maybe that was where she came in.
Nic had wanted her in his bed.
Possibly her initial resistance had made the achievement of that goal even more desirable, striking on a need to win.
So he’d won.
What came next?
Serena inwardly fretted over this all afternoon. When the telephone rang just before six o’clock, Michelle and Erin were outside feeding the pony and filling its water-trough. Serena was in the kitchen preparing their evening meal and she took the call, expecting it to be for her sister or niece.
It stunned her when she heard Nic’s voice asking, ‘Everything okay there, Serena?’
‘Oh…yes…’ she bumbled out, dizzied by a sudden rush of blood to her head.
‘Glad to hear it.’
Nice guy, nice guy, went whizzing through her mind, planting seeds of hope.
‘I realised after you’d gone, I have a meeting with Gosford City Council scheduled tomorrow morning,’ he went on. ‘I’ll bring Cleo to the salon on my way in. Save you a trip.’
She managed to get her voice working properly. ‘Right! Thank you.’
‘And return your salad bowl.’
She shouldn’t have left it behind. She’d been in such a flutter… ‘Sorry about that.’
‘No problem. But I was wondering if it was possible to leave Cleo at the salon until my business with the council is done. Could be midafternoon before I can get away.’