Nothing Like Love (14 page)

Simone grinned at him as they went through customs. “You look happy. Glad to be back on this side of the pond?”

“Glad to be here with
you
,” he corrected, putting an arm around her shoulders.

They collected their bags and made their way toward the exit. Once through the doors, they saw the usual knot of people waiting for loved ones as well as drivers holding up signs with names on them. He’d hired a car to take them to the castle, so—

He froze.

Isabelle was there in the crowd, scanning the faces of the passengers.

She was wearing a dark green dress that drew attention to her emerald necklace—the necklace he’d given her years ago when they’d graduated from university. It had been a Hammond family heirloom, and his grandmother had kicked up quite a fuss when he’d asked for it, but eventually she’d given in.

Her chestnut hair was as long and lustrous as the day he’d first met her. Her body was as perfect, her skin as glowing. She had the kind of beauty that compelled attention, and even here in the airport, with its unflattering light and hurrying crowds, people stopped to stare.

She caught sight of him then, and a smile lit up her face. Then she saw Simone and her smile faltered.

Zach’s arm was still around Simone’s shoulders. As Isabelle came toward them, he took his arm away.

“Is something wrong?” Simone asked. Her expression as she looked up at him was warm, open, trusting.

“A friend of mine is here,” he said in a low voice. “Someone I didn’t expect to see.”

Simone followed the line of his gaze. “The woman in the green dress?”

“Yes.”

“My God, she’s so beautiful. Are you guys . . .”

“Her name is Isabelle. She’s an old friend. We’ve known each other a long time, but we’ve never been a couple. She’s married.”

Simone glanced at Isabelle again and then back at him. “Was she the one who called you that night? The night of the rehearsal dinner?”

“Yes.”

Simone nodded. Her expression was guarded now, no longer warm and open, and Zach felt a rush of frustration. He was almost angry at Isabelle for showing up like this and throwing a monkey wrench into his life, but of course she hadn’t known that’s what she was doing.

But what the hell
was
she doing?

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

W
hen the woman—Isabelle—reached them, she threw her arms around Zach.

“Darling!”

Simone moved back a couple of steps to give them space for the big reunion scene.

Wow. That sounded bitchy even in her head.

Well, why not? She’d gone from gloriously happy to heartbroken in less than sixty seconds.

Not that she had any reason to feel heartbroken. Disappointed, yes; heartbroken, no. It wasn’t like she and Zach had declared their undying love. All they’d agreed to was a hot, two-week affair with no strings attached.

Then this beautiful stranger had appeared, disrupting those plans in one fell swoop.

Maybe they’d never been a couple, but it was obvious Zach had feelings for this woman. And now she’d shown up out of the blue. Whatever her reasons for coming, Zach’s focus would be on her for the foreseeable future.

Whatever he’d had planned for him and Simone wouldn’t be happening. She’d been looking forward to the next two weeks, and now . . .

Now?

Simone took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

She was still looking forward to the next two weeks. She was in Ireland, damn it, and she was going to enjoy herself.

“What are you doing here?” Zach was asking. “Is everything all right?”

Tears welled up in Isabelle’s lovely green eyes. “I’ve decided to leave him, Zach.”

She had to be a professional actor. Her sense of timing was too perfectly calculated to be natural, and she held herself as if for an audience.

Simone had known plenty of actors who couldn’t stop acting when they were offstage, and they tended not to be people she wanted to spend time with outside of work. She was surprised that Zach could be so close with someone like that.

Zach stared at her. “You’ve asked for a divorce? Isabelle, that’s wonderful.”

She hesitated. “Well, I haven’t actually told Nigel yet. I wanted to see you first,” she said, stepping in close. She was tall, at least five foot ten, and in her high-heeled boots, her eyes were only an inch or two below Zach’s. “You’re the only person I’ve told,” she went on in a low voice. “I wanted to see you before I did anything, to make sure . . .” She hesitated again. “To make sure you’d be there for me.”

What the hell did that mean? Did this woman have Zach on some kind of string, ready to step in the instant she decided to divorce her husband?

Isabelle’s eyes flicked over to Simone. “But I’m being terribly rude. Won’t you introduce me to your . . . friend?”

Her delicate inflection on that last word was pure genius, asking for Simone’s status in the least offensive way possible.

Simone glanced at Zach to see how he’d handle it. The memory of those heated minutes in the plane was fresh in her mind, and she was willing to bet they were on his, too. Then there were the hours she’d slept on his shoulder. She’d woken up that morning feeling utterly safe and cared for, and the look in his eyes when he’d said good morning . . .

He looked at her now, and there was genuine turmoil in his expression. She was feeling hurt and pissed off enough that she was almost willing to let him struggle through this on his own, but what the hell. After what he’d done for Noah and Henry . . . not to mention on that plane . . . she owed him one.

Before Zach could speak, she stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “I’m Simone Oliver,” she said. “I’m the set designer on the play Zach’s directing. I’m scared to death of flying, so in case you were wondering why he had his arm around me just now, that’s the reason. I had a rough time on the flight and he helped me through it.”

Isabelle, she suspected, was more accustomed to insinuation and innuendo than the direct approach. She took Simone’s hand and shook it automatically, but her expression, though relieved, was also a little taken aback.

“I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

“Sure you did,” Simone said. “But you don’t have anything to worry about.”

She turned to Zach then, expecting to see the same relief in his expression.

Instead, he looked oddly disappointed.

But his instinctive British politeness was his only overt response. “Simone Oliver, allow me to present my good friend, Isabelle Pearson. Isabelle, this is my friend and colleague, Simone.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Isabelle said. “I’m so sorry you had a difficult flight.” She turned to Zach. “And I’m sorry to appear out of nowhere and drop this news on you. But it’s been difficult to reach you by phone in the last few days”—Simone gave her props for the subtle accusation in those words—“and I wanted to see you in person. So I asked your mother for your flight information, and here I am.”

She smiled winsomely, and Zach smiled back. “I’m happy you came, Isabelle . . . and I’m even happier to hear your news. But we can talk about that later. How long will you be in Ireland? Can you stay with us at the castle?”

“I can stay a few days at least. The children are with their grandparents until next week. If you’re sure your mother won’t mind?”

“Of course not. I’ve hired a car, so—”

Simone interrupted. “Why don’t I get a cab? That way the two of you can have some privacy.”

Isabelle perked up at the offer. “That’s lovely of you, Simone. If you’re sure—”

“No.” Zach’s tone was firm, and both women looked at him in surprise. “There’s no need for you to take a cab when I’ve hired a car. Besides, it’s only a fifteen-minute drive. Once you’re settled and comfortable at the castle, Isabelle and I will have plenty of time for private conversation.” He smiled at Isabelle. “We can take a walk to the Grecian temple. Do you remember it?”

“Of course I do,” Isabelle said with a warm smile. But as the three of them headed for the exit and the car that awaited them, Simone sensed a certain petulance behind the other woman’s politeness.

What Zach had proposed was perfectly reasonable, not to mention polite, and Isabelle would have looked petty if she’d disagreed. But it was obvious that Isabelle was put out that Zach didn’t want to be alone with her immediately, and that he was willing to delay a tête-à-tête for even a short time.

But Simone wasn’t going to worry about the two of them. Since a hot, two-week affair with Zach was now off the table, she was going to focus on Ireland instead.

Which turned out to be very easy to do.

“Sheep!” she cried out a few minutes after they left the airport. The rolling emerald hills and peaceful farmland were more beautiful than she’d imagined, but it was her first glimpse of a flock of woolly white sheep that filled her with pure delight.

Zach laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen sheep before.”

“I’m a city girl,” she reminded him. “I’m sure I’ve seen sheep sometime in my life, but if I have, it wasn’t like this. My God, the colors. Blue sky, green grass, white sheep . . . it’s like a painting.”

“Simone’s an artist,” Zach explained to Isabelle. The two of them were sitting next to each other in the back of the limo, with Simone across from them.

“Isn’t that nice,” Isabelle said. Her voice was almost perfect—warm and interested—but Simone caught a hint of brittleness.

“What do you do, Isabelle?” Simone asked quickly. “Are you in theater, like Zach?”

She was sure the answer would be yes, but Isabelle shook her head. “I’m just a wife and mother. Well . . . not a wife. Not for much longer, anyway.” She looked down, which allowed a lock of her beautiful chestnut hair to fall across her cheek.

Zach reached for her hand and squeezed it, and she smiled at him gratefully.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he told her.

Simone turned her eyes back toward the scenery rolling by. The sound of Zach’s voice—so warm and strong and comforting—gave her a pang.

Isabelle was a lucky woman.

Then she leaned forward and stared out the window. “Oh, my God. Is that a
ruin
?”

They were passing a green meadow, in the middle of which stood a once tall, now crumbling stone tower.

Zach looked out the window and then nodded. “It’s a round tower. Early medieval.”

The tower was out of sight now. “Early
medieval
? That’s hundreds of years old.”

“Closer to a thousand. I believe the round tower period is ninth century to twelfth century.”

He seemed amused at her astonishment.

“A thousand years old,” she repeated. “Of course, I know Ireland is full of historical sites, but that one was just sitting there. It’s not even a tourist site or anything. Are thousand-year-old ruins that common?”

Zach laughed. “Like you said, it’s a ruin. The ones in better shape are tourist sites. And a thousand years is nothing. I’ll have to take you to Poulnabrone dolmen. That’s six thousand years old.”

She tried to wrap her mind around that. “That’s older than the Pyramids. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Wow.” She grinned suddenly. “You know, America got all excited about celebrating a bicentennial. Being in Ireland makes me feel like a spring chicken.”

He was still smiling at her. “I’m looking forward to being your tour guide. I’ll take you to the Rock of Cashel, Poulnabrone—”

Isabelle put a hand on his arm. “Is there a chance that someone else could be Simone’s tour guide? I know you’ll be busy with the play, and I was rather hoping to monopolize your free time.”

“That’s fine with me,” Simone said quickly. “I’ve got a map and twenty friends coming tomorrow, and some of them have been to Ireland before. Zach is all yours,” she said, looking at Isabelle.

She’d never been a fan of girl-versus-girl competition, preferring to get out of the ring before any punches were thrown. As much as she liked Zach, she wasn’t about to compete for him—especially since it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

She didn’t know their backstory, but based on the little she’d seen so far, she was guessing that Isabelle was The One That Got Away.

It made sense, really. Zach was a romantic through and through. Of course he’d fall for a woman he couldn’t have—a woman who was fairy-tale beautiful and unattainable, which meant he’d never have to deal with the messy realities of a relationship.

Not that she was one to talk. She avoided messy relationships, too—only her technique was a little different from Zach’s.

One of her professors in college had talked about the medieval tradition of courtly love. At the time she’d thought it was one of the dumbest things she’d ever heard.

Courtly love was when a knight fell in love with a married noblewoman. The relationship was all about yearning and honor and restraint, and it was rarely ever consummated.

To her younger but already pragmatic self, who’d decided that sex without love was the best way to protect your heart without giving up guys altogether, the idea of love without sex seemed pretty pointless. Now that she thought about it, though, it could serve as another way to protect your heart.

Courtly love wasn’t real. You always saw the best of the other person, and you never had to find out their worst. You could hold them up on a pedestal forever.

Simone looked away from the beautiful couple across from her and out the window instead. If this great, unattainable love was suddenly going to turn real, how would they handle it?

Hard to say. Zach really did have a lot of nobility in him, so he’d probably give it his all even if he was secretly disappointed. When dreams become reality, disappointment is inevitable, but if anyone would do his best to overcome that, it would be Zach.

And if her first impression of Isabelle was accurate, she would do her best to live up to Zach’s romantic ideal of her. She was the kind of woman who’d wear makeup to bed. She wouldn’t want to fall off the pedestal he’d put her on. So maybe they’d have a decent shot at happiness, after all—never seeing each other clearly, never revealing their worst or seeing it in the other.

Which was why Simone could never compete with Isabelle for Zach’s heart, even if she’d wanted to. Simone refused to be anyone’s ideal and she didn’t want to put anyone on a pedestal. She was too intimately acquainted with human weakness to put that kind of pressure on herself or anyone else.

But Zach did idealize people, and Isabelle was his dream woman. Simone was a sexy, quirky diversion, but not his grand passion. Faced with a beautiful dream and an abrasive reality, there wasn’t a man in the world who wouldn’t choose the former.

The car slowed as they approached a stone gate, and for a moment Simone forgot all about Zach and Isabelle.

A gorgeous vista stretched out before them. Woods, gardens, green lawns, and a crystal-blue lake.

The castle wasn’t yet in sight as the car began winding its way slowly down the long, twisting drive. Then they crawled to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” Simone asked, and Zach lowered the window between them and the front seat.

“Sorry, sir,” the driver said before he could ask a question. “Swans crossing the road. It’ll just be a minute.”

Simone lowered her own window and craned her neck to see them. “Of course there are swans,” she said, watching the proud white birds strut their leisurely way across the road. “What’s a castle without swans?”

“Do you know that it’s illegal to kill a swan in Ireland?” Zach asked.

“Really? Why?”

“Because of the Children of Lir. According to Irish legend, King Lir so adored his four children that their stepmother, jealous of his love, turned them into swans for nine hundred years. He decreed it a crime to kill any swan for fear it might be one of his beloved children, and it remains illegal to this day.”

Simone was fascinated. “What a cool story. Is that really the—”

Isabelle interrupted her. “I had no idea you were such a font of information about Irish history,” she said to Zach.

This time it wasn’t only Simone who noticed the petulance in her tone. Zach frowned, and Simone had to hold back a smile.

The way to Zach’s heart would not be acting like a spoiled brat. Isabelle should watch her step.

The swans made it safely across and the car started up again. They came around a curve in the road, and Simone gasped.

It really was a castle. Somehow, in spite of Zach’s description and the amazing grounds they’d been driving through, she hadn’t expected an actual castle.