Hana Du Rose

CHAPTER TWO-2

Miriam scoffed and her drink sprayed across the table. “Sorry to disappoint you, girly. Married men are just her sort of challenge. The last sucker was wed to my niece.” Miriam gripped Hana’s arm, her fingernails digging into flesh. “Keep Logan away from her. Promise me? They aren’t meant to be together. The old kuia said so. If I’m not around to stop her, you must!”

Hana nodded her head in a jerky motion, fear and dismay growing inside her chest. “Why wouldn’t you be around?” she asked, her voice faltering.

Miriam shrugged. “I can’t see the future kōtiro. You must be his rear guard.”

Hana scoffed. “If Logan wants to cheat with Caroline, I won’t beg him to stay.” Her upper lip curled in disgust and the old woman baulked. Hana rose, unable to cope as Miriam bounced between gentle elderly mother-in-law and frantic-lunatic, dangerous to be around.

Hana pushed her chair back and edged sideways while Miriam downed another tot of spirit and swayed in her seat. Hana hovered by the door, not sure where her bedroom might be. She wanted to escape the crazy lady, but felt responsible for her in the absence of anyone else. “Nice looking boy, that one of yours,” she heard Miriam sigh. “My Barry turned heads too, not handsome like Logan but fine-boned and gentle. A bit like your boy.”

Hana swallowed, compassion overriding her desire to retreat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We aren’t meant to bury our own children.”

Miriam shook her head and poured another tumbler of brandy. It looked bigger than two fingers and Hana’s brow knitted with anxiety. “We’re not,” the old lady agreed. “They should lower us into the ground.” A tear hit the scarred wooden table and Hana inhaled. The compassionate side of her nature took charge. She knelt beside Miriam’s chair and the old lady’s shoulders heaved. Hana stroked her back, feeling the knotty spine poking through her blouse.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine how hard it was.”

Miriam sniffed. “It’s all my fault. I caused it.”

“No. It’s natural to blame yourself but it’s not true.”

“It is!” Miriam’s eyes flashed a warning, insanity dancing across her expression. Hana rose and took a step back in alarm.

The sound of voices echoed in the corridor. Like the flick of a switch, Miriam composed herself. She rubbed her eyes and pushed grey hair out of her face. By the time Logan and Alfred re-entered the kitchen, she stood at the sink washing the last of the big saucepans.

“You ready for bed?” Logan touched Hana’s hand, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the way she jerked away from him. Her silent, wooden nod unnerved him further. His gaze took in Miriam’s frantic scrubbing and he jerked his head towards Alfred.

Upstairs in Logan’s old bedroom, Hana found it hard to settle. She lay on her stomach with her arms wedged beneath a pillow and her face buried. Logan called to her from the bathroom. “You don’t mind staying in here, do you?” Hana heard him rinse his mouth out after cleaning his teeth. “I just felt I wanted to be here with you. It’s where I used to imagine finding you and starting our life together.”

“It’s fine,” Hana conceded, covering her yawn. “I just want a bed. I don’t care where it is.”

Painted in neutral colours, the room boasted cream walls and an accent navy wallpaper behind the bed. Dark blue blackout curtains decorated the floor to ceiling windows. Logan emerged from the bathroom, the lamplight defining his muscular chest and a white towel wrapped around his waist. “It used to look crap in here,” he said, flicking the light switch with his hand. “Ripped wallpaper and draughty window frames. I think my Uncle Reuben had this room before I was born.”

He laid on the bed next to Hana and his fingers traced a line down her bare back. “I always sleep in here.” Logan sighed and the awful thought rose into Hana’s brain, escaping without filtering.

She sat up, exposing her n***d breasts. “Please tell me you never shared this bed with Caroline.” Her top lip creased upwards in disgust and she flipped her legs over the side of the bed.

“No!” Logan leaned across and grabbed her forearm. “She never stayed in this house.”

Hana flapped her arm at the pillows. “I don’t think I can sleep here.” She wrested her arm free, feeling the familiar smart begin in her wrist. Standing, she took the sheets with her to cover herself and edged towards the window.

“Hana!” Logan knelt up on the mattress. “She never set foot in this room.”

Hana stopped her backwards movement, searching Logan’s face for truth. “Promise?” she demanded, her face twisted in misery.

“I promise.” Pain flooded Logan’s eyes and he let his hands drop to the mattress. “All I can ask you to do is trust me.”

Hana’s eyes narrowed. “I know but it’s hard.”

He nodded and settled onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows. His hands ran through his hair, hiding the misgiving in his face. “I won’t hurt you, Hana,” he whispered. “Not deliberately.”

She snorted. “Nobody means to. They don’t wake up in the morning and think, hey, I know, I’ll cheat on my wife this morning.”

“What?” Logan looked alarmed and he placed his feet on the rug next to the bed. When he stood, Hana took a step backwards. He shook his head. “I don’t cheat, Hana. Never have and never will. You’re it, babe. There’s no Plan B.”

Hana shook her head. “Your mother thinks you might. With Caroline.” The name choked in the back of her throat.

Logan closed his eyes and his jaw worked, creating a moving line through his cheek. “Then she’s wrong!” he bit. “And I’m b****y disappointed in her.”

Hana strayed backwards and the sheet slid from the mattress. Logan edged around the bed towards her as though cornering a frightened mare. He let his hands fall to his sides, minimising the threat. His voice sounded soothing and gentle. “I want you, Hana,” he said, lulling her into a state of doubt. “Nobody else. I’ve wanted you my whole life. Come to bed with me.” He bent and gathered the twisted sheet into his hands. Hana squeaked as he tugged it towards him, letting it feed through his fingers like a game of tug-of-war. She thrashed, but he reeled her in, hauling hand over hand until she needed to make the choice between decency and letting go. “Please believe me,” he whispered and his breath against her cheek caused a shiver to run down her spine.

With every moment as Mrs Du Rose, Hana sensed the gnawing loneliness drain away and a long craved sense of companionship raise its head. She dared to wish she might be happy again. She swallowed and her eyes widened with conflict, emeralds flashing against the harsh spot lighting. Logan enticed her with promised security and the lure of his gorgeous body. Hana sighed. Only God knew the moment he’d take everything from her.

Logan’s lips brushed against her cheek and his hands searched her body for familiar curves. He slid his fingers over her hipbone and tugged the sheet away. Hana let it fall and sank into his embrace, recognising a fight she’d never win. She abandoned thoughts of dead husbands, disapproving sons or vitriolic ex-girlfriends, succumbing to the rising pressure in her chest. It urged her to let go of everything belonging to the past.

Logan’s brand of lovemaking proved slow, passionate and insistent, waking Hana’s sleeping sexuality and increasing the craving. “I love you.” His breath moved Hana’s fringe as his mouth sought hers. He didn’t give her time to answer, scooping her up and laying her on the bed. He poured his love into her soul and soothed her when she cried afterwards. Her heart welled with emotions she couldn’t explain, knowing people like her didn’t get second chances like this.

Hana woke in the dawn hours of Sunday, aware something troubled her but unsure what. Seeing Logan’s outline next to her in the grey light reminded her she wasn’t used to someone else in her bed. An icy breeze whistled through a gap in the window frame and she snuggled further into the blankets seeking warmth. Logan’s arm under her head made her neck ache and she wriggled away. He disturbed and his breathing changed, his fingers snaking across the mattress until they contacted Hana’s thigh. She held her breath as he exhaled as though finding reassurance in her presence. The beginnings of a snore blossomed and she smiled. Widowhood taught her how much she would’ve given to hear Vik snore next to her during the long, miserable nights after his death. She lay on her side and watched Logan’s chest rise and fall, doubting her ability to be happy.

“I love you, Logan Du Rose.” Hana reached out tentative fingers and stroked his cheek, feeling his stubble scratch her delicate pads. Her hand edged upwards towards the silken strands of his wavy hair. In the dim light, she overestimated and poked him in the eye. His hand clamped around her wrist like a vice and before she could blink, he spun her onto her back beneath him.

“What’re you doing, wahine?” he growled and Hana cringed beneath him.

“I’m so sorry!” she gushed. “I wanted to stroke your hair.

Logan rolled off her, getting to his feet and striding into the bathroom. “That b****y hurt,” he grunted.

Hana followed and hovered in the doorway, her fingers clinging to the wooden frame. The outline of defined muscle rippled over his back and shoulders as Logan ran cold water and scooped it onto his face. Silky boxer shorts rode low on his hips and Hana watched a long scar snake down the right-hand side of his body. Red and raised, it started inside his shorts below his right hip and ran upwards into his armpit. Hana ventured closer, intrigued by the jaggedness of the skin and the oddness of its healing. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Logan lowered his arm obscuring the ugly scar. He toweled his face and ran his hands through his hair. “No harm done,” he said. Hana’s lips pursed in guilt at the redness of his eye and she dragged a towel from the rail to cover her nakedness. His eyes narrowed and alertness filled his body at the cloth barrier she placed between them. “Why are you awake so early? Did something disturb you?”

Hana slid around the doorframe and back into the cold bedroom. “It’s unfamiliar. Different noises.”

“What kind of noises?” He followed, matching her step for step.

Hana huffed in impatience. “It doesn’t matter. Just noises.” Logan climbed onto the bed after her, his gaze predatory. “Snoring noises.” She regretted it in an instant and his eyes flashed.

“I don’t snore.”

Hana shrugged and pushed herself between the sheets, the towel scratchy against her nakedness. “How do you know if you’re sleeping?”

“Oh. I just assumed I didn’t.” Logan bit his lip and disappointment flicked across his face.

He settled on his side, adjusting the pillow and staring at the ceiling. The distance between them seemed insurmountable and Hana snuggled down with a sigh. She lay there for a while, jiggling around to get comfortable. Logan’s breathing changed and she listened to rain pattering against the window and watched the dawn light grow stronger. Her mind ran through a list of the unspoken protocols for sleeping with a husband. She assumed it was not okay to wake him up to tell him about the rain. Having poked him in the eye after less than forty-eight hours of marriage, it seemed a little rude.

Hana closed her eyes and listened to Logan’s shallow breathing. She tuned into it and hoped the rhythmic beat might help her sleep. She focused, counting the number of ins and outs, until he stopped. Then he started again. It continued for a while and there seemed no pattern to the periods of nothing. Growing anxious, Hana sat up and stared at Logan’s back. Another period of eerie silence followed. Edging closer, she placed her ear near to his head, desperate for him to breathe. When he didn’t, she panicked and prodded him in the back.