of gum in the ice cream. Yum.’
‘Whoa.’ He held up a hand. ‘TMI.’
A bubble of laughter erupted from her, surprising them both. He smiled, a real smile, lightening his stern features in a way that made her feel suddenly breathless. His dark eyes glinted gold. She shook her head slowly. ‘I didn’t think you had a sense of humour, you know.’
‘It’s a shy creature. It only appears on rare occasions.’
‘So it does.’ She gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘What’s your favourite flavour of ice cream?’
‘Not bubblegum.’
‘We’ve established that.’
‘Probably vanilla.’
‘Vanilla?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Could you be more boring?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Probably not.’
‘What’s there to like about vanilla?’
‘It never lets you down. Other flavours can be so disappointing. Not enough mint in the mint chocolate chip, too many nuts in Rocky Road.’
‘I have been seriously disappointed, on occasion, with the lack of cookie dough in cookie dough ice cream.’
‘Exactly.’ He nodded his approval. ‘But vanilla? Never a disappointment. Completely trustworthy.’
Like you are? She almost said the words. And meant them. No snide mockery, just truth. Too much truth. She wasn’t ready for that.
‘Well.’ She shifted in her seat, gave him a breezy smile. ‘Now we’ve broken the ice.’
‘Or the ice cream.’
‘That was a seriously weak joke.’
‘I told you, my sense of humour only appears on rare occasions. Anyway—’ he glanced at her as he took a sip of champagne ‘—can you eat bubblegum ice cream? Or does that send your glucose levels through the roof?’
‘Everything in moderation.’
He nodded towards the handbag at her feet. ‘I should have asked before, but did you bring everything you need?’
She nodded. ‘I have a little kit for testing my blood. It travels easily.’
‘When were you diagnosed?’
‘When I was seventeen.’ She swallowed, remembering those awful early days. At the time she’d just been moving from one event to another, dazed, incredulous, hopeful and yet still afraid.
Too late she realised Luke was watching her face, and she knew he could see the emotions in her eyes. Emotions she’d meant to hide. ‘Anyway,’ she said, apropos of nothing.
‘How did it happen?’
‘The usual symptoms. Weight loss, excessive thirst, dizzy spells.’
His eyes narrowed, and she could almost see his mind working. Understanding. ‘And the tabloids claimed you had anorexia. A drinking problem. A drug overdose.’
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘That’s what they like to do. And in any case I haven’t been a saint.’ She lifted her chin a notch, tried to smile again, but her heart was thudding hard.
Luke gazed at her steadily. ‘Who has?’
‘You seem to have been a regular Boy Scout.’
‘No, not a Boy Scout.’ He rubbed his jaw, a movement that Aurelie couldn’t help but notice was inherently sexy. Although, perhaps the sexiest thing about Luke Bryant was how unaware he seemed of his own attractiveness. He moved with unconscious grace, and her gaze was helplessly drawn to the shrug of his broad shoulders, the reassuring squareness of his jaw. Everything about him solid and strong. Safe.
‘Why haven’t you ever talked about your diabetes publicly? Issued a statement?’
She leaned her head back against the seat, suddenly tired. ‘It’s quite a boring disease.’
‘Boring?’
‘Much more interesting to let them wonder. So my agent told me.’
‘Your agent sucked.’
She let out a surprised laugh. ‘Yeah, he wasn’t that great. I fired him a couple of years ago.’
‘You could have said something since then.’
She opened her eyes. ‘Maybe I didn’t want to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because telling the truth and having no one believe you is worse than not telling the truth and having people assume the worst. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that,’ she finished lightly, ‘what with this compulsion to honesty that you have.’
Luke didn’t say anything for a moment, yet Aurelie felt him tense, saw something dark flash in his eyes before he angled his head away from her. Had she inadvertently touched on something painful with her offhand remark? ‘I understand,’ he said finally, his voice low, and she almost asked him what he meant. She didn’t, though, because they’d surely had enough honesty for one day.
By the time they arrived in Camiguin Aurelie had started feeling relaxed again. Luke had steered the conversation back to lighter subjects, moving from ice cream flavours to movie preferences and whether she supported the Mets or the Yankees.
‘Mets all the way,’ he’d assured her solemnly, but she saw a glint in his eyes that made her smile.
They disembarked the plane at the tiny airport and took an island taxi—basically, a rusted-out Jeep—into Mambajao. The capital of Camiguin was no more than a small town of rickety buildings with wooden verandas and tin roofs, the narrow streets bustling with bicycles and fruit vendors and raggedy children darting in and out of everything. It was so different from Aurelie’s usual experience of travelling, when she kept to limos and high class hotels and never stepped outside of a severely controlled environment. She loved this. Craved the feeling of possibility and even hope wandering around the dusty streets gave her.
‘What are we doing first?’ she asked Luke, and he smiled and took her elbow, steering her away from a man on a bike pulling a cartload of pineapples.
‘I thought we could pick up some lunch in the market, and then we’ll take it out to the falls for a picnic.’
‘The falls?’
‘The Tuwasan Falls. They’re pretty spectacular.’
‘You’ve been there before?’
‘I stopped over here the last time I came to Manila.’
She felt a completely unreasonable prickling of jealousy. Had he taken one of his serious relationships to this falls? Was this his go-to place for a romantic date in the tropics?
‘Alone,’ Luke said quietly, yet with a hint of humour in his voice that made her blush. Again. She’d never blushed so much with a man, had never had a reason to. She was Aurelie, she was worldly-wise and weary, beyond shame or embarrassment.
But that act was falling away, flaking off like old paint. What would be left when it was gone? Something good, or even anything at all? She still wasn’t sure of the answer.
‘Come on,’ Luke said, and he guided her to a market stall overflowing with local produce and fish. ‘Anything look good?’
Aurelie surveyed the jumbled piles of fruits and vegetables, the pots of noodles and trays of spring rolls.
‘Crispy pata?’ Luke suggested. ‘It’s deep fried pig’s leg.’
She winced. ‘I don’t think I’m feeling quite that adventurous.’
‘It’s quite tasty.’
‘You’ve