“I . . . Sam, I . . .” I can’t find the words, the battle between what I want so much and what I know I need raging inside me.
“Say yes, Grace. That’s all you have to do. Just say yes.”
Tears well in my eyes, knowing how much I’ve hurt him. But, you know what ? His insistence on secrecy, no matter what is said about us, about me, hurts me, too
“I would love nothing more than to see you, to run away with you,” I say, my voice quiet.
“You would?” I can hear the hope in his voice and it almost kills me.
“Of course I would. But it won’t change what I know we have to do.”
His voice hardens. “So, your mind is set.”
“Please understand, Sam. I love you. I imagine I always will. But it hurts too much, people reminding me that the star I once allegedly had a fling with is engaged to the woman whose relationship I tried to destroy. And I can’t stop them, and you won’t! Don’t get me wrong, I understand, but I’m over it. You have to see we can’t make this work. I wish with all my heart we could. Believe me.”
He lets out a defeated sigh. “I don’t want this to end.”
Tears flow down my cheeks. “Me neither. Sam, I’m not going to make you choose between your career and me. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I know. I get it.”
The phone line goes silent.
“Sam? Sam, are you there?”
“I’m here.” His voice is quiet, distant. Suddenly I feel each and every one of the six and a half thousand miles between us.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
His voice rallies. “Actually, you know what? I respect what you’re doing. I know this has been incredibly hard on you. I wish it didn’t have to be like this, that’s all.”
I let out a sob. “I know. Me too.”
“Can I at least call you? Check in every now and then?”
“I think that would be too hard.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
There’s another long silence. Eventually I pluck up the courage to end the call, to try to walk away and start afresh, to get on with Life After Sam.
“Sam?”
“Yes?”
“I will—” I begin, too choked up to say what I want to say. I take a breath and try again. “I will always remember you.”
I hang up and sit perfectly still, not quite believing what I’ve done. I find Sam’s name in my contacts and press delete.
That’s it: gone.
I take a deep, unsteady breath. I know I’m doing the right thing. I can’t live in his world. I like to read, watch documentaries, sew, spend time with my family and friends. Not star in movies, attend red carpet events, pretend I’m in a relationship with someone I’m not.
I’m too straightforward, too ordinary.
Although I love him with my heart and soul, I can’t be with him. And I’ll just have to get on with my life.
Without Sam.
Chapter 29
OVER THE FOLLOWING WEEKS I shut myself down. I go to work, I compliment the clients, I do any jobs and run any errands Jessica asks of me—all with a great big fake smile plastered across my face.
No one—other than a select few—knew I was in love with Sam, so no one would even think to ask me about my boyfriend. No one would know there is anything wrong with me.
Not unless they looked into my eyes.
If I let myself feel anything I’ll fall completely apart. So, I become a shadow, doing but not feeling.
My friends and family avoid the topic of Sam, and I’m so very thankful to them all. When I find my mind wandering back to him I shut it off immediately, forcing myself to think about something—anything—else.
So, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time contemplating such inane topics as why there is only one female Smurf, why cats have a thumb halfway up their arms, and why we prefer our celebrities’ faces to look weird and frozen rather than letting them show their age.
I haven’t got the answers yet. Although I decide cats have legs, not arms.
Despite my best efforts, I think about Sam way too much for my health. I see his face when I shut my eyes, hear his laugh, feel his touch on my body. If I pass a man in the street wearing his aftershave I stop in my tracks. More than once I’ve caused a minor pile up downtown.
Decisive action is required, stat!
I sew and sew and sew and sew until Mia has a complete wardrobe, including such essential items for babies as an apron and a tool belt. Luckily Brooke thought they were adorable, even if she flashed me a bemused look when I handed them to her.
I take up Sudoku. It turns out I’m pretty good at it. But, as Tiffany likes to point out, I’m a geek to the core, so it’s not surprising.
Tiffany and Rangi remain as smitten as a couple of lovebirds. When I catch them sharing an intimate moment—something as small as a glance or a touch of a hand—I have to turn away, do my best to ignore the ever-present rock at the bottom of my belly.
It’s not that I’m not happy for them. After all, I was the one who always said they were made for one another.
I’m only sad for me—and for Sam.
In my weakest moments, when my fingers itch to dial Sam’s number to ask him to take me back, I remind myself again and again I did the right thing. I don’t fit into Sam’s world and I can’t ask him to give it up.
Plus, I deleted his number, so even if I wanted to I couldn’t call him.
All in all, it’s a hopeless situation.
On the positive side of things, the media attention has died a very welcome death. Once Horace’s article about me being some sort of violent psycho hit, I’d expected the fallout to be long and painful. But it seems the world could see the article for what it was: a nasty attack with little basis in reality.
Today it seems I’m old news, no longer of any interest. And it suits me just fine.
I’m in my habitual position on the sofa when Taylor swans—yes, swans—into the living room, humming a tune to herself. She looks the polar opposite of yours truly. She’s so shiny and sparkly it hurts my eyes.
“You’re in a good mood,” I comment from my comfortable possie, hiding from the world under my duvet.
Her smile drops and her face creases in concern as she takes in the empty packets of chips, chocolate and other less than nutritious snacks scattered around me. “Grace, you look woollier than a sheep before shearing. How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” I reply with as much conviction as I can muster—which really isn’t much at all.
She plonks herself down on the sofa next to me. “How about you come out with me? It’ll do you good to get away from . . . this.”
I shake my head, pull my blanket up my chest. “No, thanks. I don’t think I could face it tonight. Anyway, don’t you have a hot date?”
Her face breaks into a broad grin and her cheeks redden to the colour of a rosy apple. “I do.”
Taylor has been dating a guy for a while now, but she won’t tell either Tiffany or me who he is. All she’ll say is he’s her dream guy and she’s happier than a pig in mud after a decent downpour.
Or some other agricultural expression of hers.
I smile at her. “When do you think we’ll meet him, then?”
It feels nice to think about something other than my current sorry state.
She pulls a face. “I don’t know.”
“Why? What’s the big deal? Does he have a hideous, deforming scar? Bad breath? An ill-advised hairstyle?” I ask, quietly impressed I can make a joke, weak though it may be.
She chuckles, shaking her head. “None of those.”
I search my brain for one of Taylor’s farming expressions. “Is he uglier than a bull in drag?”
She throws her head back in laughter, clutching her belly, tears streaming from her eyes. “A bull in drag? That’s a good one.”
“Come on, it’s not that funny,” I protest.
She wipes her eyes. “It is. It’s not a bona fide expr
ession, mind you, but a good one all the same. Mind if I use it?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“And no, he’s actually very good looking.”
“So why not then?”
She purses her lips, seemingly deciding something. After a moment she begins, “Remember we talked about taking the bull by the horns?”
I nod. That farming metaphor I get.
“Well, I kind of grabbed them with two hands and didn’t let go, jumping on his back for the ride.”
My brain spins. “You did what?”
“I asked Scott out.”
My eyes widen in shock.
“And before you say anything, he said yes and we’ve been dating ever since.” Her face breaks into a fresh grin, her eyes sparkling.
This mystery guy Taylor’s serious with is Scott?
“Scott. The guy who, until recently, was doing illicit things with grocery items with our roommate, the guy who cheated on my sister with my boss?”
“He’s changed, Grace. Really, he has. He told me he’s been searching for something and now he’s found it. And that something is . . . me.” Her face glows. She looks so happy, so sure of what she’s doing.
I, on the other hand, fear for her sanity.
I sit forward in my seat. “Scott’s a two-timing creep, Taylor. You know that, I know that, hell, even he must know that.”
She studies my face for a moment. “I don’t expect you to approve. That’s fine, I know you have your opinion and you’re entitled to it. He’s good to me, we fit. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You’re such a good person. You’re sweet and kind and all things he’s not. Taylor, he’ll break your heart.”
She shrugs. “Maybe he will. And then again maybe he won’t. Don’t you remember what you said to me? You said, ‘you can’t let life pass you by, you have to go after what you want’. Well I went for what I wanted, I took the chance and I asked him out.” She grins, her face doing that irritating glowing thing again. “I think he’s my gibbon.”
“Your what?” Farm animal sayings are one thing, but now she’s going jungle on me? It’s hard to keep up.
“My gibbon. Remember that documentary we watched last month? Gibbons mate for life. Scott’s my gibbon.”
I roll my eyes. Give in. Feel like a total cynic in juxtaposition to her sweet, blind optimism.
“Well then I have to be happy for you. You and your . . . gibbon. Promise me you’ll be careful, though?”
“I will.” She glances at her watch. “Scott will be here in a second. He’s taking me to that new high-end restaurant that’s just opened up on the waterfront. He’s so amazing. He takes me to the best places.”
I raise my eyebrows. Scott’s taking her out for a fancy dinner? Well, that’s certainly a first. His usual style is seduce and discard—not sit down and talk over an expensive meal.
The doorbell buzzes right on cue.
Taylor jumps up from the sofa and straightens her skirt. “Have some faith in me, Grace. I know what I’m doing.”
My heart softens a fraction. “Of course.”
Taylor presses the button on the intercom. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe. It’s me,” I hear Scott’s voice say.
“I’ll buzz you up.”
Moments later Scott arrives at the door, shaking the rain off his jacket, a bunch of slightly water-damaged flowers in his hand.
“You look a-mazing,” he says to Taylor, handing her the sodden flowers.
She grins, taking them from him and pulling him down to her, planting a kiss on his lips.
He looks up and notices me watching them, my arms crossed.
“Oh . . . err . . . hi, Grace,” he says awkwardly.
“Hello, Scott,” I reply.
Taylor’s eyes dart between us.
“I’ll go grab my coat,” she says to Scott, leaving his embrace. As she walks past me, she whispers, “Be nice.”
“I . . . ah . . . I guess this is a bit weird,” Scott comments, clearly uncomfortable.
“You could say that again.”
He takes a step closer to me. “Look, I know what you must think of me, and up until recently, you were kinda right.”
I let out a chortle.
“I don’t know why, but it feels different with Taylor, you know?” A smile teases the edges of his mouth. “She’s different.”
“Look, Scott. Taylor is one of my best friends. You hurt her and I will personally see to it that your life is hell. Got it?”
Huh. I quite enjoy being a hard ass.
He shakes his head. “The last thing I want to do is hurt her, you’ve gotta believe me.” His attention is taken from me when Taylor walks back into the room. His face lights up. “There she is.”
He takes Taylor’s hand and they walk towards the door.
Taylor stops and turns to me. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Yes,” I reply, not convincing anyone.
As she turns back to Scott and walks out of the door her words—my words—ring in my head: ‘you have to go after what you want’.
I sit down and lean against the back of the sofa. I let out a heavy sigh.
If only it were that straight forward.
* * *
The following night is Saturday night and naturally I’ve got nowhere to be. Tiffany and Rangi have gone to the beautiful shores of Lake Taupo on a romantic minibreak and Taylor is out on another date with her ‘gibbon’.
Since I’m now a sad old spinster, I’m snuggled up on the sofa at my sister’s house. Savannah has joined us and we’re all trying out being sisters.
“Mia’s sleeping like an angel,” Logan announces as he walks into the room.
“Thanks, honey,” Brooke replies with a smile. “You sure are the sleep whisperer.”
Logan shrugs. “It’s all part of the job.”
He leans down and kisses Brooke on the lips. I look away, try not to think of Sam. Fail, fail, fail.
“I won’t be late. You girls have fun, okay?”
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
“Logan’s made a new boyfriend,” Brooke teases. “They’re off to do male bonding, you know, things like beating their chests and grunting around a fire as drums play in the distance. All very high level, strategic, manly things. Isn’t that right, honey?” Her face creases into a wicked grin.
Logan chuckles. “You know men so well, honey.” He turns to me. “I’m off to shoot some pool down in Courtenay Place with a guy I’ve been working with. He’s good buddies with Ben Pearson, Jessica’s husband.”
I nod, recalling the tall man with the kind face I talked to at Jessica’s house all those weeks ago—before my world blew up in my face.
That’s another lifetime ago.
“I’ve met him. He’s nice,” I comment.
“He’s going to be there, as well as Kyle. So, there’ll be few of us to do that all important manly grunting.” He winks at Brooke. “’Bye, ladies. Have fun.”
With Logan out the door and not even a peep from Mia’s room, Brooke and Savannah settle into their respective chairs.
“So, what’s been happening, sis?” Savannah asks, taking a sip of her wine.
I smile at her easy use of the term. We’re slowly beginning to feel like sisters, and it’s pretty nice.
“Well . . . I’ve been doing lots of sewing.”
Brooke smiles. “Mia looks adorable in the clothes you made.”
“Oh, I have to see them. It’s so cool you make your own designs,” Savannah comments.
“I made this too.” I stand up and model my shift dress. I fell in love with the soft and light material at the haberdashery store last week.
“It’s beautiful, sis. I’ve said it before; you should try and sell some of these. You’re good enough to make a living out of it, don’t you think, Savannah?” Brooke asks.
“Totally,” she comments.
I roll my eyes. “We can’t all be successful entrepreneurs like you,
Brooke.”
“I’m just saying. What else have you been up to then?” Brooke holds her chamomile tea in her hands.
“I’ve been working a lot too, which is great.”
“She’s promised to style me,” Savannah says. “I can’t wait. Although I’m a little bit nervous she’s going to throw half my wardrobe out.”
“Not likely,” I protest. “Just a tweak here or there, that’s all.”
I turn back to Brooke. “Things have worked out really well with Jessica. The business is rocketing and she seems to be over her morning sickness now.”
“That’s great. I’m glad it’s working out for you.” Brooke smiles.
“Well, as you know, career is very important,” I say.
“Career is important, sure.” She shakes her head. “Not as important as other things, though.” She looks into my eyes. “How are you doing, Grace? You seem a bit . . . I don’t know . . . off.”
I glance from Brooke to Savannah. They’re both leaning forward, looking at me with concern in their eyes.
“I’m fine,” I squeak, looking away towards the back wall. I try for distraction. “Is that a new print, Brooke?”
She and Savannah share a look.
“Really,” I insist. My voice is firm, convincing. I hope.
“Grace, we don’t think you are,” Brooke says.
We? “Have you two been talking about me?”
Savannah smiles, her eyes sympathetic. “We’re concerned, that’s all.”
I look back to Brooke, her eyes boring holes into my soul. Despite their cool temperature my hands begin to sweat.
It’s too much.
I can handle it when I’m alone, I can handle it when I’m working. Hell, I can even handle it when someone is rude to me. But I can’t handle it when someone’s kind. No, kindness is a step too far.
Within seconds I feel tears begin to well in my eyes, the lump in my throat rise. I look down at my lap, try in vain to think of fluffy kittens playing with a ball of wool or happy bunnies hopping through a field—anything but Sam.
“What’s going on, Grace?” The love in Brooke’s voice pushes me right over the edge.
I burst into great big, hot tears. I cry and cry, surprised at how many tears flow. I cry for Sam, I cry for me.
Falling for Grace Page 26