A sob escaped, but she clasped a hand over her mouth. She wouldn’t let him hear her cry for him. She would get through this—she would. She had survived growing up without anyone to care for her.
It didn’t matter now that the man she loved didn’t care for her enough to be honest with her.
Another sob came when she realised the truth that she’d been running away from since Jordan had come back. She still loved him. She’d never stopped. That was why she had started opening up to him. Why she had told him the truth. Why she had shown him who she was. Maybe even why she wanted the event to go well—so she could show him, prove to him, that she was capable, that she was worthy.
She wanted Jordan to love the real her.
It was a foolish hope, she thought now. Not because she wasn’t worthy—she was slowly but surely fighting her way out of that pit—but because he didn’t want to. She knew he was struggling—she had watched him during their conversation, knew that the information she’d given him about his father had opened up something for him—and now she knew that it had to do with his parents. With his mother. But, whatever it was, he didn’t want her to be a part of it.
He doesn’t need me, she thought, and closed her eyes against the pain.
She’d always thought it was something simple—something childish, even—to feel needed. To want a family who would need her unconditionally. But it wasn’t, and she needed to face that. She needed to stop pretending that she was okay without having it, and to really be okay with it.
The man she loved didn’t need her. She wouldn’t ever get to have the family she had always wanted. And that was okay, she told herself. She would get through it. She would be okay.
But that didn’t have to happen right now, she thought as she lowered her head between her knees and let the tears fall silently to the floor.
* * *
Jordan got up earlier than he normally would the next day. Not only because he hadn’t got any sleep, but because he knew Mila was an early riser and he wanted to be up before her. He wasn’t running away, he told himself. He just needed to get out of the house to think.
He sighed when he heard a loud thunderclap, and then the steady pelting of rain on the roof. There would be no walking through the vineyard to clear his thoughts, he thought. But since he was already up he decided to get some coffee. He needed the strength.
He had hurt her. The look on her face when she’d told him she needed him to let her in would be branded in his mind for ever. He wished that he could go back, that he could take it back, so that they could go back to the truce they’d had with one another. But he couldn’t, and now all he wanted was to finish the darn event and get it over with so that he could move on with his life.
Because he didn’t want to get caught up in the past any more. The last few days had been more than enough for his entire lifetime, and he could do without the memories of his mother, without the regrets he had about his father.
And he could do without Mila.
His hand stilled midway on its path to bringing the coffee mug to his mouth. That was what he was saying, wasn’t it? She was the one forcing him to face his past. The last few days had been filled with his past because of her. And since he wanted the event over and done with, it meant he wanted things with her to be over and done with...right?
Except that the very thought sent an unpleasant frisson through his body. And an even worse one through his heart. The last thing he wanted was to say goodbye to her. Though they’d been difficult for him, the past few days had also been great. He’d started to get to know a side of Mila that he hadn’t seen before. In fact, he’d thought he was getting to know a whole different Mila. The feistiness, the speaking her mind suited her in a way he hadn’t considered before.
But it was more than that. It was the passion that he could see she had for her job. For her family. Because, although she didn’t think she had one, the way she cared about Lulu and his father was more familial than anything he had ever experienced.
She was compassionate even when she didn’t want to be, he thought as he remembered the way she had cared for him after his run-in with Lulu. As he thought about how she’d had nothing to gain when his father had asked her to move in with him and yet she had still done it.
It spoke of warmth, of the kindness that was naturally her. She was the best person he knew. And he cared about her.
But he couldn’t be with her.
Not when she needed more from him than he could give her. So he would simply have to be without her. And even though the thought sent pain through him, he knew it was the right thing.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t have to apologise to her. He’d been a bit of a jerk the previous day, walking out on her like that, and she didn’t deserve it. Not when he had been the person to suggest they have an honest conversation in the first place.
He started taking out things for breakfast. It was an apology, yes, but he also wanted to see her smile again. He wanted to see the smile that made him feel as if he was the only person in the world. The smile that pierced through his defences and reminded him of why he had fallen in love with her...
Before he could ponder why seeing her smile had become so important, she walked in. She stopped when she saw him there, and he could sense her hesitation. And then she turned around.
‘Hey, I’m making breakfast.’
She stopped, and then slowly turned back to him. ‘Are we just going to pretend last night didn’t happen?’
Her voice was a little husky, her hair still mussed from sleep, and the effect was potent. It was as if his body was reminding him about yet another thing he was leaving behind, and it took a moment for him to recover.
‘I’m trying to apologise.’
‘Why? What’s the point?’
His heart dribbled against his chest when he realised he didn’t have an answer for her.
‘Because we have an event to plan together,’ he finally managed.
‘If that’s the only reason, apology not accepted. I’ve worked with people I don’t like before. This won’t be a first for me.’
She turned away from him again, and his heart skidded to a halt when he realised that she was putting barriers up. Barriers he didn’t think would ever come down again. It bothered him and he didn’t know why.
‘We’re doing more than just working together, Mila,’ he found himself saying.
‘Really?’ She folded her arms. ‘What else are we doing, then?’
‘We’re saying goodbye to my father.’ That wasn’t it, he realised as his stomach sank. But it was good enough to appease her.
‘You know where to hit, don’t you?’ she said as her arms dropped to her sides.
She was right, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not when he was still stunned by how all his conclusions earlier had been swept aside the minute he’d seen her. How much the thought that she would push him away again had alarmed him. How much he wanted things between them to be okay.
‘How about we start with a cup of coffee?’ she said when he didn’t respond, and he nodded, turning away from her.
Why was it suddenly so important for him to stay close to her? He had resigned himself to letting go—of her, of the past—but now he couldn’t imagine anything worse.
He took his time making her coffee, ignoring the sudden jittery feeling in his body, and then he handed it to her carefully, so that they wouldn’t touch. But her fingers brushed against his anyway, and his body responded.
Except that the physical effect she had on him had little to do with desire. It was a way of confirming what he had just realised. He still had feelings for her. It was the only thing that made his reaction to her logical. What else could make his rational thoughts seem like the most nonsensical things in the world?
He had barely ackn
owledged his feelings before he was striding towards her. He took the mug from her hands, had the pleasure of seeing her eyes widen and hearing her sharp inhalation, and then with her body against his, he touched his lips to hers.
She tasted of coffee and toothpaste...a combination he would have never thought sexy if he hadn’t experienced it himself. She didn’t move at first, her lips stiff under his, and he prepared himself to pull back—all but had words of apology ready in his mind before he felt her hands tentatively touch his waist.
Immediately he felt heat at their contact, but he resisted giving in to it. Instead he kept it slow, like the afternoon walks they’d used to take on Sundays, and let the fire simmer. It made him more aware of the connection they shared, of how their kiss was more than just a meeting of their lips, more than just something he was doing to sate his need for her.
It made slow and tender feel as satisfying and as passionate as the desperate kiss they had shared—was it only the previous day?
He didn’t spend much time thinking about it—was too consumed by the way her body fitted his in just the right way. By the way her hands tightened on his waist, and then slid up under his shirt to touch his skin. Everywhere they moved heightened the sensation in his body, and he sank deeper into the kiss, using his tongue to remind her of their passion, of their love.
She moaned, pressed herself tighter against him, and he felt her shake. It turned the temperature up between them and his hands found her waist and lifted her up, setting her on the kitchen counter without losing contact. She pulled the hoodie he wore over his head, and he barely felt the sting of cold on his bare body. Not when she was kissing his neck, his shoulders, then his mouth again, as if she had discovered she needed him just as much as he needed her.
The thought gave him pause, and he moved away.
‘Do you want this?’ he asked, and searched her face for the real answer.
His heart was filled by her beauty in that moment—the flush of her cheeks, her untamed curls framing her face, her chest heaving—but he couldn’t ignore the flash of uncertainty, of fear that lit her face.
It was gone in a moment and she nodded and pulled his head closer, but with all the self-control inside him, he resisted.
‘You don’t, Mila. At least, you’re not sure,’ he forced himself to say, and braced himself against the pain that flashed through her eyes at his words.
‘No, I think you’re the one who isn’t sure,’ she told him.
‘You have no idea what I’m thinking,’ he said, his voice sharp. She was too close to the truth.
‘Whose fault is that?’ she asked softly, before pushing at his chest.
He took a step back, watched as she lowered herself off the counter and pulled at the shirt that had ridden up to her waist during their passion. But not before he had got a good look at her stomach. The skin was slightly loose over the flat surface, with tiny vertical lines leading to the scar from her C-section—evidence that she had once carried his child—and his hands itched to touch, to feel, to remind himself of better times between them.
‘I don’t know what to do about you,’ she said suddenly, and all his thoughts gave way to one single thought that ripped at his heart.
He was hurting her.
With his words, with his actions. He couldn’t do this with her again, he realised. Not until he was sure.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, because he didn’t know what else he could say.
‘We should just stick to the event, Jordan. Everything else...’
She looked at him, her eyes shockingly beautiful in their misery, and he saw for the first time that they were a little swollen, a little red, as if she’d been crying. The thought sent another blow to his heart.
‘Nothing else will work between us.’
She walked away, leaving him alone in the kitchen. It was sobering to think that he had never felt so alone ever before. He no longer had his mother, his father. He no longer had his wife.
He was pushing her away.
Was it worth it? Was his guilt, his regret over what had had happened in his childhood, over his relationship with his father, over his mother’s choices, worth risking the woman he loved?
He ran a hand through his hair and then slid it down his face. Who was he fooling? Thinking he had feelings for Mila was just vague enough to make him feel better about himself. But he should have known the truth would catch up with him. He should have known from the moment he had seen her and fallen for her that he couldn’t run away from his feelings for her.
His shoulders stiffened even more at the thought. He needed to stop running. He loved Mila—had never stopped—and he needed to step up for her. Except...he didn’t know how. Or even if he could. He had been running away all his life. From the moment his father had told him that his mother had chosen to look after him instead of her own health. From the moment he’d realised his father blamed Jordan for her death.
Even the thought sent waves of hurt through him, and only his hope of love with Mila was keeping them at bay. He knew that if he told her those hurts might overwhelm him, and that if he didn’t they would keep nudging at him, causing him to run all his life.
He had to make a choice. And, despite all the things he had been through in his life, despite all the difficult choices he’d had to make, he knew that this one would be the worst.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SHE KEPT MAKING the same mistakes, and if she continued down that path it would destroy her. So Mila kept to her word and focused on her work, ignoring the kiss that she’d shared with Jordan that morning—and its after-effects.
She called Lulu and explained that their event was now less than two weeks away and they needed to make sure there would be an event. She confirmed the details with Simon, informed the marquee supplier about the date, and called to tell the vendors the same thing. She soothed complaints, found alternatives, until eventually she was fairly certain that the event would take place.
She updated Mark, as the executor of the will, and emailed him records of all they had done to keep within the conditions of the will.
And then she braced herself for visiting her house again.
She had decided the previous evening that she would move out of Greg’s house. She should have done it the day after Jordan had returned. It would have saved her so much heartache. Now her heart pained her with every beat, and her mind was consumed by grief because he didn’t want her.
He wanted her physically, maybe, she thought, flushing at the memory of that morning, but not in any other way. And so, because she couldn’t live with the man who reminded her of everything she wanted and couldn’t have, she was going to live at the house where they’d started their lives together.
It was better that way, she told herself as she began packing a bag. She would start clearing the house, get it on the market, and once it was sold she would use the money to buy offices for her business.
She and Lulu had used to work out of the flat she’d rented before she got married and at Lulu’s home before Mila’s fall, but now she wanted something more legitimate. Something that would make her feel steady. Something that was her own.
It was also the only thing she could think of to use the money from the sale of the house for—taking it to live a lavish life didn’t seem right to her. And she knew Jordan wouldn’t want it back—it would be a slap in the face to him if she offered, when she knew that he’d done it because he had wanted to give her something. He had hurt her, yes, but Mila had no intention of doing the same thing to him. She was better than that.
That was another reason why she had decided to sort out the house on her own. Before she’d thought she needed him. That she couldn’t do it by herself. But as part of her resolution to move on, to only rely on herself, she would do it by herself.
Yes, her heart still
thumped at the thought of going back to the house where she had lost her baby, but it was also the house where she had found out she was going to have him. It was the place where she had first felt him kick, where she had spent the only time she’d had with him. And although focusing on those positives almost made her reconsider selling—almost—she knew it would be for the best if she did.
And then, when the event was over, she would file for divorce.
She would move on from Jordan.
She packed the case with her essentials—she had enough clothing to last her until the event at the house—and dragged the case behind her to the front door. It rattled on the tiles, and then stopped. She turned back, giving it a forceful pull before continuing.
And walked straight into Jordan.
‘Hey!’ he said, steadying her, and she had a flashback to those hands on her waist, lifting her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to stay somewhere else.’ She knew it sounded snappy, but it was better than showing the need that heated her belly at her memories.
She looked up at him and saw the carefully blank look in his eyes.
‘You’re leaving,’ he said flatly.
‘I am,’ she said in the same tone. ‘It’s what’s best, isn’t it?’
She could almost see the gears grinding in his head as he thought, and she wondered what there was to think about. He’d made his choice. She’d made hers. That was it.
That was it, she reminded herself when something inside her lit up—just a little—at the thought of him wanting her to stay.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the house.’
She saw the twitch in his eyebrow before he schooled his features again. ‘I’ll take you.’
‘No, no,’ she said quickly, feeling all her bravado fade at the prospect of going back with him. ‘I’m calling a taxi.’
‘No, you’re not.’
She would have been annoyed by his tone if she hadn’t seen that twitch in his brow again. She had grown familiar with his facial expressions when they were married—was even more so now, perhaps—and she knew he was upset, but was trying to hide it.
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