What? It’s over. Him and Clara. Really?
The first ripple of hope, of excitement runs through me as his mother pales on a sharp intake of breath. I wait for her to retaliate, to hit back as soon as she’s over her shock, but instead she gives a meek ‘Yes...well...perhaps I should.’
‘Excellent!’ His eyes go back to the papers as he lifts them up. ‘Don’t take too long about it.’
She says nothing, her disbelieving gaze frozen on her son, and when she realises he’s finished with her she flicks me a look.
‘I think you can go,’ I can’t help saying.
I want to laugh, but that would probably take things too far. Instead, I take great delight in her heightened colour and wobbly exit.
As the door closes I look back to Philip. What the hell have I missed? I’ve seen her treat him in all manner of ways—trample, push, goad, belittle, the works—it’s partly why he’s like he is, and it’s why I can’t hate him for what he did. But never have I seen him stand up to her.
And as for him and Clara...?
I find my anger towards him floundering, a surprising swell of admiration building. How long have I itched for him to fight back? And not at me, but at the real purveyors of his misery.
‘What?’ he says.
I realise I’m staring, lips parted, eyes wide. ‘Can we get her back in here and do that again?’
He takes a shaky breath and tosses the papers down, reaching for the almost empty whisky decanter on his desk and pouring a double measure. ‘Look, Coco, I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m tired, fed up and trying to get my head screwed on straight, so if you want to lay into me please just get it over with. I deserve it—and more.’
I study him closely. He looks like he’s barely slept, worry lines mar his perfect features, and the glassy state of his eyes suggests he’s had several drinks already.
‘What’s going on?’
‘What isn’t going on?’ he mutters, taking a swig and turning in his chair to look at me. ‘Clara told me what a fool I’d been not to see what was going on under my nose with you and Ash, told me it just proved what a mug I was. This was after she’d informed me that Granny’s deterioration was a blessing in disguise as it meant her and Mother could resume their party preparations without the worry that she would still be here.’
His voice cracks and he breaks off, his eyes falling to his glass as he clenches his jaw. His pain is so obvious and I know it has nothing to do Clara and everything to do with Granny’s health.
‘As for Mother...’ He shakes his head as he says her name, his mouth twisting derisively. ‘She’s spent the last hour listing every one of my useless qualities to ensure I take full responsibility for her crappy existence too, as well as informing me of my failings as a husband and a future Duke, that letting Clara go is an epic misjudgement, that my darling wife makes the perfect Duchess.’
He laughs now. ‘And, oh, how I know Clara agrees. She only married me for my title, you know. It’s so obvious now. My title and my money.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He looks at me. ‘No, you’re not.’
‘I am.’
It’s the truth. I know he won’t understand it, but I am. I lived his childhood with him. I was aware of the pedestal on which I sat while he took all the shit that was thrown at him by our father as well as his mother.
He shakes his head. ‘You shouldn’t be.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m still livid at what you did—what you tried to do. I still can’t get my head around it.’
He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. ‘You and me both.’
‘Are you saying you’ve had some wonderful epiphany—that you can miraculously see the horror of it all?’
His eyes stay shut and he shakes his head again. ‘I wish I could go back and undo it—the whole damn lot. Go back to before Clara...before...’
He swallows hard, his skin deathly white. He looks like he’s going to be sick, and even though I don’t want it to I can feel my anger ebbing away.
He wets his lips, and looks at me, lost, pained. ‘Is that why you’ve come? To have it out? To give me what I deserve?’
I straighten my spine. ‘That—and I want to know what Ash told you about me.’
He gives a gentle scoff. ‘As if you don’t already know.’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
He shakes his head again, one corner of his lip lifting. ‘Fuck all, if you must know...’ He leans back in his chair. ‘I should’ve known the guy was smitten. He’s supposed to be the best in the industry—it never occurred to me that he would fall under your perfect spell too.’
‘Don’t say that.’ The way he drawls out the word perfect makes my skin crawl. ‘I’m not perfect.’
‘On that we must agree to disagree.’
‘Is that why you hate me so much? Is that why you felt I deserved it?’
He stares at me, the silence long and strained.
‘The truth is I never hated you. I envied you. Ash told me nothing because there was nothing to tell—because you didn’t deserve it.’ His voice cracks and he clears his throat, visibly trying to recover. ‘But me, on the other hand...’
He leans back in his seat to open a drawer in the desk and pulls out a manila envelope. He tosses it onto the desk before me.
‘What’s this?’ I pick it up, my eyes still trained on him.
‘You might as well take a look...’ He rubs his jaw, the movement awkward, shaky. ‘He’s probably told you it all already.’
I go to open it, but stop. It just doesn’t feel right. ‘What’s inside?’
‘You really don’t know?’
‘I’m assuming it’s information relating to you?’
He smiles at me but his eyes are dead, wet at the corners. ‘It’s all my dirty laundry. Seems he was making sure I wouldn’t take any steps against you. Judging by your expression, you had nothing to do with this bonus investigative work?’
My stomach twists. ‘I’d never do that to you.’
He sits forward in his chair, knocking back his drink with a wince. ‘No, you wouldn’t, would you?’
His eyes meet mine, red-rimmed and swimming. I want to reach for him, tell him it doesn’t mean he can’t change, be a better person, free of the women who have tormented him for years. But I’m rooted. Unsure.
‘I don’t blame him, you know.’ He’s reflective as he says it. ‘He was right to fall for you, to protect you... Christ, I’m glad he did.’
My eyes narrow. ‘You are?’
He rakes his hand over his face. ‘I don’t think I could’ve come back from that.’
‘From what?’
I want him to spell it out, to acknowledge his intent. I need to hear it from his lips, to have it out in the open and believe that he regrets it, that there’s hope for us.
His eyes and his hunched-up body tremble.
‘From ruining me?’ I press, so softly it’s a wonder he hears. But his shuddery breath, the awkward nod of his head, tell me that he has.
‘I am sorry, Coco. I know it’s not enough, and I don’t even know if I can ever make it up to you, but...’ Another breath and his eyes lock with mine. ‘But I’m going to try.’
A lump forms high in my throat and I lift my chin and nod. ‘I believe you, Philip. I don’t need to read this.’ I close the envelope without looking inside and place it back on the desk. ‘We can talk when you’re ready. I’m still your sister—your blood—and I don’t want to lose you.’
He eyes me, disbelieving. ‘How can you mean that? After all I’ve done?’
‘Believe it.’ My eyes prick as the truth hits me. ‘Soon you’ll be all the family I have left, and...and I don’t want to lose that.’
He’s across the room before the first tear falls, his arms a
round me, hugging me tight.
‘It’s not too late?’ he whispers against my hair. ‘For us?’
‘No,’ I assure him on a small sob. ‘It’s not.’
I only hope the same applies to Ash.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I PULL OPEN the fridge for a beer. ‘Bollocks.’ The shelves are practically bare. No beer, no nothing.
I slam the fridge closed and snatch a glass off the drainer, a bottle of whisky next. It’s not my preferred drink, especially at four in the afternoon, but needs must. And I definitely need it. I need to block out the sight of her walking away, her anger, her pain, her hate...
I’m all out of hope. She must have spoken to Philip by now. And if she has he’s either lied or it wasn’t enough to convince her.
I can’t even blame him. This is all my fault. Mine.
I fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to me and now I have to face the consequences. Only I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to live without her.
I pour a glass as I head into the living area, where the painting on the wall teases me with the memory of her appreciation. I make a U-turn and head back to the kitchen. Not that that helps either. Fuck.
She’s everywhere.
I slap the whisky glass down on the centre island and pour. Wishing the painful memories away. Wishing her away.
Maybe I should’ve taken Jackson up on his offer of a night out. The guy’s been hounding me all week. And we could go somewhere new. Somewhere devoid of memories. Somewhere I can get hammered and forget. Even if it’s only for a few hours, it has to be better than this.
Yeah, like you’d really wish yourself on him right now.
I deserve to wallow in my own sodding misery.
I take a swig of my drink and close my eyes, feel it burn down my throat and contend with the punishing ache inside.
Better.
Then the doorbell goes and my phone starts to flash up at me from the counter.
Piss off.
It’s Jackson. Won’t the guy just give up?
I ignore both and take another swig.
There’s an incessant banging on the door now, every knock like a physical blow to my already aching head, and I wince.
Seriously, Jackson, piss off.
He doesn’t, and it’s driving me crazy.
I stride to the front door and yank it open. ‘Jackson, will you just fu—’
The curse dies on my lips. I can’t believe my eyes. This has to be some twisted trick, the booze soaring to my head...
‘Ash?’
Coco frowns up at me, her beautiful green eyes flashing with what looks so much like concern. Not anger, not pain, not hatred.
She’s wearing jeans and the same soft pink sweater she wore to Dad’s. Memories warm me, slaughter me, but she’s here. It has to mean something.
Her frown deepens. ‘Ash...?’
My throat is so dry I can’t speak. I wet my lips and run a hand over my face, stopping to grip my jaw as my eyes narrow and focus, still disbelieving.
‘Coco?’
Her lips quirk just a little. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
My voice sounds so fucking weird, so distant, but I can’t function past the crazy flutter taking off inside me. I step back to let her past and her familiar scent wafts up to me, messing with my head, telling me she’s real, that this is happening.
‘I’ll have one of those.’ She nods to the drink still in my hand.
‘Sure,’ I repeat, swinging the door closed and making my way trance-like back to the kitchen, my ears attuned to her soft footfall behind me.
She’s here. She’s here. She’s here.
I set my glass down and get another one for her, then reach for the bottle and start to pour. But I’m shaking so much the liquid sloshes outside the glass.
‘Ash...’
She places her hand over mine. She’s right alongside me, her perfume in the air, her presence radiating down my side.
Slowly I set the bottle down and look at her. It really isn’t hate I see. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I know you are,’ she whispers.
I go to pull her in. I need to hug her, feel her, believe that she believes me. But she steps back, shaking her head, and my stomach plummets. My hands fall helplessly away.
‘But...?’
Her throat bobs, her eyes lift to mine. ‘I can’t... When I think about it...the idea of you following me—all that time—and not once telling me...’ She shakes her head again, her palm pressing into her chest. ‘It hurts... It really hurts. I feel sick with it.’
‘I know.’ Hearing her say it, seeing the flash of pain, of disgust, I feel sick too. ‘I would do anything to change what I did. To go back and do it differently. I’d do anything not to have caused you this pain.’
‘I know you would.’ She breathes in deeply. ‘Philip said the same.’
‘You spoke to him?’ My heart spasms in my chest. ‘About what he did? About me?’
She nods, her hand shaking as she reaches out and picks up the glass of whisky I poured for her. I stay quiet as I watch her take a sip, my eyes desperately searching hers, looking for a sign—any sign of what is to come.
‘He had his reasons—I know he did; I think I understand more than he knows.’
She swallows and takes another breath, her eyes locking with mine.
‘I know about the research you did into him too—the case you built against him to protect me.’
‘He showed you?’
‘He tried to, but I don’t want to know. I think he’s hit a turning point and I’m hoping we can repair things.’
‘Repair things?’ I frown at her, feel a flare of anger, even jealousy, that she can think to forgive him while we...we flounder...
‘Our relationship,’ she confirms softly.
Her eyes narrow on me, reading it all, I’m sure. I shake my head. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Are you being a hypocrite?’ she snaps, and I realise she’s right. ‘You want me to forgive you for what you did, but not my brother?’
‘I don’t know.’ I rub the back of my neck, cling to it as I try to make sense of what I’m thinking, of how I feel. ‘I know this mess is my fault, but I blame him too—for what he wanted to do to you.’ My body vibrates with anger at the very thought. ‘To the woman I love.’
The pulse flutters in her neck, the glass shakes in her hand.
‘I know what he wanted to do, and I know why. But his marriage is over, he’s finally seen sense where Clara and his mother are concerned, and once Granny is gone...’ She swallows as her eyes glisten over and she raises her chin with reignited strength. ‘We’ll only have one another, and I’m not giving up on him yet.’
My blood runs cold.
Only have one another.
‘And what about me? Can’t you have me too?’
‘I want to,’ she says, and I can see she means it, but I can also see the fight in her. ‘I want that so much—to be able to act like it never happened, to bury it.’
‘Then give me a chance to make it up to you,’ I plead, my voice a husky mess of desperation as I reach a hand out to her. ‘Let me love you like I’ve wanted to for so long.’
She exhales sharply as she looks to the heavens, a solitary tear escaping and crucifying me on its path.
‘I want to—so badly. But I don’t know how we do that when you still... When you’re still...’ She looks back at me, her free hand gesturing wildly. ‘When you’re still doing that to other people. The whole PI shit. I get why you did it, why you chose to before, but now...’
I step forward, unable to stand the distance any longer. ‘That side of me is long gone.’ I reach out to cup her arms and this time she lets me. ‘I’ve already quit the business—there’s no way I could car
ry on.’
Hope flares in her eyes as they widen. ‘You have?’
‘Yes. I didn’t realise how messed-up I’d become, how blinded by the past I’ve been—not until you... Until I almost...almost...’ I can’t finish the sentence—it hurts too much. ‘I hate myself for what I did, and I know I don’t deserve you, don’t deserve your forgiveness, but the idea of living without you, of walking away...’
My voice fails me, my eyes close as the sob rising in my throat gets too much, and then I feel her palms on either side of my face, her touch soft, soothing.
‘I don’t want you to walk away, Ash.’
I hear the words, hope pulsing in my chest, and I open my eyes, take in her blazing beauty.
‘You don’t?’
‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’ve wrestled with so much pain these last two weeks, every day, without you, feeling lost...empty. I can’t go on like that.’
I almost don’t want to ask the question, but I have to if we’re to stand a chance at a future. ‘Can you forgive me?’
She studies me quietly and I can’t breathe as I search her gaze.
‘Yes,’ she says eventually, so softly I can barely hear it.
But it’s there, and my chest soars, tears prick, making my vision swim as I look down at her.
‘Can you... Can you love me?’
She looks to my mouth and runs her thumb over it, her lips coming next. She kisses me—a single featherlight sweep of her mouth—but I’m rigid, stock-still. Hope upon hope is building.
‘I have no choice in that, Ash. I do love you.’
My breath leaves me in a rush, so ragged. I’m so happy hearing those words, seeing the truth of them once more alive in her bright green gaze. It’s all too surreal, too perfect, too dreamlike.
‘You do?’
‘Yes, Ash, I do.’
I press my forehead to hers, pull her body tight against me. ‘Do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Kiss me again so I know this isn’t a dream?’
‘I think we can go one better than a kiss...’
Getting Dirty Page 17