It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to keep his hands fisted on the iron rail, not to turn around and reach for her. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t believe for one second that she could forgive him. He was convinced the only reason she hadn’t looked at him with hate in her eyes was because of the incredible night they’d shared. Or maybe he’d taken Tom’s place in her world. A rebounding kind of need.
Eventually, when she realised that, she’d walk away—and he’d be in so deep it would kill him. He’d lose her. Just as he lost everyone he cared for. It was inevitable.
So, while it had torn him apart to sever their connection, he knew it was for the best. For both of them.
In and out of the Scott Lansing garage he went—his guts twisting at the barren space—before he jogged round to the back of the pits, where a myriad of luxurious motor homes were parked.
Smooth tarmac gave way to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots and dark shadows crawled eerily over the dirt, up over the high-gloss black paintwork of the fleet, as if thick, ominous clouds slowly usurped the sun. He shuddered...
Then crashed to a halt.
There stood Michael Scott, at the bottom of the steps to Finn’s motor home, wearing an expression that weakened his knees.
Skin clammy, he clutched at his chest, felt the thrash of his heart against his palm. ‘Wha...what’s happened?’ No, please God no. Please let her be okay.
‘What you’ve got to understand about Serena, my boy, is that when her emotions get too big for her she runs. Always has, since she was a little girl.’ Regret deepened his voice. ‘Don’t suppose it helped that she never had a mother in her life. I take it you told her everything?’
Finn tried to swallow as relief and heartache vied for space behind his ribs. She’d left him. ‘Yes. Everything.’ Then he remembered the phone call he’d taken before the race. ‘The police in Singapore have just made an arrest.’
The older man took one step forward and laid a heavy hand on Finn’s shoulder. ‘Good. Now we’ll get some justice. I know you tried to do right by my son.’
Finn locked on to Mick’s sincere gaze, desperate to believe him.
‘Serena must know it too, considering all your body parts are intact. Time to move on, Finn. Let it go.’
Maybe he nodded; he was too numb to be sure.
‘Can’t guarantee she’ll come back in a hurry. Last time, after the funeral, she was away months. She’s not going to London. I know that much. But she did leave you this.’
Michael passed him a white envelope, with Finn’s name a messy scrawl across the front, then patted his shoulder and sidestepped to walk past.
‘By the way, she watched the race—asked me to say you were awesome out there and that you’ll know what she means.’
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Finally the woman uttered the words he’d tried to tease out of her for months. Aw, man, was it any wonder he adored her?
‘Yeah, I do. Thanks, Mick.’
Bones weighted with dread, he plonked down on the top rung of his steps and thumbed the sticky flap of the envelope. Patience wasn’t his strong suit and after two seconds he tore it apart, until her letter was in his hands.
On a long exhale he unfolded the crisp sheet and stared for a long moment, watching a fine drizzle dust the page.
Despite the chaotic churning of emotions inside him, her messy handwriting brought another smile to his lips. He missed her already.
* * *
Dear Finn,
I’ve never been one for goodbyes, but in the last few weeks you’ve helped me say another kind of goodbye—to Tom, so I could lay him to rest. Despite how our friendship came about you’ve been a friend to me in many ways, shown me much about my life, and I’d like to return the favour. So I’m calling in the wish you owe me.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: my logic is a bit backward—how can my favour be your wish? But hear me out, okay?
It dawned on me earlier, when I left, that it doesn’t matter if you never believe my word or believe in my forgiveness. What truly matters is that you learn to forgive yourself. Otherwise, and trust me when I say this, you’ll never truly move on. Which is why I’m about to tell you something very few people know and I’m asking you to keep it close to your chest.
Long story short, as you would say, my first naïve crush was with one of Tom’s friends. One who quickly turned hostile. And for a long time I blamed myself for what happened afterwards.
I should probably explain that I was young, with no women around, and not really sure how to handle boys. I figured I’d rather be one of them, and that was fine until I came to that awkward age where they began to treat me differently. Anyway, I was fourteen, and let’s just say I liked this much older boy—or should I say man? He was Tom’s age: nineteen.
He weaved his web, spun his lies, told me anything and everything—‘I want you, Serena, I love you. Come meet me, Serena, I won’t hurt you’—until I fell for him. I started to dress up—girly stuff—flirted a little, sneaked out with him, but I wasn’t prepared for what came back at me.
Turns out ‘no’ didn’t mean no with him.
The first time he tried to force me I managed to get away, and he persuaded me not to tell Tom or he would hurt him. Foolish, I know, but I think it’s easy to believe anything at that age. Spider-Man comes to mind...
Anyway, he began to follow me, watch me from the shadows, and I was frightened for a long time. Then one night, during a huge party downstairs, he came up to my bedroom. He’d been drinking. He overpowered me. I was beaten up pretty bad, among other things, and I’m sure he would’ve gone all the way if Tom hadn’t come in.
There was a huge fight and Tom got seriously hurt—we thought he’d never drive again—but he pulled through. Of course he blamed himself for not reading the signs sooner, so you see I’m not surprised he asked you to watch out for me. He became very protective.
I saw a counsellor for many months and she tried to help me past it. In many ways she did. She made me accept that I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t deserve to be beaten. She certainly helped me to stand tall, but in reality I never truly moved on. I didn’t completely let go of the blame. Of the thought that if I’d been braver, stronger, told someone sooner, Tom’s health and career wouldn’t have hung in the balance for so long.
I didn’t let go of the idea that my behaviour was at fault. Because if I had I wouldn’t have suppressed the woman I am inside.
You’ve shown me that, Finn. Helped me see so many things. But watching you struggle this morning I realised I’m still searching for peace.
Choices.
I’m choosing to let go, Finn. To forgive myself. I wish you would too.
At the bottom of this note is the number of the counsellor I saw, and my wish is that you go and see her, even if it’s just the once. She can help you if you’ll let her. It’s strange, but I used to resent my dad for sending me—just thought he was palming me off on someone else. But I can see now. He was too close to the situation. Too emotionally involved. Which is why I think you need to speak to someone who isn’t personally connected, you know?
You’re a survivor. We both are. Let’s make the most of this life we have. If not for us, for Tom.
Well, that’s it, I guess. Take care of yourself and try not to crash my car, okay? Look after her. She may be a fiery bolt of lightning with a tough outer shell but underneath...she’s still just a girl.
Serena.
The paper fluttered to the dirt as Finn leaned his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Moisture smothered his palms as his shoulders shook in the suffocating silence.
Underneath...she’s still just a girl.
Idiot. He was such an idiot. He hadn’t just hurt her; he’d caused more damage than he�
��d ever dreamed possible.
Was it any wonder she’d stifled her femininity? And what had he done? Given her confidence, told her she was unique in every way, encouraged her to open up to him. And in the next breath, fuelled by his own fears, he’d insinuated that she was just another good-time girl who meant nothing to him, expecting her to take it like the tough cookie she was—and succeeded in stripping her raw. Forgetting for one moment that underneath she’s still just a girl. One who’d been tampered with when she’d been merely fourteen years old.
Against all the odds, no matter what life threw at her, she came out fighting.
‘You have no idea how proud I am of you,’ he murmured, to no one but himself, wishing she was here and he could hold her. ‘How brave and beautiful and strong and amazing you are to me.’
Finn rubbed his eyes, then clawed down his face.
Why did he keep hurting people? He knew not to let his emotions engage. Knew he was like a loose cannon, made bad choices. He’d left Eva to suffer, sent Tom to his death. Now he’d hurt Serena too.
What was more she’d been betrayed barely out of adolescence and now Finn had done it a second time. She’d never trust him again—not in a million years.
Any last vestige of hope died in his soul as she disappeared with his heart.
He needed more than some shrink. He needed a miracle.
One perfectly beautiful little miracle.
Every cell in his body screamed for him to go and find her, make it all better somehow. But what would he say? I’m sorry didn’t sound anywhere near what she deserved. And that was all he had to offer. Apart from more hurt in the long run. He was messed up and he knew it. He also knew he was far better off alone.
He just had to hope she found the peace and happiness she deserved.
As for him, he had a wish to take care of.
He owed his girl nothing less.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Five weeks and two days later...
THE MONZA POST-RACE party was the epitome of Italian style and elegance, held in the vast courtyard of a lavish hotel. But the midnight sky, twinkling with diamanté brilliance, acted as the perfect ceiling and only served to remind Serena of a magnificent tent in Montreal.
Champagne spurted from a towering ice sculpture like an ivory waterfall, to pool and froth at the base. But the bubbly effervescence only struck a chord of the Silverstone Ball.
Closing her eyes momentarily, she breathed in the sweet calming scent of the wisteria draping the balconies overhead and turned to her dad. ‘I have no idea how you talked me into this. I’ve only been back a few hours. I could be in my PJs, eating nachos and watching a movie right now.’
Instead she was a nausea-inducing swarm of anticipation in killer heels, trying to perfect a smile that said she was having a ball. All the while wondering if he would come, who he would bring, what she would say to him. So much for the blasé oh-hi-how-are-you? she’d been hoping for at tomorrow’s meeting.
‘Yes, well, frankly I was getting sick and tired of the “I vhant to be alone” Greta Garbo routine. I’ll only let you hide for so long, Serena.’
‘I wasn’t trying to hide,’ she hissed.
‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’
Serena sighed. She’d just wanted their first hello to be on equal ground, and she refused to think less of herself for that. Not after she’d spent weeks trying to get over the man she’d purged her soul for. Writing that letter had taken her back, splintered her defences, but the thought of him hurting, being in so much pain, had somehow outweighed her survival instincts. And if the tabloids were to be believed he was back on top form, oozing charisma with that legendary smile of his, so it was worth it to see him happy. Moving on.
True, seeing him with another woman had been...hard, but she’d needed that push to move on. Now she was just...peachy.
Which didn’t really explain why the sight of her dad smiling devilishly at some curvy blonde sparked her off. ‘I don’t get this “variety is the spice of life” business. What exactly is so wonderful about variety when they all look the same? There’s something cold about it. About them.’
She couldn’t understand the appeal. Not compared to the hours of scorching bliss she’d experienced in Finn’s arms—all the more intense for the way she’d felt, she was sure.
‘That’s the point. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s safe.’
‘That’s like going on a ghost train with your eyes shut. Going through the motions—’
‘With none of the emotions. Exactly. For me, it’s because I’ll always love your mother. She was The One for me. All the others since were just flash and no substance. Safe. A way to ease the loneliness, I guess.’
Serena frowned up at him as the floor did a funny little tilt. When she’d been a little girl she’d often asked about her mum. He’d tried to talk about her, but as she’d got older she’d thought his struggle and avoidance meant he hadn’t truly loved her. But clearly he’d loved her intensely.
A pang of bittersweet happiness eased the ache in her chest. To think it had been her mother who’d had the power to win his heart. It explained so much about him. She almost asked him for more, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Instead she murmured, ‘Never thought of it that way.’
Safe. Untouched. That suited Finn to perfection too, didn’t it? The showman who wore his charming façade to veil the tortured man beneath. But, unlike her mum, Serena hadn’t been enough to win his heart.
‘Don’t suppose you’re thinking about Finn right now?’
‘I’m doing nothing of the sort,’ she said, casting him a dour look before she did something stupid like burst into tears. When she was supposed to be peachy!
His graphite eyes twinkled knowingly before his handsome face took on a contemplative look etched with remorse.
‘I doubt I’ve given you much decent advice in your life. I was ill-equipped to deal with two young kids—especially you. That’s something I’ll always be sorry for, Serena. But when I lost her I had to...’
Her voice as raw as her throat, Serena quietly finished for him. ‘Get up. Get busy. Move on.’ For all their sakes.
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘But let me tell you this. If you’re anything like me, or all the Scotts before you, you’ll get one shot at true happiness. If you think Finn’s The One don’t let him go without a fight.’
Serena bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling. ‘I’m not interested.’ It didn’t matter how much she hurt, how much she wanted, she was never opening up again. ‘Anyway, he’s already moved on.’
‘You sure about that? Because the man who came to see me yesterday, asking for some time off so he could go gallivanting to find...’ he made inverted comma actions with his fingers ‘...“his girl” didn’t look like he’d moved on to me.’
A paralysing ball of hope bounced in her chest and she swiftly batted it away. No more foolish daydreaming. ‘He has “girls” on every continent. He’s moved on, I’m telling you.’
‘Positive? Because that same guy, who’s just walked through the archway, clapped eyes on you and looks like he’s been hit with a semi-truck, is on his way over.’
‘Oh, my life.’ She wasn’t ready—nowhere near ready.
‘So you might want to get rid of that deer-in-the-headlights look and bear in mind another of Garbo’s sayings.’
Huh? ‘Which is?’
‘Anyone who has a continuous smile on his face conceals a toughness that is almost frightening.’
‘And why should that affect me?’
‘No smile tonight. I get the feeling the shackles are off. I hope you’re ready for this sweetheart.’
Right now the only thing she was ready for was to launch herself over the twelve-foot stone wall encircling the courtyard. She would have done if sh
e hadn’t been wandering around Europe aimlessly for the last month, only to find herself in some café in Paris, nursing a lacklustre cappuccino and the realisation that it didn’t matter how far she ran, her aching heart still lay inside her chest and the memories lingered. Peace was nowhere to be found and solitude just made the emptiness deeper. She had to face him. Prove to herself she was over him.
‘How far?’ Appalled by her serious case of the jitters, she nailed her feet to the paved slabs. ‘How far?’
An unholy glee lit up her father’s graphite eyes. ‘Thirty feet and closing.’
She stifled the urge to smooth her riotous mane, insanely grateful that she’d developed a fetish for dresses, and silently chanted an endless loop of, He will not affect me. I am completely over him. He will not affect—
‘Good evening, Miss Seraphina Scott.’
Ohh, this was not good. ‘This’ being the hellish swarm of fireflies lighting up her midriff in a mad, wild rush at the mere sound of his rich, sinful drawl.
More than a little woozy, she focused on turning gracefully, determined not to fall at his feet. She took a deep breath, raised her chin, then pivoted on her entirely too adventurous heels...
And went up in flames.
Doomed. She was totally and utterly doomed.
Dressed in a sharp black custom-fit suit and a thin silk tie, as if he’d just stepped off a movie set, Finn St George struck a stunning pose of insolent flair. All potent masculinity and devilish panache.
Confident as ever. A little arrogant. A whole lot bold.
Pure joy lapped at her senses—she’d missed him so much.
All that deliberately unkempt dirty blond hair was now long enough to curl over the collar of his crisp white shirt and that face... Oh, my life, he was so amazingly beautiful.
No depraved gleam in those cerulean blues tonight. Fantastical as the idea was, she fancied those eyes were darkly intense, savagely focused on her—a hunter stalking the ultimate prey. After weeks of living a dull, aching existence her body came alive, as if it recognised its mate, and her heart fluttered, trying to break free from the confines of her chest—
The Woman Sent to Tame Him Page 17