by Nicola Marsh
‘Come home,’ she said, her expression dour as she stared at me with distaste. Heaven forbid a Prendigast showed real emotion. ‘It’s not too late. You can salvage your marriage to that poor boy Bardley, resume the life you should have, repair our name—’
‘You don’t get it,’ I said, mentally counting to ten to quell the rising anger making my hands shake. ‘I’m happy. I’m leading the life I want, not the life you want me to.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped, bitterness twisting her mouth. ‘You’re behaving like a child. You’ve had your fun for a year, time to grow up.’
I stared at the woman who’d given birth to me, with her powder-blue designer suit, perfectly streaked blond hair, immaculate make-up and a handbag that would pay my rent for two years.
My mother.
Who wouldn’t know the meaning of the word if it jumped up and bit her on her surgically tightened ass.
A few moments ago, I’d been filled with hope that she’d sought me out to offer a smidgeon of understanding, that she’d finally understood my rationale for walking away from my old life and wanted to embrace me with acceptance.
What a crock.
Bone-deep disappointment shook me to my core. I loved my parents; all I expected was to be loved in return. But this wasn’t love. And if I was completely honest with myself, had they ever loved me at all?
Love wasn’t controlling and dominant and angry. Love didn’t expect me to acquiesce and bow down to the heavy weight of expectations. Love didn’t leave me alone for twelve long months, without making the slightest overture to heal a rift.
The ache in my stomach spread into my chest, reaching outward until I could hardly breathe. I needed to escape, to get away from her obvious disapproval.
There was no love here, only judgement, and I couldn’t tolerate it a moment longer.
‘Bye, Mum. Don’t contact me again.’
How I managed to get the words out without breaking down I’d never know, but I did, sounding surprisingly calm when I was a screaming mess inside. A seething mass of emotion that threatened to spurt out of my eyes in a torrent.
My mother drew herself up, squaring her shoulders for a fight that would never come. Because I was done. ‘Abigail! Don’t you dare walk away from me.’
So I did just that, without looking back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tanner
‘WHAT THE HELL did you tell those doctors to bully them into discharging me early?’ Remy propped on his elbow crutches, grinning at me with newfound respect the following Tuesday. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t give a flying fig what you said. I’m just rapt to be going home.’
‘And back to work as long as you keep off that ankle and just supervise,’ I added, playing the solicitous brother to the end and feeling like a fraud because of it.
Getting Remy discharged from hospital hadn’t been an altruistic act on my part. I needed him back at Le Miel.
So I could leave.
Continuing to work alongside Abby after this morning was untenable.
For the first time ever, when I’d woken next to a woman after another incredible night of sex, I hadn’t wanted to leave.
I’d wanted to stay. In her bed. In her apartment. In her life.
Ensuring I had to leave pronto.
I wasn’t a forever kind of guy. I’d end up driving away anyone who got too close. I’d had that drummed into me from a young age, the reason why I’d made such a big effort with Remy to prove Dad’s prediction wrong. At least he’d died knowing I was loyal to my brother. I hoped he choked on the knowledge when he looked up at me from hell every single day.
‘I can’t thank you enough for holding down the fort while I’ve been in hospital.’ Remy cleared his throat as I picked up his bag. ‘You’ve been amazing.’
‘Save the mushy crap for someone who cares,’ I said, sounding just as gruff as we exited his room and made our way slowly up the corridor towards the exit. ‘Do you want me to drop you home or at Le Miel?’
‘The patisserie, of course.’ He waved one crutch around. ‘The ankle feels fine in the boot and these things are okay for my ribs, so all good.’
I’m glad it was all good for one of us. Me? Not so much. I had to extricate myself from the thing with Abby and every time I thought about ending it I felt sick in my guts.
I wanted her in my life.
I’d end up pushing her out of my life.
Which meant the kind thing, the honest thing, would be to finish it now before either of us got invested.
Too late for me. I was already in way too deep and flailing like a drowning guy. Desperate to grab onto the nearest buoy, which happened to be my brother returning to work.
‘You wait here and I’ll go get the car—’
‘What’s wrong?’ Remy stopped me by stabbing my foot with a crutch. ‘Did something bad happen between you and Abby?’
‘We’re fine,’ I said, summoning a latent acting skill I’d honed to great effect as a kid, knowing it would fool Remy. He’d never seen through my fake bravado, from the first time I tried to hide my tears at age eight when Dad yelled at me for looking like ‘that useless French slut who trapped me into marrying her’ to the many times since Mum died and his systemic verbal abuse made me feel worthless and useless like nothing else could.
At the time, I’d resented Remy for not being around, for not seeing enough, for not doing anything. I’d hated him deep down for being caught up in his apprenticeship and his schooling and his dreams of running a patisserie one day.
But as Dad’s emotional torture had escalated, I’d been glad Remy hadn’t been around to notice. Dad had ruined my life; I didn’t want him tainting Remy’s as well. Remy was a good guy. He looked after me when he could. I was lucky to have him as a brother.
After Dad died, Remy had broached the topic of my obvious animosity towards our father once. I’d ended up throwing Dad’s prized beer stein against the wall, smashing it to smithereens and laughing hysterically. Remy had put my tantrum down to grief and the teenage hormones of a fifteen-year-old running wild but, thankfully, he’d never brought up the subject since.
So I summoned those infamous acting skills now to force a nonchalant grin. ‘It’s been great working alongside her.’
Remy’s eyes narrowed, pinning me with a glare that said he didn’t believe my bullshit, not this time. ‘I’m not talking about work and you know it.’
‘We’ve had fun.’ I shrugged, feigning indifference I didn’t feel, wishing that damn ache in my chest would quit sooner rather than later. ‘We’re good.’
‘Had, as in past tense?’ Judgement laced his tone. ‘So you’re over?’
Feeling like a prick for lying to my brother yet again, I nodded. ‘You know me. I’m not built to last.’
‘You’re full of crap.’ Remy snorted, shook his head. ‘She’s a great girl. You’re staying in town. Why not see where this can go?’
I knew exactly where this would go. Down the toilet.
‘I’ll get the car,’ I said, stalking away.
My usual MO and I’d stick to it.
I just hoped Abby would understand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Abby
ENJOYING A RARE lull after the morning rush, I sipped on a soy latte in the kitchen, mentally sorting the baking tasks for this afternoon.
However, every time I got to item three on my to-do list, thoughts of Tanner would intrude, ensuring all my concentration focussed on him and him alone.
It was no use denying it any longer. I’d fallen for him.
And I’d almost made the fatal mistake of telling him this morning.
It had been so comfortable, so easy, waking up next to him, making idle chatter about our day ahead. There’d been a moment, a drawn-out fraught moment, where I’d thought he
was on the same page as me. He’d stared into my eyes, taken my hand and opened his mouth to say something.
I’d held my breath, waiting for him to say he didn’t want this to end. That he wanted to explore a relationship. That he wanted me for more than a few weeks.
Instead, he’d raised my hand to his lips, brushed a kiss across the back of it, before rolling on top of me and consuming me whole.
He did it very well, distracting me with his body, bringing me to life in a way I’d never dreamed possible. So I’d given over to the pleasure, biding my time.
I’d tell him. Soon. And hope to God he wouldn’t run.
He’d left my apartment early, citing an appointment, but something had been off. Almost like he’d closed down after our monumental wake-up sex.
Maybe he’d sensed my impending revelation? Maybe he’d been tired from the few hours’ sleep we’d got yet again? Whatever the reason, he’d be back to help out any second and I’d keep things strictly professional in the kitchen before asking him to a cosy dinner tonight.
Where I’d lay it all on the line.
The back door creaked open and I straightened, my hand drifting unconsciously to my hair and tucking stray strands into the net holding it off my face.
Tanner strode through the door, his expression unreadable as he held it wide open and waited.
‘Hey, what’s... Remy?’ I squealed as my boss hobbled into the kitchen, a grin as wide as the Harbour Bridge splitting his face. ‘What are you doing here?’
I flew across the kitchen to give him a tender hug, surprised but thrilled to see him.
‘Doc discharged me early because I’m healing well. So I’m back on deck.’ He mock frowned and glared around the kitchen. ‘Lucky for you, everything seems to be in order.’
I whacked him on the arm. ‘Tanner and I have not only held down the fort, we’ve filled major orders and turned a handy profit.’
‘Remind me to give you a raise.’ Remy’s eyes twinkled with warmth. ‘Seriously, kid, you’ve done an amazing job and I can’t be more grateful.’ He half turned to Tanner, who hadn’t moved from the door. ‘To both of you.’
‘He’s back to the mushy stuff,’ Tanner said, rolling his eyes, and I chuckled. ‘Let’s get him set up on a stool or chair or something, so he can start issuing orders and be a general bossy pain in the ass.’
The bell from the front of the patisserie tinkled, indicating a customer. ‘I’ll have to get that. Makayla popped out and Shaun called in sick today.’
Remy waved me away. ‘Go. Tanner will get me set up.’
‘Great to have you back.’ I gave him another impulsive hug before bounding down the corridor towards the front of the patisserie.
And pulled up short when I saw who the customer was.
‘What are you doing here?’ I half closed the door between the front and the kitchen, not wanting Remy or Tanner to hear me send my mother on her way. ‘You need to leave. Now.’
To my mother’s credit, she didn’t flinch from my icy order. ‘I’ve come to apologise.’
‘For what? Twenty-two years of not believing in me? For wanting me to be your clone? For shoving your expectations on me, then treating me like crap with the silent treatment if I didn’t give in immediately? For not supporting me through a loveless marriage? For having the gall to ask me to come back and live in that charade, all for the sake of your precious ego?’
Sadness downturned her crimson-lipsticked mouth and she shook her head. ‘I deserve that.’
‘And a whole lot more. But this isn’t the time or place. I’m working.’
‘I know.’ She glanced around, approval in her brusque nod. ‘I used to love walking past this place, but I never dared enter for fear of putting on two pounds just by looking.’
Mum had been past here but never come in? Maybe she did possess a soul after all and had wanted to keep an eye on me? Then again, if she really cared, she would’ve wanted to talk, to hug, to forgive. Instead, she’d waited twelve long months before confronting me at uni, demanding I kowtow yet again.
I hated the flare of hope deep inside when I’d first spied her here today. Because after all I’d been through with my parents, I should know better. She hadn’t succeeded in convincing me to bow to the Prendigast way first time around; today would be round two.
She walked to the front display cabinet and trailed her fingers over the glass. ‘Everything looks so delectable. Those tiny macarons. The croissants. The tarts. I’m drooling.’
‘I made all that,’ I said, squaring my shoulders, expecting a put-down or a backhanded compliment at best. ‘It’s what I love doing.’
‘You’re lucky, following your dream.’ She cleared her throat and turned back to face me. ‘That’s why I’m here, actually. To help you.’
‘I don’t need your help.’
I didn’t need anything from her, not after the way she’d abandoned me when I needed her most, then chastised me for it last week, imploring me to come back and ‘all would be forgiven’.
As if.
Mum sighed and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the hem of her jacket. ‘I know there’s nothing I can say to make up for staying away this past year. Or the way I treated you when I ambushed you outside TAFE.’ She waved her hand towards the display cabinets. ‘But I’m hoping that my actions will speak louder than any trite apology I could come up with.’
Curiosity tempered my resentment. ‘You’re talking in riddles.’
‘I came here to extend an olive branch.’ Mum took a deep breath and blew it out. ‘If being a pastry chef is your dream, I want to help you achieve it. So I’m willing to fund your very own patisserie. Wherever you want. I’ll pay the lease for as long as you want. Or I’ll buy the building.’
While I struggled to comprehend the words pouring out of my mother’s mouth, she continued. ‘No strings attached. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I’d like to be a part of your life again. To make up for lost time...’ She trailed off, her voice soft. ‘I think I was jealous of you, for having the guts to do something on your own, for not always conforming, like I do.’
She shook her head, her blond bob swinging lightly across her shoulders in blow-dried perfection. ‘I’ve been telling myself for years that I’m happy with your father calling the shots, that I lead a full, happy life. But in the end, what do I really have to show for it all, apart from a designer wardrobe, a sports car and killer hair?’
I couldn’t help but smile. Mum had always been vain about her sleek blond bob.
‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Abigail. For everything.’ She took a tentative step towards me, unsure of my reaction.
I hesitated, wanting to broach the gap between us, wanting the past to fade away, wanting so much but afraid to be let down yet again.
‘Abigail, please...’
I couldn’t ignore the wavering plea in her voice or the generous offer. So I walked towards her and into her embrace.
Tears burned my eyes and I let them fall, inhaling my mum’s familiar rose fragrance, savouring the comfort of her hug. I’d needed this, needed her. Guess it was better late than never.
When we eased apart, her eyes were bloodshot and she blinked rapidly, as if to stave off further tears.
‘So what do you say? Fancy being your own boss?’
Her offer had blown me away but I needed to couch my rejection in terms she’d understand.
‘I appreciate the offer, Mum, I really do. But I want to keep learning from Remy and complete my apprenticeship here.’
When her mouth drooped in disappointment, I added, ‘But after that, who knows? I’d love to run my own patisserie.’
‘That’s great.’ She held my hands and squeezed. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say it, but I’m so proud of you.’
‘Thanks, Mum, it means a lot, coming from yo
u.’
She held me at arm’s length, her smile genuine. ‘Your father’s a stubborn old goat, but I’m hoping he’ll come around too.’
‘Don’t hold your breath.’
My dry response earned a chuckle. ‘If he doesn’t, I don’t want that to affect our relationship.’
‘Seriously?’ My incredulity was audible. ‘Did you ever wonder why I was such a mouthless, subservient yes-girl?’
Mum blushed, sadness clouding her eyes, but if we were to have any chance at a real relationship moving forward, I had to be completely honest.
‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I copied you. Dad ruled the roost. Whatever he says goes. And if you didn’t agree, he’d treat you with frosty silence. Me too.’ I shook my head, let down by the person I’d been, but pleased to have come so far. ‘So I started modelling you and it soon became easier to acquiesce with everything than cause problems.’
Tears shimmered in her eyes. ‘Your childhood wasn’t that bad, was it? We loved you. We gave you everything—’
‘Life isn’t about having everything. It’s about being true to yourself.’ I gestured around the patisserie. ‘I feel more alive here than I ever did.’
I saw Mum’s crestfallen expression but it didn’t stop me. She had to know how bad things had been so we could move forward.
‘I’m not blaming you entirely, Mum, but growing up in a household where it was easier agreeing to everything ensured I didn’t say no when I should’ve, like agreeing to marry Bardley.’
Obstinacy twisted her mouth. ‘But you grew up together. He’s a nice boy and you had so much in common—’
‘I never loved him and he turned out to be a controlling, verbally abusive prick.’
She didn’t flinch at my swearing. Instead, she appeared to wilt before my eyes, her usual proud posture defeated.
‘I don’t know what to say...’
‘I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel bad.’ I patted her arm. ‘I just wanted you to know why I’ve fought so hard to become independent and to follow my own dreams, not live yours.’