He took the cue, to her relief. ‘So what turned you off coffee, anyway? Some sort of health kick?’
‘Something like that.’ Clara gave him another weak smile. Why on earth had she chosen that as her example? She couldn’t exactly explain about the morning sickness, or the fact that caffeine was bad for the baby, could she? ‘I guess I’m just out of the habit now.’
‘Funny. You used to swear it was the only thing that could get you going in the mornings.’ At his words, another memory hit her: Jacob bringing her coffee in bed before he left for work in the morning and her distracting him, persuading him to stay just a few more minutes... She bit her lip, trying not to remember so vividly the slide of her hands under his shirt, or the way he’d fallen into her kisses and back into her bed.
She couldn’t afford to let herself remember. Couldn’t risk anything that could lead her back there, back to the girl she’d been when she married him. She’d moved on, changed. And Ivy needed her to be more than that girl. She needed her to be the Clara she’d grown up into. Ivy’s mother.
And she couldn’t take the chance of Jacob seeing how much of him she still carried in her heart either. She had to shut this conversation down. Fast.
‘Now I get up excited to live my life,’ she said bluntly and lifted her mug to her lips to finish her tea. It was time to get back to work. ‘Things are different.’
‘Yeah,’ Jacob said, his expression serious, his eyes sad. ‘You’re happy.’
Clara’s heart tightened at the sorrow in his words. But he was right; she was happy in her new life. And she needed to cling on to that.
So she said, ‘Yes, I am,’ knowing full well that she drove the knife deeper with every word.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOW HAD HE not known? How could he have loved a woman, married her even, and not known how she had grown up? That her biggest fear had been being unwanted, unloved?
This was why he couldn’t be trusted with people. He’d had a whole year with Clara and he’d never learned even this most basic truth about her. And he’d hurt her deeply because of it.
The Foster family prided itself on success, on not making the stupid sort of mistakes others made. And in business Jacob was the best at that.
In his personal life... Well, all he could do now was try and avoid making the same mistake twice. He didn’t imagine that would be much of a problem. Since Clara had left, there’d never been another woman he’d felt such an instant connection with. There’d never been anyone he’d been tempted to stray from his limits for. He couldn’t honestly imagine it happening again.
He’d had the kind of love that most people searched a lifetime for and he’d ruined it. The universe wasn’t going to give him that kind of luck twice.
Perhaps it was all for the best. This Christmas project had given him a chance to know his wife in a way he never had when they were married. He knew now for sure that she was happier without him. Yesterday, when they’d talked, for a moment he’d seen a hint of that old connection between them, the same heat and desire he remembered from their first Christmas together. But today Clara was all business, and all about the future. She’d moved on and it was time for him to do the same.
As soon as they made it through Christmas.
Clara drained the last of the tea from her mug and jumped to her feet again.
‘Back to work,’ she said. ‘I’m about to add your family baubles to the tree, if you want to help.’
‘Is that at all like the family jewels?’ Jacob jested, knowing it wasn’t funny but feeling he had to try anyway. Had to do something—anything—to lighten the oppressive mood that had settled over them. ‘Because if so...’
‘Nothing like it,’ Clara assured him. He took some small comfort from the slight blush rising to her cheeks. ‘Come on.’
The tree—Bruce, as Clara had christened it—was magnificent, rising almost the whole way to the ceiling even in the vast castle entrance hall. He smiled, remembering the trees they’d had as children. Heather had always insisted that the tree had to be taller than her, so as she had grown so had the trees.
He suspected his parents had been secretly pleased when she’d finally stopped growing, just shy of six foot.
‘Do we have a ladder?’ Jacob asked, staring up at the topmost branches.
Clara nodded. ‘I think I saw one in one of the cupboards off the kitchen. I’ll fetch it.’
She was gone before he could offer to help.
That was another change, he mused, pulling out the box of baubles he’d retrieved from his parents’ house for the occasion and starting to place them on the tree. Not that Clara had ever been particularly needy or helpless, but he didn’t remember her being so assertive and determined either. Whenever anything had come up throughout the planning process—even choosing Christmas presents—she’d taken charge as if it were inevitable. As if she were so used to having to deal with everything alone—make every decision, undertake every task—that it had become second nature.
The bauble he picked out of the box now caught the lights from the tree, twinkling and sparkling as he turned it on its string. Those baubles had hung on his family’s tree for every Christmas he could remember. As far as he knew, they weren’t particularly expensive or precious. But they signalled Christmas to him.
And this would be his father’s last one. He needed to focus on the real reason they were here—not dwell on his past failures as a husband.
Jacob hung the bauble in his hand on one of the lower branches and stood back to admire his small contribution to the decorations. And then he headed off to help find that elusive ladder.
The least he could do for Clara was decorate the stupid tree. Even he couldn’t screw that up.
* * *
Clara swore at the bucket as her foot got stuck inside it, then at the broom as it fell on her head. She had been so certain there was a ladder in this cupboard somewhere, but so far all she’d found had been murderous cleaning utensils.
With a sigh, she hung the broom back on its hook, disentangled her foot from the bucket, ignoring the slight throb in her ankle, and backed out of the cupboard. Carefully.
Well, there had to be a ladder somewhere. She’d seen one. Unfortunately, since she’d explored every square inch of the enormous castle the day before, exactly where she’d seen it remained a mystery—and a mystery which could take quite a lot of searching to solve.
She could ask Jacob for help, she supposed, but even the idea seemed a little alien. She was just so used to doing things herself these days, not just at work but at home too. At four, Ivy was becoming a little more self-reliant, but she still needed her mummy to take care of the essentials. After four years of tending to another person’s every need—and knowing that you were the only person there to look after them—doing what was needed had become more than second nature. It was just who she was now.
She hadn’t been like that when she was married to Jacob, although that was only something she’d realised later. Shutting the cupboard door, she tried to remember that other person, the one Jacob had married, but it was as if that woman, that other her, was a character in a play she’d acted in once. A person she’d pretended to be.
Clara knew without a doubt that the person she was now—Ivy’s mother—was the one she’d been meant to be all along.
But that didn’t help her with the ladder. With a sigh, Clara set about checking all the other cupboards off the kitchen and then, when that didn’t get her any results, extended her search to the rest of the ground floor.
She was just about to give up, head back to the hall and try upstairs, when Jacob found her.
‘Did you find a ladder?’ Jacob’s words made her jump as they echoed down the dark stone-walled corridor.
‘Not yet,’ she said, her hand resting against her chest as if to
slow her rapidly beating heart.
‘Don’t worry. I found one.’
Of course he had. Because the moment she was congratulating herself on being self-reliant was exactly the time her ex-husband would choose to save the day.
It’s a ladder, Clara, she reminded herself. Not a metaphor.
Unless it’s both.
She followed the sound of his voice back down the corridor, through the dining room and back into the hallway.
‘What do you think?’ Jacob asked, beaming proudly at the half-decorated tree. Apparently he’d found the ladder early enough to have hung the rest of his family’s decorations haphazardly across the huge tree. Clara thought of her carefully designed tree plan and winced. Still, it was his perfect Christmas...
‘It looks lovely,’ she lied. ‘Help me with the lights? Then we can add the rest of the decorations I brought.’
Crossing the hall, she reached into the carefully packed boxes and pulled out the securely wrapped lights; they’d been unpacked for testing back in London, then rewrapped so they’d be easier to set up once she arrived. Merry had also added a bag of spare bulbs and two extra sets of fairy lights, just in case.
And, underneath those, was the apple-green project folder she always brought with her. The one with the Wi-Fi password on the front, apart from anything else. But there was one more note she didn’t remember adding. Clara pulled the file out and read the stocking-shaped note stuck on the front: For when it’s all done!
Frowning, Clara opened the file. On top, before all the contract information and emergency contact details, sat her divorce papers, just waiting for Jacob’s signature. Of course. That would be Merry’s idea of a brilliant Christmas present.
But for Clara it was growing harder and harder not to imagine both futures—the one she could have had with Jacob and the one she was living now—and wonder what the first would have been like if they’d ever really opened up to each other. She accepted now that she’d never let him in, had never wanted to open herself up that way. What if he had been doing the same? She’d always known Jacob had held his own secrets close to his chest. There were some things they just didn’t talk about and she’d accepted that, not wanting to push him and have him push back.
She’d never told him why his behaviour hurt her so much. And she’d never asked him why he didn’t want children. Was it just a knee-jerk reaction, the fear of a young man, which he might grow out of? Or had there been something deeper there? His reaction to her pregnancy scare told her there was. Was it too late to find out what that problem was?
And would it make a difference when she told him about Ivy?
She needed to tell him. And she was starting to think it couldn’t wait until January.
Maybe it was just the Christmas sentimentality getting to her. Didn’t every single person have a wobble around the festive season and start wishing that maybe they had someone to share it with?
Well, everyone except Merry. Her best friend was very firmly anti-relationship. Something that worked very well alongside Clara’s resolve to give Ivy a stable, secure and loving upbringing, even if that meant being a one-parent family rather than introducing her to potential step-parents who might not hang around.
Could Jacob give her that security? Clara still wasn’t sure. But she realised now she wouldn’t ever be sure unless she opened up to him.
‘Everything okay with the lights?’ Jacob asked from just over her shoulder.
Clara slammed the folder closed and shoved it back into the box, hiding it under some emergency ribbon for the tree.
‘Fine.’ She grabbed the fairy lights and turned, stumbling back slightly on her heels as she discovered Jacob was even closer than she’d realised.
He reached out to steady her and Clara could feel the warmth of his hands even through her light sweater. She bit the inside of her cheek and stepped away.
She’d let her guard down. Let herself appreciate the way he looked at her—the way he looked in his jeans and jumper. She’d let her imagination enjoy the moment. And she couldn’t afford to do that, not any more.
Especially not when he had that hot look in his eye. The one she remembered all too well from their wedding night.
She had to focus on getting the job done and getting out of there. The connection between them might still be there, but giving in to that attraction was exactly how they’d ended up as man and wife without knowing the most basic things about each other. She couldn’t let that happen this time. She needed to tell Jacob about Ivy before she could even think about what it might mean for their relationship.
Swallowing, Clara found her voice again. ‘Let’s string some lights.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACOB FLICKED THE SWITCH on the lights again, smiling when every single bulb lit up. Clara’s excessive testing at least meant he didn’t need to hunt for the missing ones and replace them, like he always found himself doing at home.
Maybe it truly was a perfect Christmas.
The thought soured even before he appreciated it as he remembered the folder in the decorations box. She’d been fast to close it, but not so quick that he hadn’t seen enough to know what it contained.
Divorce papers. The very ones he’d been avoiding signing for five years.
Who brought divorce papers to a Christmas celebration?
But this wasn’t Clara’s celebration, no matter how much he’d tried to convince her to join it. For her, this was still work. And his signature on those papers was part of her payment.
She’d earned it. More than earned it. She deserved to be free of him.
Except... The hardest thing was knowing how good things could be between them. Yes, their marriage had lasted less than a year, and yes, he’d screwed up. And Clara was right—they’d spent more time in bed than they had talking. They hadn’t known each other the way they’d needed to.
But that time in bed... He’d been working so hard to forget it, until the moment she’d stumbled against him and it all came flooding back. The feel of her body pressed against his, however fleeting, had been so familiar, so right, his own had immediately reacted the way it always did when Clara was near.
And now all he could think about was that four-poster bed, going to waste upstairs.
But no. He needed to keep his distance. Set her free. Sign her blasted papers.
It was just that it had been five years. Five long years he’d hung in there, not quite letting her go. Now he just couldn’t imagine saying goodbye without kissing her one more time. Without showing her that however much she’d thought he hadn’t wanted her when they were married, he had, and he still did. For all the distance he’d put between them, trying to keep her safe from him, he wanted to stride across it now and hold her, kiss her, touch her.
Love her, one last time.
‘Just a few more decorations and I think we’re done here,’ Clara said, unnecessarily cheerily, in his opinion. ‘I’ll be able to leave you to enjoy Christmas with your family.’
Jacob checked his watch. His parents and Heather were due at four, only another hour away. Clara was cutting it fine and, from the way she scurried around the tree adding decorations, she knew it. She’d already packed up everything else. Clearly, she planned on making her escape the first chance she got.
Only he wasn’t sure he could let her go. Not forever. Not like this.
‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’ he asked. ‘Not even for a sherry and a mince pie?’ That was the polite, proper thing to do on Christmas Eve, wasn’t it? And Clara wouldn’t want to be impolite... ‘I know my family would like to see you again, however briefly. To thank you for everything you’ve done setting up this weekend, if nothing else.’
Clara paused, halfway through hanging a silver bell on the tree. ‘You told them you were working with me on this project?�
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‘Of course I did.’ Maybe not entirely intentionally, but he’d told them. Jacob wasn’t one of those people who told his parents everything that was going on in his life and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t want to know. But when it mattered, he kept them informed. Mostly.
‘And they weren’t...weird about it?’
‘Why would they be?’
Clara raised her eyebrows at him and Jacob interpreted the look as meaning: Ex-wife. Remember?
‘They were fine,’ he said, skipping over his mother’s concern. Mothers worried.
‘Really?’ Clara asked, disbelief clear in her voice.
Jacob sighed. He’d never been able to get away with lying to her when they’d been married either. He’d thought that made them a great match, at the time. But clearly Clara had been much better at hiding the truth. Otherwise he’d have realised how unhappy she was long before she’d left.
He’d honestly thought she was coming back. That it had been just another of their spats—a minor retaliation for the fact he’d had to work on Christmas Day. He hadn’t believed she’d really meant it.
Not until she still hadn’t come back a month later.
No wonder his mother worried. He’d been the poster child for denial at the time.
‘They just want me to be happy. And I want them to be happy. And you staying for sherry and a mince pie would make us all very happy.’
With a small, tight smile on her lips, Clara shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry.’ Reaching down, she picked up her bag.
She was actually leaving him. Again. And this time he was under no illusions that she would come back.
He had to let her go. But not like this. Not when he was so close to understanding everything that had gone wrong between them. To knowing her the way he never had before. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, but maybe it would. And he just knew, deep down, that there was more here. Something she wasn’t saying.
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