The Runaway Ex

by Shani Struthers

  “And wasn’t it you who said that sometimes things aren’t that black and white?”

  Damn! He had called her bluff. Nonetheless, she demanded to know if he was deliberately trying to be facetious.

  “No!” Briefly he looked offended. “Look, it’s not a secret; that’s the wrong way to describe it. It’s a…a situation.”

  “A situation you can tell me about?”

  “No…”

  “So, it’s a secret, whichever way you dress it up.”

  Joseph sighed, a long and protracted sound, his frustration as evident as hers. “Layla, I am talking to you. I’m trying to tell you as much as I can. This secret, it’s not something silly; it’s as serious as it gets. I have to honor Tara’s wishes.”

  “Honor her wishes, not mine?” Layla challenged.

  Joseph remained unmoved. “It’s her parents who need to know next—who have the right to know—who can help her.”

  “Next after you, you mean?”

  “Yes, after me. But I’ll tell you one thing. I wish I didn’t know. I wish I’d never left the flat this morning. I wish I’d stayed at home, with you.”

  If there was one thing she believed, it was that. He looked wounded by whatever news Tara had imparted.

  In a bid to fight her way out of confusion, Layla concentrated on practicalities instead. “Her parents? Do they live in Florence? Is that why she’s here?”

  “No, they live in Port Levine, where she’s from.”

  “Port Levine? Where’s that?”

  “It’s in Cornwall, not far from Trecastle, about a twenty-minute drive.”

  That’s right; she had heard of it before. It was the same village that Jim was from. She had never visited it when she lived in Trecastle, had had no reason to.

  “Joseph, tell me the truth this time. What’s she doing in Florence?”

  “Hedging is what she’s doing, trying to put off going home.”

  “Going home to Cornwall, you mean? Australia’s over and done with?”

  “Yes, she’s en route to Cornwall.”

  A light pinged on inside Layla’s head. She started backing away from him as though he were suddenly contagious.

  “She’s going back the same time that we are, isn’t she?”

  “She wasn’t going back at all,” Joseph re-emphasized. “She wanted to disappear, take her secret and run. But she can’t. She has to go back.” His expression grew more nervous as he added, “I said she could travel with us.”

  Layla tried to reply but couldn’t. He had quite literally rendered her mute.

  Seizing the opportunity to further his cause, Joseph continued, “All I want to do is make sure she reaches home. After that, it’s up to her parents. But if I can get her home, I’d feel as though I’d done my bit, and if you knew why, you’d understand.”

  Her voice returned with a vengeance. “If I knew why, I probably would, but I’m not allowed to, remember?”

  She shoved her way past him, going over to the window by their bed. Opening it, she leaned out; she needed some air, some fresh, clean air or as clean as it could get in a busy, polluted city. Nonetheless, it was preferable to the air inside the flat, which seemed stale all of a sudden. It was choking her. After a moment, she swung back around. Joseph was standing in the same spot, staring almost beseechingly at her.

  “There are probably no more seats left on the plane.”

  “There are. I’ve checked.”

  “You’ve checked?” She was incredulous. “Already?”

  “We checked, earlier on Tara’s iPhone. Layla, don’t look like that. We weren’t going to book anything, not without running it by you first.”

  We? As though they were a unit—Joseph and Tara, her place by his side usurped.

  “Joseph, I…I can’t do this.”

  Her words, the look on her face, perhaps, spurred him into action. He came rushing over. Trapped between the bed and the window, she had nowhere to go. His hands shot out, grabbed her by the shoulders, and held her in a grip she knew she wouldn’t be able to throw off, not this time.

  “Look at me.” Green eyes locked on to blue. “I know this is a shock. It is to me as well as you. But this secret…this situation, whatever you want to call it, I will be able to tell you and soon. It’s not the kind of secret you can keep. Everyone will know soon enough. And before you ask, no, it has nothing to do with me, nothing at all. But Tara’s a friend, Layla, and she needs help. I have to help her.”

  “It does have something to do with you, and it has something to do with me too.”

  “What do you mean?” His brow furrowed as he asked.

  “Because it’s affected us. It’s caused me to doubt.”

  “You have no reason to doubt me, I swear.”

  Didn’t she? She’d thought she had no reason to doubt Alex, but look at what had happened there. Did anyone really ever know anyone? Truly know them? What lay in their heart of hearts? Although she’d met Joseph two years ago, they’d only been together for just over a year. Was that time enough to know someone or no time at all?

  “So, you haven’t been in touch with Tara before now? You had no idea she was going to be in Florence? You’re not having an affair?”

  “An affair? Are you joking? Layla, when would I have time to have an affair? You keep me busy enough. Who do you think I am? Superman?”

  She had to concede, he had a point.

  “She’s a friend, nothing more,” he reiterated.

  “But she used to be so much more.”

  “A long time ago, years ago, but a friend is all she is now.”

  “I know she left you, Joe. I know how much she hurt you.” Not because he had said so. He hadn’t. She knew because Hannah had told her—Hannah, another one of his exes. The world seemed littered with them suddenly. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

  “No.”

  It was only one word, but perhaps all the more effective because of it. In desperation, she searched his eyes, supposedly the gateway to the soul, scanning them for some evidence of guile of deceit. But there was none. Was she surprised or not? She couldn’t tell. As if in a haze, she realized he was speaking again.

  “Layla, what Tara and I had, it can’t hold a candle to what we’ve got. You’re the one I love, the only one.”

  “You promise?” She was tired suddenly of arguing. He was going to help Tara with or without her consent. That was one thing she knew with absolute clarity.

  “I promise.”

  “And you’ll tell me soon? It will come between us if you don’t.”

  “I’ll tell you everything, and you’ll understand.”

  She had to say it; she had to be honest. “It feels like you don’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you. Do you trust me?”

  When she faltered, he had to prompt her.

  “Yes,” she finally answered.

  As he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, she braced herself for the question she knew he was going to ask.

  “I just want her to know she’s not alone.”

  “I know.”

  “So, is it okay? Can she come back with us?”

  For the first time, Layla had an inkling of the impossible situation he was in, that they were in. The ex had shown up in need of help. Joseph was a nice guy. That’s what she loved about him, his kindness, his compassion—qualities Alex had lacked. Joseph would do anything for anyone, even Tara. She should trust him. She should.

  “Yes.” She wished she could feel more certain about her answer. But even if she wasn’t, she had convinced him. He looked visibly relieved, color returning to his cheeks. “As long as it’s not Australia’s Most Wanted we’re accompanying back.”

  “That’s not it, I promise.”

  Although she had meant that as a joke, neither of them laughed.

  “When we’re home, in Cornwall, what then?”

  “When we’re home, she’ll be taken care of.”

  “By her parents?”
/>
  “That’s the plan.”

  As though sensing that something had shifted in her, Joseph grew bolder. He pulled her to him, and she allowed it, needing to feel him close, solid proof that he was still hers. She tilted her face upward, and immediately his lips sought hers. She hesitated at first but then kissed him back, purposefully. When Alex had cheated on her, she had run, swapped Brighton for Trecastle. She hadn’t stayed and fought. As it turned out, it had been the right thing to do; he hadn’t been worth fighting for. But Joseph was. Maybe Tara didn’t want him, but if she did, let the battle begin.

  “Layla,” she heard him murmur, felt him growing hard. In contrast, she softened. “Layla,” he said again, and this time she realized he was trying to get her attention.

  “What?” she said, drawing back, slightly resentful she’d been made to.

  “I thought it would be nice for you to meet Tara before we fly back. You know, get to know her a little.”

  “Sorry?” She was sure she hadn’t heard right. “You want Tara and me to meet beforehand?”

  “I think you’ll like her.”

  Pulling away farther, she asked, “What did you have in mind exactly?”

  “Dinner, round here, tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled then, that smoldering, intense smile she loved so much. The one he kept just for her. At least, she hoped so. “I did sort of mention it to her.”

  Clearly the word “mention” was Joseph-speak for invited already. Well, let her come along. Their first meeting would be on home turf. It would give Layla the upper hand at least. Looking into his eyes, she still saw no guile there, but in Tara’s she might see something different. A pre-flight meeting could prove very useful indeed.

  “Okay. I’m fine with that. But I’ll tell you something.”

  “What’s that?” he said, his smile widening.

  “You can bloody cook!”

  Chapter Five

  JOSEPH HAD OFFERED TO MEET Tara outside the Duomo, a Florence landmark, and walk with her back to the flat he shared with his girlfriend, but she had refused. He was doing quite enough for her already; she didn’t want to push it. Still, looking at the piece of paper on which she had written his address and directions, she had to admit she was lost. Taking shelter in a doorway, she wondered if she should just forget this whole crazy idea. Surely his girlfriend, Layla, would not be as amenable as he had said she would be about Tara accompanying them back to Cornwall. If she was, she was extraordinary. Tara wasn’t sure she’d be as accommodating in similar circumstances. But Joseph had insisted—in fact, he’d used that very word to describe Layla: extraordinary.

  She thought back to their meeting the day before. What were the chances of it—in Florence of all places? The odds must have been a million to one, at least. Without words, he had taken her by the waist and steered her away from the thankfully departing crowds, stopping finally at a café so they could sit and talk. And they had talked. Or rather she had talked. A huge outpouring of words, words she had been tempted to tell Lucas earlier but had refrained. With Joseph, there was no holding back. Afterward, she didn’t know if she had done the right thing. The look on his face, she’d never forget it.

  “I’m so sorry,” she had said. “I should never…” but he had stopped her.

  “Tara,” he’d said, reaching across the table to hold her hand, “I’m here, and I will help.”

  When he had told her about Layla, the woman he lived with, she knew she had to relieve him of his promise.

  “It’s not fair, on you or her.”

  “If I could tell her…” he had started.

  “No!” She hadn’t meant to shout, but she didn’t want anyone else knowing, not yet. “My parents,” she had said by way of explanation.

  She had tried to leave then. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble, to be a burden, but there was no way he would let her go.

  “You can tell her,” she had said at last, “just not yet. Please.”

  If he was worried, he didn’t let it show, and that had reassured her. That’s when he had said Layla would understand, when he had called her “extraordinary.” And maybe he was right. She should trust him. She always had in the past. Implicitly.

  A young woman passed by, dark haired, shades still in place despite the late hour. Stepping forward, Tara seized her chance.

  “Excusi,” she said. “Parlez-vous Anglais?”

  She was well aware she had asked her question in French, but Italian flummoxed her. French did too, but at least she remembered a smattering of it from her school days.

  “Yes,” the woman replied, her accent heavy. “I speak English. Can I help?”

  Tara thrust the piece of paper at her. “Do you know where this is?”

  “This?” the woman said, staring at the paper. She then looked at Tara in abject disbelief. “This is here. You are standing outside it.”

  Tara swung round and stared at the bells, stacked neatly above each other and, sure enough, over the top of one, in big, bold letters were the words Scott-Lewis—Lewis must be Layla’s surname.

  “Grazie,” she said, turning back, but the woman was already hurrying away, muttering under her breath, no doubt something about the idiot English.

  Taking a deep breath, Tara clutched the bottle of wine she had brought with her to her chest, the tissue paper it was wrapped in rustling. She had stumbled upon their address inadvertently. It must be a sign. A sign that she was meant to do this, to let Joseph help her, to lean on him, even if she felt she didn’t deserve to lean on him, not really, not after the way she had left him when she knew he still wanted her—when nothing had filled her mind but what waited for her.

  Water under the bridge. That’s what he’d said when she had brought up the past. And he looked as if he meant it. Although her news had winded him, fundamentally he was happy. She could see that. Layla Lewis was obviously good for him. And living in Florence, they had embarked on their adventure together at least. Long may their adventures continue, she thought, biting down on her lip.

  It’s now or never. Taking a deep breath, she forced her hand upward and pressed the small, round button with her index finger. Seconds passed—seconds that seemed eternal. Perhaps Joseph had changed his mind, seen sense, didn’t want to get involved after all. And if that was the case, she wouldn’t blame him. Not at all. She’d do what she had tried to do earlier; she would walk away. Unburden him.

  But, oh, when she had first seen him, looked again into those impossibly blue eyes—if she were honest, she was still reeling from it…He was standing there right when she needed him, someone she had loved and who had loved her, who would not hesitate to take her in his arms and hold her. Ease the pain inside. Maybe heaven was still on her side after all, to throw a lifeline to her like that. He had been so gentle, so understanding, and, ultimately, so supportive. Part of her couldn’t help but berate herself that she had ever let a man like him go. Despite Aiden.

  “Tara, is that you?”

  Joseph’s voice over the intercom broke her reverie.

  “Er…hi…yes, it’s me.”

  Her voice sounded so small, like a mouse when once it had been a lion’s roar.

  “Hold on. I’m coming down.”

  Just a few seconds later, he was there, in front of her again, pulling her to him, enfolding her in his arms. He looked gorgeous, even better than he had yesterday, in a dark blue linen shirt this time and black jeans, casual but stylish too. Joseph always did have style. She had been proud to have him by her side.

  “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Thanks.” Whether he heard her reply or not, she didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure she had said the word out loud.

  Releasing her, he grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “Come on up. Layla’s dying to meet you.”

  Tara wasn’t sure about that, but she followed him anyway, hoping—no, praying—it was the case. At the top of three flights of stair
s, he opened the door and stood aside. She would much rather he went ahead. Then she could walk in behind him, hide in his shadow. But, no, he was as gentlemanly as ever. She was to go first.

  Stepping over the threshold, she entered the compact but cozy room. Cooking aromas immediately filled her lungs—tomatoes and herbs predominantly. Joseph loved cooking. She did too. They’d had some great times in the kitchen together, not all of them cooking related, she couldn’t help but recall.

  “Tara, this is Layla. Layla, meet Tara.”

  A woman stepped forward, about her own age, quite a bit taller than her and very pretty despite the heavy makeup—battle armor, perhaps? Brown hair, naturally highlighted, fell softly about her face. Eyeliner and mascara gave an almost feline quality to her green eyes. Her lips were red, full, and smiling, but not naturally so; it was more forced than that. Happy to meet her? She didn’t think so.

  “Hello, Tara. I’m glad you could make it.”

  Her words were as disingenuous as her smile. Tara suddenly felt hot all over. On her forehead, she was sure big beads of sweat had broken out. One hand flailed behind her for a chair to hold on to but found nothing. She was going to hit the ground, she thought, face first. She shouldn’t have come. What a ridiculous idea. And then Joseph had hold of her arm. Her knight in shining armor—again.

  “Take a seat. I’ll get some wine.”

  “Oh, er, here, I brought a bottle,” Tara managed, thrusting it at him.

  Joseph took it from her while Layla continued to scrutinize her opponent. What did she see, Tara wondered? What kind of first impression was she making? They were very different in looks. Tara had short, bleached-blond hair, a style that suited her elfin-like face. Over the years she had cultivated an edgy look—a stud in her nose, lots of rings on her fingers, even a lip ring at one time, but she’d since had that removed. Mainly she wore skinny jeans, tank tops, and flip-flops. She’d done so in Cornwall as well as Australia; although in Oz, tiny skirts had replaced the jeans. Tonight she had scoured her rucksack for something a little more formal, deciding on a black knee-length pencil skirt, black-and-white-striped top, and ballet pumps.