My New Year Fling: A Sexy Christmas Billionaire Romance (Love Comes Later Book 2)

by Serenity Woods

  She sits back in the chair and looks out to sea, although something tells me she’s not looking at the view. “You know most of it by now, I think.”

  “So you had the twins by C-section.”

  “Yes.”

  “And your parents forced you to have them adopted?”

  “Not so much forced, I suppose—they didn’t drag them away from me. They told me right at the start that I couldn’t keep them, and at the time I was so shocked at getting pregnant that I didn’t fight them. I was scared, so I did what they told me. I didn’t even get to hold the babies.” Her eyes burn with unshed tears. “They all said separation was easier if the mother didn’t have that connection, so as soon as the babies were born, they took them away. I was sick—I’d had a major operation and there were some bleeding complications, so I was quite out of it. I’d accepted—sort of—that the twins were going to be adopted, but I didn’t expect to not even see them. By the time I was compos mentis, they were gone.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It destroyed me, Rich. Later, I realized that I had post-natal depression, but at the time I just felt consumed by guilt and resentment. My parents weren’t sympathetic at all. I hated them for what they’d made me do. I was miserable and angry, and they had no time for me. They were ashamed of me—I was an embarrassment to them. I suppose it could have gone one of two ways—I could have rolled over and put the babies out of my mind, and gone on to live my life under my parents’ thumb. Or I could have rebelled. I chose the latter. Less than a year after the babies were born, I ran away from home, and I never went back.”

  I think about the years that would have followed her self-exile. She’d told me that she’d gone to Auckland, turned to drink and drugs. It makes more sense now. She would have tried to stop the pain any way she could.

  “I presume that your friend Maria knows what happened?”

  “Yes. When I came out of prison and they gave me a job, I told her everything. She was fantastic. She recognized that I was suffering from depression, and she got me the proper medication. She took me to a counsellor, who helped me to understand my emotions and to deal with my anger and resentment. And she gave me faith that things were going to get better. She made life worth living. I owe her everything.” She gives a watery smile.

  “You didn’t try to track the babies down?”

  Jess shakes her head. “For years, I tried to pretend they didn’t exist, but the counsellor helped me to come to terms with what had happened, and between her and Maria, I learned to think of the fact that I’d brought two other lives into this world as a positive thing. I’ve included them in my prayers at night for the last ten years, and I’ve tried to wish them well with their new family.” She looks at her hands.

  “Was it hard to see Lara with her parents?” I ask gently.

  “I’m only human. I felt a wave of jealousy that they’ve had all this time with her and… Max… But equally I’m pleased too that they seem to be nice people. They’ve obviously looked after them, and when Lara said she wanted to find me, they agreed to help her, which I think is wonderful.”

  Her face suggests she’s not telling the truth. She’s finding this really hard, and I can’t blame her.

  “I’m tired,” she says, rubbing her face. “I think I need some time alone, if that’s okay.”

  I hide my disappointment that she’s choosing to isolate herself rather than be with me. “Of course. Do you… still want dinner later?”

  “Sure.” She gives me a smile that has no passion in it. “Just give me a few hours, eh?”

  “No worries.” I stand as she gets up and walks away with no parting kiss or sentiment. “Jess,” I call out as unease filters through me, “are you all right?”

  She waves a hand. “I’m fine.” She crosses the short distance to her bach and disappears inside.

  Suddenly, I feel exhausted. The heat and all the emotion are too much for me, and I sit back in my chair and slump down. Why did Lara have to choose today to turn up? If she’d only waited a couple more days, Jess and I would have parted ways, and this would have been nothing to do with me.

  I know I’m being selfish, but I can’t stop the wave of irritation and anger. Everything was going so well. Who knows, Jess and I might even have decided to continue seeing each other, even though it wouldn’t have been easy. Instinctively, though, I know her thoughts are now going to be tied up with her children, and I’ve been bumped down her priority list.

  Tears prick my eyes. I haven’t cried for years, but I feel like bawling like a toddler.

  You’re just tired, I tell myself, and I close my eyes. For fuck’s sake, grow a pair and deal with the fact that you’re not the most important person in everyone else’s life.

  I’m sad, though. For a brief while, she’d made me feel important.

  Within minutes, I’m asleep.

  *

  When I awake, the sun’s low on the horizon, and the sea’s the color of an eggplant. Something woke me—it’s the sound of an engine revving, and a car pulling away.

  Hurriedly, I get to my feet and run across to Jess’s bach. The door is locked. Her books, sunglasses, jandals, have all vanished, and when I peer through the window, I see that it’s tidy, and all her belonging have disappeared.

  I run up the grass bank, but I’m far too late. Her car is a speck in the distance. I’ve lost her, it’s New Year’s Eve, and I’m on my own once again.

  I turn and walk back to my bach. The view is stunning, but I can find no pleasure in it.

  I go into the kitchen. The kebabs that Jess made earlier are in the fridge, waiting to be barbecued. I sweep the whole lot into the bin, take the bottle of whisky out of the cupboard, find a tumbler, and go onto the deck.

  The first mouthful is like fire burning down my throat. After that it becomes easier to drink, and before too long, I’m numb to everything.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jess

  All the way home, I’m telling myself furiously not to overreact. I try all the exercises that Maria taught me—deep breathing, counting my blessings, repeating the Reiki principles, and listing in my head all the wonderful things I can about myself, but it’s useless. I’d thought that the guilt and the shame I’d felt as a teenager were like an extinct volcano, but I discover that they’ve only been lying dormant, and now they’re bubbling up inside me, and I know it won’t be long until they erupt.

  I’ve worked so hard over the years to control myself, to be sensible where my feelings are concerned, and to have faith in both myself and Fate, but tonight that all goes out of the window.

  I drive blindly along the lonely roads to my house in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Northland countryside not far from Puketi Forest. By the time I reach home, I’m in floods of tears. I ignore Caleb’s house, and I stumble through the front door of my tiny sleepout and slam it shut, walk into my bedroom, and collapse on the bed to have a spectacular meltdown the like of which I haven’t had for years.

  I cry so hard and for so long I make my throat sore, howling my grief to the world, my resentment at the stolen years, my jealousy and anger, my fury at my parents, my feelings exploding into the air around me—literally, in my synesthetic state—in a firework display of brightly colored emotions, just perfect for New Year’s Eve. I howl and scream into the pillows, giving deep, wrenching sobs that hurt my chest, then punch the pillows and throw them around the room, sending bottles and ornaments crashing to the floor. At one stage, I even break my mirror, but by then I’m too far gone to care. Every tiny piece of emotion that I’ve bottled up for nearly fifteen years is released, and by the time I’m done, I’m completely wrung out and spent, just a shell of a woman, too exhausted to do anything but lie there and let sleep throw her blanket over me.

  As my eyes close, I think of my daughter standing before me. And then I think of Rich, his warm hands on me, his mouth on mine.

  I’ve ruined everything. I’m a hamster on a fucking wheel, a
nd nothing’s ever going to change.

  I welcome the darkness with relief.

  *

  When I wake, it’s night. The sliver of moon is high in the sky, which is also filled with a thousand twinkling stars.

  For a long time, I don’t move. The paroxysm of emotion has passed, and now I just feel tired and embarrassed, even though I’m the only person who witnessed it. I’m ashamed at losing control, but I could no more have stopped it than flown to the shining moon, and I’m just glad I made it home in time.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the top of my dressing table, and I spot the bottles lying on their sides, a pool of lotion dripping down onto the carpet. I remember the mirror breaking and feel a stab of disappointment—Maria bought that for me. At the thought of how disappointed she’d be in me, I want to cry, but I’ve no tears left.

  Beside me, my new mobile phone rings.

  I stare at it. I can’t think of anyone that I would want to talk to. However, even though I have no intention of answering it, I pick it up and check the screen. With some surprise, I see that it’s Maria. Speak of the devil…

  I don’t want to talk to her. I’m too ashamed of myself, too raw. But it’s New Year’s Eve, and she’s taken the time out of her busy day to call me, which touches me to the core. She’s one of the few people in the world who cares about me. Maybe she needs me. I’m in no condition to offer her any help. But am I really too self-centered to answer?

  I press the green button and put it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, sweetheart.” As always, Maria’s voice soothes me. “It’s me.”

  “Hey.”

  “How’s things? I hope I’m not interrupting anything. Well, actually, I hope I am!” She laughs. “I’m hoping you’re not alone on New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t going to call tonight but… I don’t know… something made me pick up the phone. You okay?”

  Even though I’d thought I didn’t have any tears left, my eyes sting. “I’ve had better days.”

  “Ah… I knew it. It’s so weird. I was talking to John, about something entirely different, and I suddenly thought, I have to call Jess. What’s up?”

  “Oh, Maria. How long have you got?”

  I’m half joking, but she says, “As long as it takes, sweetie.”

  I inhale, but I can’t even think where to start. Then she says, “Is it Alastair?” And I’m off and rolling.

  I tell her about the end of that relationship, and how I screwed that up, and then before she can say much, I go on to tell her about Rich. I have trouble putting my feelings about him into words, because as I start describing him I get choked up at the thought that I’ve walked out on him, on New Year’s Eve, which is a terrible thing to do to anyone, even if they weren’t grieving over the death of their twin.

  “He sounds nice,” Maria says softly, as falteringly I try to explain about our week together.

  “He is nice. But… I’ve screwed that up too.”

  “Okay. Tell me how.”

  I sit back against the headboard, looking out of the window, and go through the events of the day. About the arrival of my daughter, and how I became overwhelmed and had to rush home. “I hardly said two words to her,” I tell Maria huskily. “I can’t imagine what she must be thinking. And as for Rich…” I wipe my cheeks as, for the first time, I really think about what I’ve done. I walked out and I didn’t even look back. Suddenly, I miss him so much it’s like someone’s sitting on my chest.

  “Well, what’s the first rule of sorting out a situation?” Maria says somewhat briskly.

  I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. Then I say, “You can only control your own response.”

  “That’s right. There’s no way to tell what anyone else is thinking or feeling, or to influence how they’re going to react, so all you can do is concentrate on yourself. Let’s think about you, Jess. Tell me why you’re so upset.”

  “Because I’ve ruined everything.”

  “How have you ruined everything?”

  “I should have told Lara that yes, I want to see her. That I’ve missed her, and that I’m sorry I gave her up. And I shouldn’t have walked out on Rich.”

  “Well, first things first. You were kind of blind-sided. It’s lovely that your daughter has gotten in contact with you, but it was a bit unfair of her just to walk up to you like that. Of course you were going to be in shock after such a surprise. This is the daughter you had to leave behind, Jess, who you’ve pictured your whole life as a tiny baby, and suddenly she’s standing before you as a young woman. Who wouldn’t be shocked by that?”

  I rub my nose. “I suppose…”

  “There was a chance that you’d get angry and tell her you’re not interested in seeing her, so it’s possible she’s actually pleased with how it went today.”

  “I think she probably got a bollocking from her mother when she got back to the car.” It hurts to call Fiona her mother when that should be my title, but I’m one of the best people to understand that being a good mother has nothing to do with whether you’re related or not by blood.

  “It sounds as if her adoptive parents were supportive of her plans to contact you in general,” Maria says, “and that’s good, because hopefully her mother will explain to her how inappropriate her actions were, and that they need to give you time to come to terms with the fact that she wants to meet you.”

  “They helped her contact the Adoption Services.”

  “There you go. Lara’s waited all this time to meet you, Jess. She’s obviously been planning it for a while. She’ll have been picturing what you look like, and wondering what kind of person you are, and if she’s inherited any traits from you. It would have been a shock for her too, to see you. You both need time to adjust, that’s all. You haven’t ruined anything, I’m sure of it. Take the next few days to think about what’s happened, and then when Lara or her mother contacts you again, you’ll feel more prepared and ready for the next stage of this relationship, whatever that ends up being.”

  I can feel my heartbeat gradually slowing, my breathing calming down. Maria has always had this effect on me. I suppose she’s the closest thing I’ve got to a mother. With some surprise, I realize that she’s fifteen years older than me, exactly the same age difference as between me and Lara. Why hadn’t I worked that out before?

  “You’re right,” I say, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I know I’m overreacting.” I sigh and look out at my garden, at the vegetable pots I’ve been working on, the leafy tops of the tomatoes painted silver in the moonlight. “I suppose I’m just upset because it brought my past rushing back, and I was embarrassed that it all played out right in front of Rich. What happened today—it completely overwhelmed me, that’s all.”

  “Of course it did. There’d be something weird with you if it didn’t.”

  I smile weakly and rest my head on the wall. “How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?”

  “I’m just a mirror, sweetie. I reflect the truth back to you, not a warped reflection of yourself. You’re not evil, and you’re no worse at life than anyone else. You’re just human, and the sooner you accept that everyone makes mistakes, the better you’ll be.”

  “Up until the disaster with Alastair, I was actually doing okay. He knocked me askew.”

  “Bastards have a tendency to do that,” she says, unusual vehemence in her voice. I rarely hear her criticize anyone, so it reassures me that what he did has upset her, too. “Forget him, Jess. He played his part in your life—he was meant to be—but it’s time to move on. Tell me what you’re going to do about Rich.”

  I close my eyes. “To be honest—and I’m not just being me here—I don’t think there’s much I can do. Our timing was great in one way, because I know I helped him during a difficult week, but it was also awful, the way Lara turned up. I have to deal with her first, and what having her in my life is going to mean. When I’ve sorted that, maybe I’ll see if I can get in touch with him. I don’t know if I can�
��I know very little about him.”

  “Do you think he’ll get in touch with you?”

  “Maybe. He had some ideas for me to set up a business.” I tell Maria about my synesthetic painting.

  “I like him already,” she says. “I’d love to meet him.”

  “He said the same about you, funnily enough.”

  “Then I’m sure it will happen if we all want it.”

  I feel a twinge of sadness. “Perhaps. I don’t know. I only met him a week ago. At the time, it was all very intense and it felt like I knew him, really knew him and understood him. But I feel as if I must have imagined it, and I know he must feel the same. I hurt his feelings because I didn’t tell him the truth about the twins—I can only imagine what a shock it was for him to find out.”

  “He wasn’t angry though?”

  I feel my lips curve up. “No. He was very sweet. But… what I feel for him… it can’t be real, can it?”

  “If you’re asking me whether you should marry him tomorrow, I’d say no, I think you should give yourself a bit more time to get to know one another properly. But if you’re asking whether it’s possible to have feelings for him, of course it is. There is an issue of false intimacy—what you had was a holiday fling, and the feelings that develop for a person when you’re away and have none of the pressures of everyday life might not be the same when you get back to the real world. But if anything’s going to test a relationship, it’s going to be something like this. If he still has feelings for you after what he’s discovered, then he’s going to be a keeper.”

  “So you think I should go back to the bach and talk to him?”

  “Absolutely I do.”

  I hug my knees. I’d have to apologize for walking off and leaving him on New Year’s Eve, but Maria’s right, if he is worth fighting for, he will understand why I got so upset and forgive me for it.