by Amy Andrews
Blake didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t right. Ava had been a bright spot in what had become a pretty beige life. A life he’d thought was fine. But never would be again.
He folded his arms as he cut right to the crux. ‘I can’t live in a goldfish bowl.’
Ava bit her lip. His words sounded so final and she swore she could hear her heart breaking over the silence in the room. ‘I’m not just a girl on a boat, Blake. I never was. That goldfish bowl is my life for the conceivable future.’
Blake nodded. ‘I know. But I don’t want any part of it.’
She put her hand on one folded forearm feeling suddenly desperate, tears threatening again. ‘So that’s it?’ she asked, her voice wobbling. ‘You’re not even going to fight for us? You can fight for this country but not for me?’
Blake hardened himself to the injury in her voice. Only Ava could be so dramatic. ‘There isn’t an us,’ he said testily.
‘Please,’ Ava whispered, her hand tightening around his arm. There was something between them. She knew it. And she knew it could be good. ‘We could make it work. We just have to want it bad enough.’
Her plea cut right to his heart but Blake shut it down. He’d had enough of complicated in his life. He’d sensed right from the beginning that she was going to be trouble and he’d been right.
Now his face was splashed all over the national newspapers. Pete’s life and death splashed about too. Blake’s grief and his guilt staring back at him in black and white for the entire nation to share.
All he’d wanted when he’d got things back on track was to have a quiet conflict-free life.
A life with Ava would be neither of those things.
Blake dropped his arms and her hand fell away. ‘I don’t want it bad enough,’ he said and turned away.
And this time Ava did hear the crack as her heart split wide open.
* * *
The following wintery weeks were the perfect foil for Ava’s mood. Christmas in London was always beautiful as decorative lights went up everywhere and the Christmas tree arrived in Trafalgar Square, but Ava didn’t really notice. She didn’t notice the roasting chestnuts vendors or the ice skaters at Hyde Park or the elaborately dressed windows in the department stores.
It was all too bright and sparkly for her when inside she identified more with the barren trees than the gay lights of Oxford Street.
She was merely going through the motions. Smiling and talking when she needed to and just trying to get through the rest. The media, as always, nipped at her heels but it was pleasing to note they’d stopped camping out regularly at Blake’s boat since she’d denied their relationship in a press release, citing him as a friend only.
It didn’t mean she stopped thinking about him. Stopped wishing in her darkest hours that she were that girl on the boat. It just made it easier to bear not to have to see his face next to hers on the news or in the papers every day.
But Christmas Eve came around quicker than she’d hoped and she knew she was going to have to face him again. The charity gala was the event of the year and, as the new patron, Ava was expected not only to attend but to shine.
And that was exactly what she told herself as she dressed to the nines. She had a certain image to project—glamour and sophistication—and she had every intention of wowing Joanna and all the others who had paid five thousand quid a head to ride the London Eye with her for a couple of hours.
Including Blake.
She wore a plush crimson, long-sleeved velvet gown that clung to her body and swept to the floor in a short train. A fur-trimmed hoodie attached to the back set it off and loaned her a touch of the regal when she smiled for the cameras with her famous haughty smile in front of an illuminated Eye.
And she spent the next three hours in a glass bubble, sipping champagne, laughing and chatting with people, new ones with each revolution. Smiling until her face ached, forcing herself not to search the bubbles above and around her for the one person she wanted to see the most.
Maybe he hadn’t come?
On her second-last revolution for the night, Joanna and her founding partners along with some of the charity workers joined her and Ava relaxed a little. They talked about the success of the night and the upcoming events for the New Year and where she could help out. They also talked about their husbands, about how much they’d loved Christmas and Ava listened as they laughed and smiled at fond memories.
About five minutes from the revolution ending Joanna manoeuvred Ava to one side. She smiled at her and said, ‘You know Blake’s here, right.’
Ava nodded. ‘I assumed he was.’
‘You should talk with him.’
Ava gave a sad smile. ‘I don’t think your brother wants to talk to me.’
Joanna narrowed her eyes. ‘You love him, right?’
Ava blinked and then laughed. Joanna was definitely a Walker—no subtlety. ‘Yes.’
‘So talk to him.’
Ava shook her head. ‘He was pretty angry.’
Joanna regarded her for a moment or two and Ava felt as if she was being weighed up. ‘Do you know the soldier that was killed the day Blake was injured was my husband?’
Ava’s nodded. ‘Yes. He told me when we were on the boat.’
Joanna looked taken aback. ‘The last thing I said to Blake when they left for their tour was to look after Colin for me, to bring him home safe.’ Joanna paused. ‘He’s not angry at you. He’s angry at himself. That he’s alive when so many aren’t. That he survived. Every time he has fun or lets himself go, the guilt bites him hard.’
Ava’s heart broke all over again for Blake. He shouldn’t have to live his life eclipsed by guilt because he made it through when others didn’t. ‘I...didn’t know that. I mean, I know he feels guilt about Colin...about the commendation...but not about surviving.’
Joanna grimaced. ‘Well, he’s not much of a talker. But I do know he was happy when he was with you and that he’s never told anyone about Colin except for his shrink. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully let go of the guilt and that’s his real wound, not his leg. But I think if anyone can help him heal it’s you.’
Ava couldn’t agree more. But...’I can’t if he won’t let me in.’
The capsules were coming back down to the exit platform again and everyone was gathering at the door to clear the capsule in time for it moving on to the next platform where it would load again for the last revolution of the night.
‘Well, they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? And anyway, it’s Christmas, it’s the time for miracles.’
Joanna smiled and pointed to her brother standing rather grimly amongst the dozen people patiently waiting to get on.
Ava’s gaze devoured him in all his tuxedoed glory. Who’d have thought a man who looked so good in a tool belt and a T-shirt could look just as good in a tux?
‘Good luck,’ Joanna whispered as she joined the exodus.
Ava sighed as Blake’s gaze meshed with hers and he gave her a grim nod of his head.
She was going to need more than a miracle.
* * *
Blake had barely been able to take his eyes off her all night. Whatever capsule he’d been in, he’d tracked her movements, his sight starved of her for weeks now. And the second he entered the capsule and was offered a glass of champagne he took two and made a beeline for her.
He’d planned to patiently wait his turn and then make polite conversation with her, but as soon as the door had shut behind him the aura surrounding her grabbed him by the gut and yanked hard as a tumult of emotion flooded his chest.
What a fool he’d been.
He loved her.
And he didn’t care how much anyone had paid for some time in her company, he was monopolising all of it.
‘
I’ve been an idiot,’ he said as he elbowed someone else aside and handed her the glass of champagne.
Ava blinked as Blake’s broad magnificence filled her vision. ‘You...have?’
He nodded. It might have come totally out of the blue for Blake but he knew it as surely as he’d known he’d wanted to serve his country.
‘Yes. I don’t talk a lot and I’m not into staring at my navel and blabbing about my feelings. But I do believe in the truth and I’ve been lying to myself these past few weeks. Only I didn’t realise it until right now. I thought I was doing so well and then I see you tonight and I realise that I’m in love with you and these last few weeks have been...crap.’
Ava looked around, pretty sure everyone was eavesdropping. ‘You...love me?’
He nodded, wondering if she was going to stay monosyllabic for the rest of the night. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ Ava’s heart tripped in her chest. Well, that she hadn’t expected. Neither, she suspected, had Joanna.
It looked as if it was her night for miracles after all.
The temptation to let herself go and fling herself into his arms was enormous but there were still a lot of obstacles in their path and she needed to be sure. She needed him to be sure. ‘What about the goldfish bowl?’
Blake sighed. ‘I still can’t live like that, Ava. But I was wrong a few weeks ago—I do want it bad enough. So I guess we’re going to have to figure that one out. Compromise a little. Because I want this. I want you.’
Ava smiled at him for the first time, relief flushing through her veins making her almost dizzy. She reached out a hand and grasped his lapel, steadying herself. ‘Well, I guess we could find somewhere to live that’s more secure and not so accessible to the media?’
Blake slid his hand onto hers and held it against his chest. ‘And you could stop feeding them gourmet snacks,’ he suggested with affectionate exasperation, slipping his other hand onto her hip. ‘And getting Reggie to report your movements to them so they know where you are every moment of every day.’
Ava nodded. ‘I could do that. I could also set limits with them over you and your information. I’ve not done it before but I know others do and...I think you’re a pretty good trade-off.’ She grinned.
Blake pulled her in closer. ‘And I promise to try not to punch every man who touches you during a photo shoot or a commercial or whatever you’re doing for work.’
Ava felt stupidly teary at this concession. She knew how hard that would be for his Neanderthal, Bionic-Man streak. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Blake smiled at her, wanting desperately to kiss her, to push her up against the glass and show her how much he loved her, but knowing they needed to talk first. ‘And clearly, you can’t live on a boat so I could sell it.’
‘No way,’ Ava objected. ‘Keep that. I have very...’ she ran her fingers under his lapel, feeling the firmness of his chest beneath the superb cut ‘...fond memories there,’ she said, her smile widening.
He leaned in and nuzzled her neck. ‘You’re right. We’ll keep the boat.’
Ava’s heart dared to sing as she sank in closer to him. ‘But is it going to be enough for you?’ she asked, pulling back slightly.
Blake looked down into her yellow-green eyes. The whole Thames was stretched out behind her, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben illuminated in a soft orange glow, a truly magnificent sight. But he only had eyes for Ava.
For the woman he loved.
‘It’s a start. And we’ll get better at it. We have to, because I’m miserable without you.’
‘Me too,’ Ava admitted. But still her mind wandered to her conversation with Joanna and Ava felt anxious all over again. ‘Joanna told me you feel guilty about surviving the war when Colin, when others, didn’t,’ she said.
Blake felt the usual punch to his gut at the mention of Colin’s name. ‘Did she now?’
Ava looked into his eyes because she needed to be sure that he understood what she was saying. ‘I don’t pretend to know what you went through, Blake. And I don’t pretend to think it can be fixed through love alone. I know you’re not a talker but I don’t want you to shut me out either. I want to know all of you. Even the bits you don’t want me to know. I can’t be part of a relationship where you hide away all the dark bits...all the sad bits. I can’t promise to know how to handle them, but I do want to try. I need you to promise that you’ll talk to me. That nothing will be off-limits.’
Blake took a moment or two to absorb what she was asking. Opening up had never been easy for him, but he’d never met someone who’d meant so much to him either. He knew this woman in his arms and she was warm and sexy and giving and nothing like the woman he’d first thought her to be. She’d taken the risk and opened up to him, put her trust in him, surely he could do the same?
Because she was definitely worth fighting for.
‘I promise,’ he said. ‘I don’t promise I’ll be very articulate but I promise to talk to you.’
Ava’s heart swelled in her chest. She knew that couldn’t have been easy for him. ‘That’s all I want.’
And for long moments they just looked at each other, absorbing all the details of each other’s faces, trying to imprint this memory on their retinas for ever.
‘You know there’s going to be a bit of a frenzy to start with, don’t you?’ Ava warned.
‘That’s fine,’ Blake said, lifting his hand to push the hoodie back off her hair. ‘Let’s just not feed it, huh?’
Ava nodded. ‘Deal.’
Blake smiled down into her face. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe it took me all this time to figure out I loved you.’
‘I can,’ Ava murmured. ‘It took you a million pounds to even pay me any attention.’
Blake chuckled. ‘I love you,’ he said.
Ava sighed at the healing power of three little words as her heart felt whole again. And she was going to spend the rest of her life with her wounded warrior, helping him to feel whole again also. ‘I love you too,’ she said.
Their lips met and Ava felt as if it were New Year’s Eve instead of Christmas Eve as fireworks popped and sparkled behind her eyes.
The sound of a dozen mingled sighs and the burst of spontaneous applause in the capsule added to the celebration as did the pop and flare of paparazzi lenses far below.
Best. Christmas. Ever.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Reunion Lie by Lucy King.
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ONE
In all her thirty-two years, Zoe Montgomery had never once entertained a truly violent thought, but if one more person asked her whether she had a husband and children and then tutted in sympathy when she said she had neither she was going to have to hit something hard. Possibly the gin.
Did it matter that she’d been running her own mystery shopping agency for the past five years and was responsible for a two-million-pound turnover? No, it did not. Did anyone care that she’d started off refurbishing a tiny studio flat in an insalubrious part of London, sold it for double what she’d paid a
nd had subsequently leapt up the property ladder to the spacious Hoxton maisonette she lived in now? Of course they didn’t. And what about the doctorate she’d toiled over for five long but happy years? Did that have them gasping in awe? Not a bit of it.
All that mattered to the forty or so depressingly tunnel-visioned women gathered in the bar for their fifteen-year school reunion was that she was still single and childless.
Zoe gritted her teeth and knocked back a mouthful of lukewarm Chablis as the conversation about house prices, catchment areas and Tuscany rattled around the little group she’d been dragged into.
How she could ever have imagined her contemporaries would have changed was beyond her. Back in their boarding-school days, despite the best private girls’ education the country had to offer and despite a handful of intellects far more formidable than her own, all most of them had ever wanted to achieve in life was marriage to an aristocrat, an estate and a socking great bank balance, and judging by the number of double-barrelled surnames, titles and diamonds being shown off tonight that had been accomplished with dazzling success.
Zoe sighed in despair. All that money spent. All that potential untapped. All that dedication and ambition so badly mis-channelled. What a waste.
As this evening was turning out to be.
She’d been here for fifteen minutes, but it had taken her only five to realise that there was little to no chance of achieving any of the things she’d hoped to achieve by coming.
When the email inviting her to the reunion had popped up in her in-box a month ago her first instinct had been to ignore it. While she appreciated the fantastic academic education she’d had and the sacrifices her parents had made for her to have it, she’d never got on all that well with these girls. She hadn’t had anything in common with most of them, and some of them—one in particular—had made her life pretty miserable for the best part of seven years. So without a moment’s hesitation she’d replied that she was busy, deleted the email and firmly put it from her mind.