by Leah Ashton
Mila realised she was crying. Silent tears were sliding down her cheeks and dripping from her chin.
‘One guy...I don’t know...I just knew. He wouldn’t look at me. And he was pretty cut up. His friends seemed to be rallying around him.’
Mila had to touch him so she slid closer, holding his hand.
‘Steph’s choices were not your responsibility,’ Mila said softly.
‘I failed her, Mila—can’t you see that?’ Seb said, his words firm. ‘It doesn’t make any difference who introduced her to her dealer, or what happened next. All that matters is that I was supposed to be there for her—more than anyone else in the world. And I wasn’t. I was distant—emotionally, geographically. I was too obsessed with my company and its continued success to make time for our relationship. I even made sure I was too busy to end our relationship—to let her move on with her life. I was selfish and I was scared. I failed her.’
Mila gripped his fingers harder. ‘I failed her too,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t the best friend I was supposed to be. I let time and time zones transform us into being little more than acquaintances, always with the best of intentions to reignite our friendship “one day”.’ She wiped at her eyes ineffectively, leaving her palm damp with tears. ‘One day...’ she repeated.
For a long while they both sat in silence, surrounded by their choices, their mistakes, their regrets.
A leaf had marred the perfect surface of the pool, and Mila watched its slow, directionless journey across the water.
‘Do you remember when Steph was going to make her fortune baking Steph’s special mint slice?’ Seb said, after an eternity. ‘How old were you? Twelve? She even made a website on one of those awful free site-builders with a never-ending web address...’
And just like that, they started talking about Steph.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SEB WOKE TO the warmth of the sun against his skin.
It was an effort to open his eyes because his eyelids were heavy. His whole body was heavy, in fact.
It was early—early enough that the sun was still low and able to stretch its rays into the pool house. Beside him, on her side, lay Mila. She was still asleep, with yesterday’s make-up slightly smudged beneath her eyes, one arm stretched out towards him. Her singlet top was twisted at her waist, revealing a strip of pale stomach above her jeans. Her feet were bare, her shoes kicked to the ground.
But she no longer touched him. At some point as they’d slept their hands had fallen apart.
Seb couldn’t remember a decision to sleep in the pool house. All he remembered was the pair of them talking. Talking and talking—sharing memories of Steph. Memories of the three of them together. Memories of Steph and Seb and also of Steph and Mila.
The bottle of peach schnapps had been abandoned early on, to be replaced with a selection of other spirits from his parents’ bar. The small stack of shot glasses lined up along the wooden back of the day bed perfectly explained his lethargy, as well as the fogginess of his brain.
‘Morning,’ said Mila, her lovely eyes blinking at Seb sleepily.
He smiled. ‘Good morning,’ he replied—and it was. A really good morning, he decided. Today, despite the after-effects of alcohol, he felt good. Really good.
‘I guess all those people telling me I needed to talk about Steph were on to something.’
Mila laughed, the sound startling a small honeyeater perched on the glass pool fence. It flew away in a flurry of flapping wings. ‘Talking is good,’ she agreed. ‘I did a lot of talking early on—to Ivy especially. She’s a good listener.’
‘I’m sorry I was so awful to you back then,’ he said. ‘You wanted to talk and I wouldn’t let you.’
‘Yeah...’ Mila said, all matter-of-fact. ‘Desperately. But maybe waiting wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t ready to talk about the good times straight after Steph died.’
And that was what they’d done. Once they’d laid all their guilt out on the table they’d simply reminisced together. Sharing everything and anything that included Steph, and nearly every story and anecdote had led to laughter.
That was what had changed in Seb last night. For the first time since Steph’s death Seb had smiled as he’d remembered her. Together he and Mila had celebrated Steph, without allowing the shackles of grief and regret to weigh them down.
He was moving on. He believed that now.
Together they walked inside to the empty kitchen. His parents were nowhere to be seen, and a scribbled note on the counter indicated they’d headed out for breakfast.
The time on the microwave revealed it was really time to get to work, but they both seemed comfortable in their sluggishness. Without asking, Seb poured them both a long glass of water, and they stood, not so far apart, staring out at the garden as they drank.
Later they headed for their cars. They’d still barely spoken. Mila pressed the button on her key to unlock her car, and it did so with a definite thunk.
‘Thank you,’ Seb said, stepping closer to Mila.
She smiled. ‘Thank you. I needed last night, too.’
She turned and opened the driver’s side door, tossing her bag onto the passenger seat.
‘So...’ he said.
Mila twisted back to face him, her gaze direct. ‘What happens now?’ she asked.
Mila’s note hung metaphorically between them: We can’t be friends any more.
But surely that note could now be torn up and thrown away? Surely last night had shown Mila that their friendship was the furthest they could get from the ‘waste of time’ she’d claimed it to be after that first kiss?
‘I won’t pretend to understand why you ran away on Wednesday morning.’
‘I didn’t run away...’A pause. ‘Okay,’ she conceded, ‘maybe I did—but I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I knew what you’d say if I’d stayed.’
‘That I wanted us to stay friends?’
He desperately wanted them to. He would say anything and everything to make that happen. Last night had only underlined how important Mila was to him. How irreplaceable she was. How irreplaceable their friendship was.
‘I can’t do that, Seb.’
‘Pardon me?’ Seb blinked, shocked to his core. ‘So last night changed nothing?’
He couldn’t believe this. How could last night mean so much to him, but nothing to her?
Mila shook her head. ‘No. It changed everything.’
Seb went still.
Mila’s gaze did not waver from his. ‘I can’t walk away from you. Not now. But I can’t just be your friend. I can’t pretend any more.’
This was not what he’d expected.
‘I lied,’ she continued. ‘When you asked me whether I wanted you to kiss me at the beach. I did want you to kiss me. I just hadn’t admitted it to myself yet. But I did. Maybe from the moment you stepped back into my life.’ Half a smile. ‘I don’t want to lie to myself any more.’
Seb didn’t know what to think. His brain, his heart, his pulse—everything—was ratcheting every which way.
‘I wanted that kiss, too,’ he said. Now was not the time for the subterfuge that Mila had once said she hated. ‘I wanted you,’ he clarified.
‘Wanted?’ she prompted.
‘Want,’ he said, running a hand through his hair, frustrated, because of course that was true. He wanted Mila. ‘But I was hoping to manage that. For the sake of our friendship I thought I could withstand a bit of sexual tension—’
Mila laughed out loud.
He knew it sounded ridiculous. But he didn’t know how else to deal with this. Of any other way to cope.
‘I didn’t expect this,’ he said. ‘I wanted our friendship back. Nothing more.’
Mila laughed again, this time high-pitched. ‘And you think this is what I
want?’
‘What do you want?’ Seb asked.
There was the slightest wobble to her gaze. Subtle, but there.
‘I don’t want to pretend around you,’ she said. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to lose you. And I have no idea how to stop both those things happening if we’re anything more than friends.’
Abruptly, Mila climbed into her seat, calmly clicking her seat belt into place. ‘We’re not just friends, Seb,’ she said, her words sharp. ‘How can you say you want me in one breath and try to talk me into remaining your friend in the next?’
‘We did it before—after that kiss,’ he said, stubbornly refusing to concede. ‘Why can’t we do it again?’
Mila shook her head, breathing an angry, frustrated sigh. She reached for the door, to pull it shut. He could have held the door, forced her to keep it open, but what would that have achieved?
So instead he dropped to his haunches, laying his hand over hers. They’d spent most of the night holding hands. As friends, then, nothing more.
He’d hoped maybe by touching her now that he could prove his point. That they could put Tuesday night behind them. That he could show her how the electricity between them had abated.
As his fingers brushed her skin he realised how very wrong he was.
His gaze shot up, tangling with hers.
‘No, we’re not just friends,’ he repeated.
He crouched between the partially open door and Mila. Her hand had fallen away from the door handle and he held it in both of his.
Outside of the sanctuary of the pool house—outside of that bubble they’d created for their memories—they were right back where they’d started. Right where they’d been since he’d walked into Mila’s shop that very first evening.
Sensation shot between them where they touched. His body’s reaction was visceral, needing her, wanting her.
No. He was too selfish. Too damaged. And Mila was too fragile. Ben, her dad...their appalling behaviour was still so fresh...
But all that made no difference. Yes was all his body could say.
Mila was looking away, out through the windscreen. ‘I know you said you weren’t ready for a relationship,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think I’m ready either.’
Seb still held her hand. He ran his thumb along her palm, then loosely traced the shape of her fingers.
‘So where does that leave us?’ she continued, her words soft and breathy. ‘Not friends. Not a relationship.’
‘Does it matter?’ Seb said. ‘How about we just focus on not being friends for a while.’
‘Not being friends?’ She smiled. ‘I like that.’ Mila reached out again for the door handle. ‘But I really have to get to work. My shop is supposed to open in—’
Seb silenced her with a kiss.
* * *
Ivy was working at the office today, so she arrived at the small café near April’s place in her chauffeur-driven car.
Mila had arrived first, so she watched Ivy approach from her seat in the small booth she’d chosen at the rear of the café. Every person eating there watched her sister approach—people always did. Ivy had such an air of confidence and authority that she just drew people to her.
Today she wore one of her typically sharp work outfits—black cigarette pants with red-soled black pumps, cream sleeveless blouse tucked in neatly, and oversized Hollywood sunglasses. She looked exactly like the billion-odd dollars she was worth.
Ivy smiled as she spotted Mila, and whipped off her sunglasses. Her sister hurried over, completely unaware that she was the centre of attention. Mila smiled—her sister was definitely the most down-to-earth billionaire on the planet. Just one of the several hundred reasons Mila loved her.
She’d invited Ivy and April to lunch on a whim. The past week had been just...so much. Too much to process. Really, everything that had happened since she’d had that taxi drop her off at Seb’s apartment building had been intense.
She needed her sisters.
Ivy slid into the booth beside Mila and together they perused the menu. April was always late, but she did manage to turn up only a few minutes past twelve. She glided into the café, the total antithesis of efficient, focused Ivy.
Today she was very much Boho, with her long blonde hair in loose curls that cascaded over the thin straps of her pale pink maxi-dress and the collection of fine gold necklaces that decorated the deep V of her bodice. But even dressed casually, April looked as if she’d walked off the pages of a magazine. Not that such a polished, perfect appearance came without effort, despite her sister’s natural gorgeousness. Especially now that April traded so heavily on her appearance.
‘Apologies!’ April said, by way of a greeting. ‘I have no perception of time. Hey—can I get the annoying selfie request out of the way? Mila, I’ll tag your shop—it’s sure to drive a few more sales. People went nuts for those concrete vase things the other week.’
‘Molyneux Mining doesn’t do social media,’ pointed out Ivy. ‘Or have any need to drum up business.’
‘Nope,’ April said cheerfully. ‘But everyone loves a photo of Ivy Molyneux acting like a normal human being. I’m sure your marketing people have worked out how much your customer whatsit scores improved after you were papped with Nate at the supermarket.’
‘You know,’ Ivy said, ‘reminding me of the time I was photographed without make-up and with baby spew on my shoulder is probably not the best way to convince me of anything.’
‘Pfft!’ said April. ‘You always look beautiful. Plus you had a six-foot-four commando pushing your trolley. All anyone was thinking was, Phwoar!’
Ivy looked at Mila. ‘I’m really not sure I’m following our sister’s argument.’
‘Just let her take the picture,’ Mila advised. ‘Then we’ll get to eat.’
A few minutes of posing, and judicious application of filters, and April was happily hashtagging away while Mila went to order for them all at the counter.
She watched her sisters chatting as she waited in the queue. They were both so different—from each other and from Mila. Mila had always thought she was more like Ivy—more through process of elimination rather than any obvious similarities. Mila’s view of life just seemed to have more of an acerbic edge than April’s, and she guessed she identified with Ivy’s more serious personality. But she was equally close to them both. April’s sunniness and optimism were contagious, while Ivy could always be relied on for her wisdom—even if it was not always requested.
But Mila knew she wasn’t going to tell them about Seb today.
It wasn’t like her not to tell her sisters about men she was dating. It wasn’t like her not to tell them about anything. It was just...she wasn’t dating Seb.
What they had was too intangible. Heck, if she and Seb couldn’t even give it a name what was there to tell anyone, anyway? That she and Seb weren’t friends any more? But that they also weren’t quite anything else?
No. It was definitely better to say nothing.
At the front of the queue, Mila ordered efficiently, then collected a frosty bottle of water and three small tumblers. Back at the table she poured them all a glass of water, then fell into the deep red padded seat of the booth. All her muscles ached—her body was remembering exactly how much she’d drunk last night, and how late she’d been up talking.
Eventually she realised her sisters were talking about their dad.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ Ivy was saying, ‘when my assistant told me. It’s been years.’
‘What did he want?’
Ivy shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I didn’t return his calls.’
‘Me either,’ April said. ‘Do you know he’s finally worked out social media? His accounts are following all mine now. I did consider blo
cking him, but it seemed pretty petty when I share my photos and ramblings with literally everyone else in the universe.’
‘I blocked him,’ Mila said quietly. ‘And my business accounts don’t even have enough followers that I can really afford to do that.’
Blaine had called her, too, but there’d been no chance of her answering.
‘So that’s it, then?’ Ivy asked. ‘You’re done?’
Mila nodded. ‘Yes. So done. No more chances.’
‘You sure?’ April asked, looking over the top of her water glass.
Mila raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’ she said. ‘I thought you’d be overjoyed.’
‘I am,’ Ivy said firmly.
April rolled her eyes. ‘I just wanted to make sure this was your decision. Not ours. Because it’s a big one.’
Mila nodded. ‘I get it. But, no—this one was definitely all on Blaine. Although—just so it’s noted—you were both absolutely right. I should’ve stopped answering his calls years ago.’
She’d given Ivy and April a condensed version of her night at the film premiere—with the beach scene with Seb completely removed.
‘Of course,’ Ivy said with a grin.
Their lunches arrived, and Mila sat back in the booth as the waiter organised their food on the table. She’d ordered gnocchi, with a chunky tomato sauce piled on top.
Her sisters were sharing anecdotes about their dad. Each demonstrated his uselessness perfectly, and each, with the benefit of time, had become humorous. All of Blaine’s failures preceded with a dramatic, ‘And then he—’
She smiled along with them, but wasn’t really paying attention. Instead, all she could think about was Seb.
Had she done the right thing?
She was so confused. She’d thought she’d already dealt with this. The morning she’d walked out of Seb’s apartment she’d thought she’d walked out of his life.