The Billionaire from Her Past

by Leah Ashton

  ‘Steph’s choices are not your responsibility.’

  He believed that now.

  He did.

  Her death hadn’t been his fault.

  As if you could make me do anything!

  He could almost hear Steph’s voice, and her laughter, caught up in the ocean breeze.

  It wasn’t his fault.

  He’d told himself this a hundred times, and for the first time it seemed to sink in. For the first time he realised he believed it.

  It wasn’t his fault.

  ‘Steph’s choices are not your responsibility.’

  They were hers.

  And he sat there alone, on a beach full of memories, without the two women most important to him.

  Because of Steph’s choices.

  And because of his.

  The only reason Mila was not sitting beside him, right this second, was because of his own choices. His own decisions.

  He was responsible for that.

  Seb lifted his head from his knees as a seagull landed at his feet, pecking hopefully at his towel for food. Around him the beach practically heaved with activity and colour—with life.

  Why wasn’t Mila here with him? Sharing this with him?

  Because he didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want their relationship to deteriorate as his relationship with Steph had.

  But...

  He didn’t shirk from the role he’d played in his marriage falling apart. In fact he embraced it. He knew he was responsible for the mistakes he’d made. For the choices he’d made...

  And of course that was it. He was responsible for his choices. Just as Steph had been for hers. Just as Mila was.

  And Mila—unbelievably, amazingly—had chosen him. She’d chosen Sebastian Fyfe, with all his flaws and messy emotions.

  And Seb—he’d chosen to run away from a Technicolor future with Mila. Out of fear.

  Fear that when it came to relationships he was broken. Unfixable. That a relationship with Mila would inevitably lead to hurt and to pain. That he’d make the same mistakes as before.

  As if he was just some helpless pawn in his own life, predestined to follow exactly the same path.

  His ridiculous. How stupid.

  He was responsible for his future. He was responsible for his choices—in life and in his relationship with Mila. He was responsible for learning from his mistakes.

  So Mila had chosen Seb—despite the pain of her past, despite everything. Despite probably knowing that he was so caught up in his past that he’d reject her. She’d chosen courage.

  While Seb had chosen fear.

  That ended now.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE NEXT DAY was Saturday. It had been crazy busy at Mila’s Nest—the busiest day Mila had ever had. She’d even sat down and worked that out on her laptop. Online sales were through the roof, too—in fact she’d needed to close for new orders as she just couldn’t keep up with demand.

  Next year she’d need to work something out—maybe make some slip cast moulds, or even look into getting some of her designs commercially produced. The prospect was both exciting and a little sad—it felt like the end of an era. No longer would everything she sold be made with her own hands.

  But tonight she was definitely using her own hands. She sat at her potter’s wheel, the radio humming in the background, wet clay beneath her fingertips.

  She was completely absorbed in her creation—gently manipulating the clay from featureless lump into an elegant, elongated vase—when there was a knock at the workshop door.

  It was a warm December evening, so she’d left the door open. Only the security screen separated Mila from her visitor, and it rattled under the definite tap of Seb’s knuckles.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  Not sure what to do with Seb’s unexpected appearance, Mila momentarily lost her focus—and under her wayward fingers the vase collapsed.

  ‘Dammit!’ She brought the wheel to a stop.

  Seb swore. ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I’m a bit busy at the moment,’ Mila interrupted, as she patted the ruined vase back into a lump. ‘Please leave.’

  That had been incredibly hard to say—which Mila didn’t like.

  She kept her gaze downwards as she slapped a new mound of clay onto the wheel head, then dipped her fingers into the adjacent bowl of water so she could dampen the clay.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he said.

  Mila closed her eyes. ‘It’s a lovely night,’ she said. ‘There are thousands of better things you could be doing than watching me work.’

  ‘I can’t think of any.’

  Mila shook her head. No, he didn’t get to be charming.

  She stood up and went to the sink to wash her hands, her back to Seb. She dried her hands on her apron, twisting her fingers in the fabric.

  Why didn’t this get easier? It had been a week. Shouldn’t it not hurt so much by now? But instead Mila felt as raw as when he’d told her no.

  He didn’t want her. Why was he here?

  She took a deep breath before turning and walking to the door. He looked as handsome as always—in a dark grey T-shirt and black board shorts—his shoulders broad, his calves muscular.

  Maybe Seb had thought she was going to let him in—but he rapidly realised his mistake as she reached for the heavy workshop door.

  ‘Wait, Mila,’ he said. ‘Please let me in.’

  She shook her head again.

  No, no, no.

  ‘You know,’ she said, quite conversationally from her side of the fly screen, ‘I was thinking about Steph yesterday.’

  She didn’t need to clarify why.

  He nodded. Of course he had been, too.

  ‘I was thinking about how much I miss her. How I’d love to hear her laugh just one more time.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And then I started wondering what would have happened if you and I had started going out. If the other night you’d said yes instead of no.’

  ‘Mila—’

  ‘And I thought...I wonder if he would’ve compared me to Steph? And if he did how would I have stacked up? Would I have been just the substitute, or the consolation prize, or simply his second choice?’

  Seb was furious. ‘Let me in, Mila. You are—’

  ‘But then,’ Mila said, ‘I realised I was being an idiot.’

  Seb went still.

  ‘Because when I’m with you...’ A pause. ‘When I was with you, you never made me feel like that. You never made me feel like anything but the focus of your attention. When I was with you, you made me feel like the centre of your universe. You made me feel special, and treasured, and valued. Just for being me, nothing more.’ She swallowed. ‘I haven’t felt like that before. I’ve never felt like someone’s most important person. I liked it. I loved it, really.’

  He was letting her talk now.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s over, but that’s okay. I’m okay—really. You didn’t need to check up on me, or whatever it is you’re doing. Thank you for making me feel like that, and for helping me realise that I want that feeling again. That I deserve to feel like that.’ Another long pause. ‘But I don’t want to see you again, Seb. It’s too hard.’

  She reached for the door, needing to close it quickly, so she no longer had to look at Sebastian.

  ‘Let me in, Mila—please.’

  She shook her head silently and gripped the door handle.

  ‘Dammit, Mila, I don’t want to say this through a fly screen. Let me in.’

  There was nothing he could possibly say. She swung the door shut.

  Seb spoke again, a split second before the door clicked shut.

  ‘I love you, Mila!’

  But the door wa
s closed.

  ‘I love you!’

  He was shouting. She could hear him clearly through the door. She should walk away—he’d only clarify those words if she let him in: he loved her as a friend.

  But when it came to Sebastian Fyfe, as always, she was weak. She opened the door, but not the security screen.

  ‘I love you,’ he said again. ‘You are my most important person.’

  ‘And you don’t want to lose our friendship—blah-blah-blah. Haven’t we been through this before? It’s kind of old.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve been an idiot. Please hear me out.’

  She nodded, but sharply. ‘Be quick. I have a vase to make.’

  Mila crossed her arms, refusing to be anything but sceptical.

  ‘I loved Steph,’ he said. ‘You know that. We loved each other like people do in books and movies, I thought it was perfect. I thought our relationship was perfect. But then we got married, we moved overseas, our businesses took off...and everything changed. I don’t really know if it changed fast or slow—but one day our relationship had broken and it never stopped breaking. Our marriage was over in every way but officially. We were done.’

  He stood there, on the other side of the security screen, watching Mila with a measured intensity.

  ‘And that was the thing. Steph and I started with so much and ended up with nothing. Worse than nothing, actually. It was like we’d created a vacuum between us, which swallowed up all our hopes and plans for a future together and left us each alone in the darkness. It was miserable.’ He swallowed. ‘I made a lot of mistakes in my marriage. I prioritised my work over Steph. I prioritised my work over everything. And I shoved my head in the sand when it came to Steph and I. I hurt her—a lot. I hate that I did that. And I was terrified that I’d do that to you.’

  Mila had uncrossed her arms, and her fingers were now tangling again in her apron.

  ‘So when you started talking about love the other night I did panic. It’s hard for me to believe in love, given what happened in my marriage. It isn’t really an emotion that I trust. But mostly I was worried about you. I don’t ever want to hurt anyone the way I hurt Steph. I believed I was beyond repair. That loving me meant that hurt was guaranteed. I couldn’t do that to you.’

  ‘What’s changed?’ Mila asked.

  Seb nodded. ‘You,’ he said. ‘You’ve changed me, Mila. You’ve shown me that I need to leave the past behind. That, while I need to learn from my mistakes, I need to move forward. You told me once about your plans to protect yourself from hurt in relationships—and I know how much you’ve been hurt in the past. And yet you threw all that away. For me. You risked hurt—hurt that you’re all too familiar with—for a man you knew was all kinds of messed up and likely to throw it in your face.’

  Because I love you—Mila thought. But she was wasn’t ready to say it aloud. Not yet.

  ‘Life is all about choices, Mila. I finally get that. And I promise you right now I choose not to be a selfish, distant workaholic ever again.’

  Mila’s lips quirked upwards, despite the swirling and still uncertain emotion between them.

  ‘But I know that I’m not the only one with choices in a relationship. You have them too. And I think maybe it was those choices that I was most fearful of. What if you choose to hurt me? To walk away from me? To stop loving me?’

  Seb’s voice was strong, but raw. Mila’s heart beat like a drum against her chest...her fingers twisted in knots inside her apron.

  ‘But you know what? I can’t control your choices. I can’t control anything but my own. And, as scary as that is for me to realise, I’ve decided to run with it. To be—for the first time in way too long—truly, properly brave.’

  He swallowed, his gaze exploring her face.

  ‘So, Mila—I choose you. I choose to love you. I love you, Mila Molyneux, and that won’t change—whatever you decide. Whatever you choose. I came here tonight because I thought you deserved to hear that—but also because I needed to say it.’ A long, long pause. ‘I came here with no expectations. I will leave, with no regrets and no bad feelings—I promise—if you don’t want me. If you don’t love me. If you don’t choose—’

  ‘Oh, God, Seb, shut up!’ Mila said with laughter—and with love. ‘Of course I choose you!’

  With rapid, desperate movements, Mila opened the security screen. Instantly she was in Seb’s arms and his lips were at her neck, her jaw, her mouth.

  Her hands threaded through his hair. ‘I love you,’ Mila said softly against his lips.

  ‘I love you, too, Mila,’ he said, his lips against her ear, his breath hot against her skin. ‘I’ve loved you since I was fourteen—in a million different ways. But the way I love you now is my favourite.’

  ‘This is pretty good,’ she teased, and then squealed as he lifted her into his arms.

  ‘Can that vase wait?’ Seb asked, nodding in the direction of the forgotten pottery wheel.

  ‘That had better not be a serious question,’ Mila replied, her mouth against his neck, her laughter only slightly muffled against his skin.

  ‘Of course not,’ Seb said, and he practically leapt up the stairs, putting his months of physical labour—Mila thought—to very good use.

  At the top of the stairs, he paused. It was dark in Mila’s apartment, lit only by the glow of the streetlight and a hint of the moon. But still, in the almost darkness, their gazes met and locked.

  Seb was waiting, Mila realised.

  Then she smiled.

  ‘Carry me to bed,’ she said, so softly.

  ‘Every night?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘For ever, please.’

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from STEPPING INTO THE PRINCE’S WORLD by Marion Lennox.

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  Stepping into the Prince’s World

  by Marion Lennox

  CHAPTER ONE

  YOU’RE TO TAKE your place as heir to the throne and find yourself a bride.

  If Crown Prince Raoul Marcus Louis Ferdinand could cut that last order from his grandmother’s letter he would, but he needed to show his commanding officer the letter in its entirety.

  He laid the impr
essive parchment of his grandmother’s letter before his commanding officer. Franz noted the grim lines on Raoul’s face, picked up the letter and read.

  Then he nodded. ‘You have no choice,’ he told him.

  ‘I don’t.’ Raoul turned and stared out of the window at the massive mountain overshadowing Tasmania’s capital. It was a mere shadow of the mountains of Marétal’s alpine region.

  He needed to be home.

  ‘I’ve known my grandfather’s health is failing,’ he told his commanding officer. ‘But I’ve always thought of the Queen as invincible. This letter might sound commanding, but it’s a plea for help.’

  ‘It is.’ Franz glanced at the letter again. It was headed by the royal crest of Marétal and it wasn’t a letter to be ignored. A royal summons... ‘But at least it’s timely,’ he told Raoul.

  Marétal’s army had been engaged as part of an international exercise in Tasmania’s wilderness for the last couple of months. Raoul’s battalion had performed brilliantly, but operations were winding down.

  ‘We can manage without you,’ he told him. He hesitated. ‘Raoul, you do know...?’

  ‘That it’s time I left the army.’ Raoul sighed. ‘I do know it. But my grandmother effectively runs the kingdom.’

  ‘The Queen’s seventy-six.’

  ‘Tell her that.’ He shook his head at the thought of his indomitable grandmother. His grandfather, King Marcus, even though officially ruler, hardly emerged from his library. Queen Alicia had more or less run the country since the day she’d married, and she suffered no interference. But she was asking for help now.

  ‘Of course you’re right,’ he continued. ‘My grandparents’ chief aide, Henri, has written privately that he’s worried about the decisions my grandmother’s taking. Or not taking. Our health and legal systems need dragging into this century. More immediately, national security seems to be an issue. Henri tells me of threats which she refuses to take seriously. He suggests increasing the security service, making it a force to be reckoned with, but the Queen sees no need.’

  ‘You’re just the man to do it.’