Love's Final Act (Circus of Love Romances Book 3)

by S. Andrea Milne

  I took a deep breath, stealing myself for the joys of interrupting two people who were in the middle of a seemingly serious, intimate conversation, and crossed the room. I made sure to tread heavily as I approached Miranda and Mark, who parted before I reached them, the latter turning to fully face the window.

  “Hey,” Miranda said as she straightened her blouse, of which a couple of buttons seemed to be unfastened. “What’s the word? Have you heard anything from Robert?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing, but I heard from the JP. She’s not coming out, so Dehlia’s suggested we all head home for the night. She’s making up take-out containers if you want one.”

  “Okay.” Miranda squeezed my shoulder—a gesture I seemed to be on the receiving end a lot this afternoon. That and tentative pats. “I’m sure Lisa and I can be ready to head out shortly.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at my friend. “Do you know where Lisa is? I can tell her.”

  Within seconds, Miranda’s face turned a brilliant pink. “I think she’s in the bathroom, I’ll go check.” Then she hurried passed me.

  Oh. Right. In the bathroom. By the heat rushing into my cheeks, my complexion probably matched Miranda’s. Good God. My friends were living out a real rom-com best friend’s wedding/bridesmaid whirlwind romance leading up to my wedding.

  While I waited for my friends to resurface, I made the rounds of the rest of those present to say my goodnights, and wish those who were driving, safe travels.

  “You text us the minute you hear something,” Ellen said, once again clutching my hands with a ferociousness that could rival the strength of an aerialist.

  “Of course.” I nodded. “As soon as I hear.”

  I found the twins in their room, Becca, as usual talking at breakneck speed about something I didn’t quite catch. “Oh, Beth.” The moment she noticed me hovering in the doorway, she skipped over and threw her arms around me. “Rachel finally heard from Jake. He’s okay, stuck at a service station, but it could be worse.”

  A sharp sensation, like how I imagined it felt to be pierced by an arrow, struck me in the chest. The pain radiated out from my heart, with each beat, as if the emotional pain could be carried throughout my body the way blood rushed through the arteries. I clasped my hand across my lips and closed my eyes tight. I needed to get home. If I broke down here, Becca might not let me go, or at least might not let me go home alone. Luckily, she wasn’t always that observant.

  As she pulled away from me, I opened my eyes in time to catch Rachel, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed, sending her sister a series of dirty looks.

  “What?” Becca said, then as she glanced at me, her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “It’s okay, Becca,” I said, although I looked through blurred vision, at Rachel. I blinked rapidly. “I’m glad he’s okay. I’m sure Robert’s fine. He’s probably stuck at a service station, or maybe still at the train station in Pine Tree. The reception when he phoned me earlier was terrible. He just can’t get through.” If I wasn’t standing in front of two fellow circus performers, I might have forced a performance smile onto my face, but I didn’t see the point.

  Rachel got off the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of me, a little out of arms’ reach. Her eyes darted back and forth as though she was calculating something from whatever expression had settled on my face. “You heading home?”

  I nodded, then relayed the contents of the phone call from the justice of the peace. “If there’s any chance I’ll sleep tonight, it’s most likely to happen at home.”

  “Send a text when you get in,” Rachel said, then started forward, almost as though she had tripped on the carpet, pulled back slightly, then finally threw her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. I only had enough time to start to feel uncomfortably compressed before she released me, and in a blink had retreated to her bed.

  “And text us when you hear from McAllister, okay?” Becca grabbed me, and likewise held me in a near-breath-defying embrace, although unlike her sister, she held on until I asked her to let go.

  “I’ll let you know when I hear from him—but don’t wait up, okay? If he’s been trying to get through to me since this morning, his phone battery could be dead by now.” At this rate I needed to make a list of everyone who wanted me to contact them when I finally heard from Robert.

  I left the twins, shuffling my socked feet across the hardwood floors, staggering under my own weight. Or maybe, the problem was that my emotions were pulling down on me like an anchor. I bumped into one side of the wall, then the other as I circled back to Dehlia who was packing up the last of the huge lasagna and salad she’d prepared for this evening’s festivities.

  “Take care of yourself tonight, okay Beth?” She held out a cloth bag filled with containers and what appeared to be a full bottle of wine.

  I took the bag and held it in front of my chest, as a shield against another hug. “Thanks, I will.”

  Dehlia looked at me for a long, hard moment, her lips pressed firmly together. Whatever she might have been considering, in the end she rejected it, merely nodding at me. “Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow. Just text me, or one of the girls when you’re ready to come over. Anytime is fine—really, anytime—even if you and Robert just want to hang out, eat and drink coffee until three o’clock, that’s fine.”

  “Thanks,” I said again, realizing that Miranda and Lisa now flanked me. Sneaking a sideways glance at Lisa, her complexion was slightly flushed, but otherwise there was no obvious signs of what she may or may not have been doing in the bathroom.

  “Let me see you ladies to the door,” Dehlia said and led us across the floor toward the front hall.

  ∞∞∞

  The drive back to my apartment was white. Other than that, I tried not to pay too close attention, for fear that I might freak myself out. Freak out over what we were driving through merely to cover ten miles of mostly in-town driving, freak out over what Robert must be stuck in trying to get back from Pine Tree. Regardless, we made it in one piece. Miranda pulled into the driveway, which I’d guess my landlord had cleared at some point this afternoon since it wasn’t one solid snowbank, and idled as I gathered my shoulder bag, and the care package from Dehlia.

  “See you tomorrow?” Lisa said. It seemed more of a question than a statement of fact.

  “Of course,” I said, trying to infuse some confidence into my response. “Have a good night, both of you…whatever you get up to.” I grabbed the handle, elbowed the door open, and swung myself out of the car.

  Even though my landlord had been out to shovel, enough snow had fallen since that time that it overflowed my shoes, instantly frosting my ankles and soaking my socks. I ran through the snow as best I could, every few steps my foot slipping on some unseen patch of ice covered in white. By the time I reached the door, only ten or fifteen yards away, my breathing had sped up. I twisted my upper body back toward my friends, still waiting in the car at the end of the driveway. I waved. They might have waved back, I couldn’t tell. I popped off my mitten, searched around in my shoulder bag for my keys for a moment before my fingertips brushed them in the bottom. Shortly after that I was inside, plodding up the steps to my apartment.

  Once on the top landing, I kicked off my shoes, and peeled off my jacket, dumping it over the railing rather than taking the time to hang it up properly. I headed to the kitchen, opening the bag from Dehlia as I walked. The bottle was in fact, champagne, and it seemed reasonably cold. Did we have champagne flutes? Not likely. Did it matter? No.

  In the kitchen I stowed the food in the fridge. It was a little after four, I wasn’t hungry. I could heat the lasagna up later if that changed. Or I could eat crackers out of the box. At this stage, it was hard to guess which was more likely.

  After a little puttering, I found the close-enough glassware, and wandered back out to the dining area. I’d only removed the little wire cage thing that comes on top of champagne corks when an urgent
knock sounded at the door. I was halfway down the stairs when it occurred to me that Robert shouldn’t have to knock. He should have keys. Nonetheless, my momentum carried me down the last few steps, then curiosity took me to the door. I grabbed the handle, and whomever was out there knocked a second time, a series of rapid strikes, probably desperate to get out of the snow.

  I wrenched back the door, throwing myself off balance. “Simon.”

  Chapter 11

  “Can I come in?”

  I stared at this man, who I once knew as a boy, but who was essentially a stranger to me now. How could we have such a difference in longevity and intensity in our feelings for one another? “Give me one good reason.”

  Simon shrugged; his hands buried deep in his pockets. “It’s snowing outside, and it’s getting colder, too.”

  “That’s not a very good reason,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as a gust of wind carried a burst of snow in through my door.

  “I’m not sure any reason will satisfy you, Beth. You’re deeply angry with me.” Simon’s wool coat certainly wasn’t warm enough for the weather, and snow was gathering in his fashionable coiffed hair.

  He was right, nothing he could say would be a good enough answer. I hugged my arms tighter across my body. “I still need a reason why I should let you in—your persistence in seeing me is bordering on uncomfortable.” Did he know Robert wasn’t here? Had he been waiting for me for some time? His knocking at my door mere minutes after I returned home seemed awfully convenient.

  “I need to talk to you about Emily,” Simon said. He’s gaze met mine. He looked at me steadily, unblinking, his whole body completely still, like he was slowly turning to ice on my doorstep.

  “That answer is at least unexpected,” I said. What did he want with his ex-fiancée? Why did he need to speak to me about her? Wouldn’t I be the last person he should consult about her? “Are you aware she yelled at me and called me a bitch in a packed restaurant yesterday?”

  Simon’s gaze faltered, drifting towards the ground. “Yes. She texted me last night—several times.”

  I nodded. “She seemed drunk, and people have a habit of baring out their souls through their phones to others when they’ve been drinking.”

  Simon looked up at me, his mouth drawn into a funny sideways pucker that seemed to acknowledge his guilt for doing the same to me a week ago. “Would it be possible to have this conversation inside? You’re going to have to shovel out your front landing soon.”

  Possible to have the conversation inside? What was the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen had nothing to do with if I let Simon into my house. I stepped back, waving my hand to indicate I’d allow him to enter, then turned and headed up the stairs. “I was about to open a bottle of champagne, want a glass?”

  “Definitely.”

  A few minutes later we were seated at my dining table, the champagne opened between us. On a second thought I grabbed the cold leftovers from Dehlia, cutlery and a couple of plates, and set them out as well. If I was going to drink with Simon, I shouldn’t do it without additional sustenance on hand. I didn’t need to the champagne to go straight to my head, but I needed a drink—not so much because of Simon, but because of the still-missing Robert. Food seemed wise.

  “So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I slid a piece of lasagna onto my plate. A better host might have warmed the pasta, but knowing Dehlia’s culinary skill, it would taste delicious even cold.

  “Like I said, Emily texted me last night after she saw you in the restaurant.” Simon paused and likewise scooped up a generous piece of lasagna; however, he immediately dug into his helping. How long had he been waiting for me?

  I watched him eat for a moment, chewing quickly, looking at some midpoint in between me and the champagne bottle. “And? I don’t suppose she felt remorseful for embarrassing me in a restaurant packed with people?”

  Simon swallowed and shook his head. “No. Definitely not. She called you a lot of things in her texts worse than bitch.”

  “Right.” I grabbed my glass and took a healthy swig of champagne. “I’m not sure where this is going. Would you care to elaborate?”

  Simon’s mouth opened, he hesitated, then decided he’d rather have a drink first before continuing. I would have thought he’d planned every syllable of this conversation while he waited for me to return.

  “I knew calling off the engagement would be painful for Emily. I’m not some totally ignorant guy, but…” Simon stopped and took another bite of lasagna. Was he was hungry, or simply too nervous to tell me what had motivated this visit?

  “You’re not having second thoughts are you, and that you do actually love the woman you dated for years and proposed to?” Out of annoyance and frustration I guessed wildly. Better to provoke an angry response than sit here for hours.

  Simon looked at me, his dark brown eyes flashing. I’d achieved my goal. “No. I should never have proposed to her.” He put his fork down and folded his hands on the top of table. He closed his eyes as he breathed in through his nose, then allowed it to noisily gush back out again. “I knew I wasn’t sure about my feelings for her when I proposed. I’d hoped being engaged would help me feel more settled, but it didn’t.”

  I waited for him to continue, to make the point of this all clear. I played with my glass, swirling the bubbly liquid around and around in the generic wine glass I’d poured the champagne into. I wouldn’t take another sip until I understood what was going on inside Simon’s head. “So, what are you doing here…again? I thought I’d made it clear to you last time that I’m not an option for you. I love Robert.”

  “I know,” Simon said, then continued slowly, as though he was carefully considering each choice of word before he spoke it. “I wanted your opinion…if you were Emily…would you consider trying again? From the beginning. Not from engagement, but all the way back to the first date. To see if I can fall in love with her?”

  “Fuck, Simon. Even if she did agree, what are you going to do, if after another year, or two, you still don’t love her?” I stabbed my fork into the lasagna, not so much to eat it, more to have the sensation of piercing something, since Simon’s skin wasn’t acceptable.

  Simon grabbed his glass and downed its contents in a single, large swallow. “I don’t know.” He stopped, ran his hand through his snow-dampened hair, then threw himself back against his chair in an over the top, dramatic fashion. “After the texts I got last night, I thought maybe I could at least try—if I made it clear I wasn’t making any promises.”

  Our gazes met. Simon appeared surprisingly cleared-eyed, especially considering how exhausted he’d looked in most of our recent meetings. Fatigue still showed around his eyes. Light purple shadows haunted his face, a few extra creases lined his lower lids, but he looked more at ease, maybe, than he had previously. Maybe I’d gotten through to him and his letting me go was helping to clear his judgement?

  I put my fork down without having taken a bite of the lasagna. “What kind of texts suggest to you she’d take you back?”

  “She asked me to come back,” Simon said simply.

  “Right. That seems pretty clear.” If I were Emily, would I want Simon back if he asked to start back at the beginning and made no guarantees? If I were Simon, could I fall in love with Emily, even though he’d already convinced himself that he didn’t care for her anymore? “Do you think there’s any chance that you could return her feelings? If not, I think you’d being doing her greater harm.”

  Simon shifted again in his chair. His line of sight dropped to some midpoint between us on the table. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  “Then maybe you should talk to her, face to face, and be straight with her, tell her that if you came back, she could end up getting hurt again.” I wasn’t a relationship expert to be giving out advice like this. What little I’d seen of Emily hadn’t suggested she could handle this sort of arrangement, but Simon seemed to want my opinion. Even if I’d merely
echoed back his own suggestion.

  Simon nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Beth.” He stood and looked around the apartment, like he suddenly wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here. Once he’d scanned our main living space, he patted his pockets, the way one does if they think they’ve lost something, like their keys, about their person. “I should go. I’ve intruded enough on your life this last week to make up for the seven years we haven’t seen each other.”

  I followed Simon to the top of our stairs, where he stopped and retrieved his coat. He fastened the buttons quickly, in an efficient sort of way you’d expect from a doctor, without looking at me. Perhaps his thoughts were already focused on what he had to do next to make things right with Emily. Once he’d finished, we stood silently, facing one another. Now what? Did I wish him luck? Say, ‘have a nice life?’ I had no idea when I’d see him again, if ever.

  “Well, have a great day tomorrow.” Simon picked up my hand and held it, almost like we were shaking hands, but more intimate.

  “Thanks,” I said, as I felt warmth creeping along my jawline. “I hope things work out for you, too, whatever that is.”

  Simon nodded in a noncommittal sort of way, then leaned forward and planted a light kiss on my cheek. When he pulled pack, a small smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. This was a bittersweet way to say goodbye to one another. Better than on Boxing Day, but it still felt incomplete. At one time we’d spent a great deal of time at each other’s houses, studying, hanging out with friends, talking on the phone and texting with one another multiple times a day. We hadn’t been high school sweethearts, not really, but we’d been good friends. Good friends should have a better ending than, ‘I hope things work out.’