Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“I never said that.” My answer sounds a little sharp, and Mila looks slightly taken aback.
“Sorry, that’s right. You said you’d loved once. I guess I just assumed once was enough.”
“I never closed myself off to the possibility of it.” Maybe I just took care not to find it.
“Well, I suppose weddings are as good a place as any to look for love. Or whatever,” she adds.
“Two things,” I say, making a peace sign with my fingers as I lean in, covering her hand with mine. “One, I found you at a wedding. At two weddings.” As Mila makes to pull away, I tighten my hold. “And two, you shouldn’t believe everything you read about me.”
“What about when the words come from your best friends’ mouths?”
“Sometimes people only see what they want to see.”
“Not that it matters.”
“It shouldn’t.” I lean back in my chair again. “But getting back to the topic of food, there’s this place in Chelsea that does the most amazing breakfasts. We should go when we get back. Maybe Sunday?”
She shakes her head.
“Or we could do dinner instead.”
“No. No breakfasts or dinners.” Her tone is soft, her delivery careful.
“Are you breaking up with me already?”
“Fin, be serious.”
“Okay.” But I’m as serious as the fist currently crushing my heart. “Look, I know you don’t want anyone to know we’re married, and I get that. But we’ve had fun, haven’t we? We’ve gotten on well. Wouldn’t you like to see where this goes?”
Before the words are out of my mouth, she’s shaking her head. “That’s not what we agreed.”
“Will being my friend also be a risk to your business profile?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
I might be “one of London’s most popular bachelors,” but I recognize a brush-off when I hear one.
“Plans change, Mila.” Sometimes, people even fall in love.
“Well, my plans haven’t changed.”
She looks so sad, I change tack, forcing a smile, when what I want to do is throw my arms around her.
“I really like you, Mila.” Understatement of the fucking year. “I think it would be a mistake not to get to know each other better. It doesn’t have to be all about sex.” Or only about sex. “And we don’t have to do this publicly.”
She pauses for a moment, blinking as though absorbing my words.
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
Just . . . fuck that noise. We’re fucking married, and as crazy as it sounds, it’s going to stay that way if I have anything to do with it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, studying her plate again.
My heart isn’t breaking, and I’m not hurt. Or not exactly. I expected her reaction. I guess I just hoped for better. Maybe it was too soon to bring this up, but I thought . . .
Fucking pancakes. It was just meant to be breakfast—maybe even a breakfast fueled by jealousy—but I see it for what it is now. Breakfast is the least of what I want to bring to her life. I want to shower her in riches, shower her in my love. Walk alongside her in life and share her load. Carry it when she’ll let me. Scoop her up into my arms when she won’t.
I’m undeterred. I have no choice in the matter, not with feelings this real.
“Don’t you feel that spark between us? The connection?”
“It’s just a holiday romance.” Her eyes lift to mine, almost pleading for understanding. “We can’t trust what we feel in this setting.”
“Maybe you can’t.”
“When the holiday comes to an end, so will this,” she says quietly. “It has to.”
“Why? Tell me why it has to be that way.” Hooking my foot around the empty chair between us, I pull it out and lift my feet onto it. Spell it out for me, love. Is it me you don’t trust, or just yourself?
“I’ve got a lot to deal with when I get back. A lot to think about.”
“I know.”
“I have to find a new flat, and I have my business to concentrate on—”
“I can help,” I persist. Pressing my elbows to the arms of the chair, I steeple my fingers. “I’m not just a pretty face.”
“I’m going to be busy. So busy,” she says, disregarding that. As she probably should.
“Let me be your friend. I can be a good friend. Whatever else they say, Oliver and Evie can vouch for that.”
“But I won’t, and friendship is a two-way street.”
“I’m kind of low maintenance. No need to worry about upsetting me.”
She tips forward suddenly, pressing her hands to her face. “Look,” she says, red cheeked and wild haired, when she emerges again. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to navigate a friendship with someone who knows how my body works. Or even a situationship—a friends with benefits deal—which is what I assume you’re really talking about.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because you’re almost forty years old and you’ve never had a long-term relationship, as far as I can make out. You’re a regular feature in every gossip column in London. The women by your side change as often as the weather does! I can’t do it—I can’t take a risk on a relationship or even a friendship with you.”