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She heard his indrawn breath, felt his muscles brace as he lifted his chin. She swore as her phone beeped again. She opened the door. ‘I have to go.’
She had to run.
SEVEN
From Victoria’s hotel room Liam watched the rising sun compete with the streetlights. He’d not been able to think of anything but Victoria for days. Even in the few moments when true concentration claimed him, she snuck in somehow. He’d wonder what she’d think of a new design feature. Whether she’d smile if he repeated the lame joke a salesman had told him. Her opinion mattered. It always had. He’d been boyishly nervous about her seeing how he’d refitted that boat. He, who never had wanted to impress anyone, had wanted to impress her. And what had she done once she’d got inside his prized shed?
Fallen asleep.
A rueful smile crossed his lips. She’d been so tired. So tense. So wary.
Because of him.
Five years ago he’d doubted he could live up to her—his youthful ideal. He didn’t think she’d understood the dire situation he’d come from. He’d clawed his way up—scholarships, the dreaded networking. Using every skill he’d had to gain some kind of footing. Then he’d met her and thrown it all away. Landing them both in the worst position either had been in.
On the road with her, he’d had to get some kind of security behind him because he knew relationships didn’t work when life was impoverished. It wasn’t so much dog-eat-dog, but an isolated hand-to-mouth existence. No one had energy to spare for caring.
He hadn’t wanted her to experience that. He’d wanted to protect, care, provide for her in the way that she should have been provided for. That she was used to. But all he’d done was cast her adrift and leave her alone to face exactly those kinds of trials.
Him too. He’d had to start from an even worse position—he’d killed his ‘team player’ rep. He’d broken the unspoken honour of fraternity by betraying Oliver. The shame he’d felt when he’d got that email rescinding the job offer—the realisation he had nothing to offer her. Nothing that she’d want for long.
And now? Now—for all the success he had, the money and the success she had—it still wasn’t going to work.
Because he still wasn’t enough.
In all his life he had never felt so alone—not even when his father had left for hours, days at a time, or when he’d spent months sailing alone at sea, when he’d spoken out and betrayed his best friend...none of that was worse than this moment.
He’d moved on from his past. But now he’d lost the most precious possibilities for the future.
He bowed his head, hating how ripped apart he felt. How stupidly vulnerable he’d allowed himself to get so quickly. No one central to his life had stayed with him—neither mother, father, nor the girl he’d once thought he loved.
Now he knew he loved her. He loved the strong woman she’d become—the generous, loyal, smart, beautiful woman. Because tonight, what had started as something of a game—a challenge—had become something so serious. So much more. For him.
He’d opened up to her. He’d offered her all he actually had to give—himself. Not just his body, but his support, his humour, what compassion he had...whatever else there was in him to be wanted. He’d wanted to give it all.
And he’d wanted her to take all of him. To embrace him. And she had—for one moment he’d been what she wanted. And it had felt so good he’d wanted her to hold on tight. He’d wanted to be her first choice. He wanted everything.
He’d pushed. Asking too much, too soon. He’d been the one to regress—to the insecure, needy youth he’d once been. Selfish. And, yes, unreasonable.
So she’d pushed him away. She didn’t want what he had to offer. He didn’t blame her for that. He was just going to have to learn to live with it. Again.
He still believed she deserved more to her life—for all the fabulousness of her career. She shouldn’t remain so isolated from her home, her history, her family. The wistfulness in her eyes when she spoke of them told him that. So did her need to be integrated into a community—to be necessary—that was why she’d made herself so indispensable in her work.
How much of an idiot he’d been no longer mattered. All he wanted was for her to be happy. Maybe, from a distance, he could help her reconnect.
But he had to leave now—because that was also what she wanted. And, frankly, he couldn’t stay to face her rejection again. She’d said no and she was right; it was time he listened to her.
So Liam did as she’d asked. He dressed. He left.
He didn’t look back.
EIGHT
Vivi wasn’t paying attention to Gia as they jogged. She clutched her phone so she could leave herself voice messages if Gia gave orders. But she was half hoping for a message or something from Liam. There was nothing, of course.
Her whole body ached but she mentally beat herself up all the more. Why had she lost it like that with him? Why’d she have to get so melodramatic and scream at him? Why couldn’t she just chill out and go a few more rounds with him? Have a whole night fling and take it for what it was? Sex that good wasn’t easy to find...
But she was deluding herself and she knew it. She wanted so much more from him. Always had. Always would.
Her nerves shrieked as she swiped her card to get into the room. But before she stepped in she knew. She sensed the void. For once he’d done as she’d asked. He’d listened. He’d left.
She couldn’t feel hurt by that—it was what she’d wanted, right? And he’d got what he wanted too. But all that emotion she’d thought she’d felt in those kisses? In that connection? To her it had felt as if he’d stopped them from having sex. He’d switched it totally. He’d made love to her—making her love him. He’d opened up to her, offered so much to her. And he’d held her as if he never, ever wanted to let her go.
But it seemed all that had only been her imagination.
* * *
A week later, back in London, winter had arrived early and Vivi felt the chill to her bones. Gia was on a bender—she’d been hit with inspiration after the boat shoot and wanted to design a whole range with a nautical theme in time for the following spring. Vivi couldn’t bear it. When Gia was in full-on create mode she shut everything else down, leaving Vivi to deal with every inquiry, every problem. So her hours were worse than ever and the ache in her soul worsened with every sleepless second. Nights were interrupted not just with the runs with Gia, but with memories of Liam—the building of an ache so great she didn’t see how it could be eased. And the more tired she became, the worse it got, the less she could sleep.
Finally one morning after a run that had gone on way too long, she glared at the bland monotony of her wardrobe, then turned her back on it. She stomped into work in ancient jeans and a huge jumper and went straight to the room where samples were kept. She found a scarlet shirt that was almost large enough. Gia wouldn’t stand for her wearing another designer’s outfits. Then she marched into Gia’s design room without knocking.
Gia lifted her head and stared frigidly.
Too bad. Vivi tossed the dictation machine she’d had couriered that morning onto Gia’s desk. ‘If you need to make notes for me, the bodyguard will hold this. I’m not getting up at three any more. I need my beauty sleep.’ She totally snapped.
Gia just kept staring at her. ‘Anything else you’d like to address while you’re here?’ she asked, her face completely impassive.
Vivi barely thought about it before biting the bullet. ‘I need another assistant to work on the new online distribution project. It’s getting too much for me to handle alone. Plus I need to take the next few days off work. Sorry for the short notice but I missed my holiday for the Genoa shoot and I need the time now.’ She needed to go and sort her head out. Get away completely, lick her wounds in private. Come back refreshed and ready to take her career to the next level—on her own terms.
If Gia didn’t like that, if Gia sacked her, then she’d just find work somewhere else. Sh
e had a name—a rep in the industry that she’d worked so hard to build. It was time to call on it. Only now, now she’d had a second to breathe... She held it in and waited for the bomb to blow.
But Gia just blinked. ‘All right.’
Vivi blinked back. ‘Really?’
Gia actually laughed. ‘Really.’
‘Okay.’ Vivi breathed out, then turned and walked across the room before Gia changed her mind.
‘The red looks good on you,’ Gia said as Vivi got to the door. ‘I’ve been wondering when you were going to get as bossy with me as you are with everyone else,’ she added.
Now Vivi chuckled. ‘Not bossy.’ She paused, lifting her chin. ‘Just...balanced.’
‘Bossy. But I like it.’ Gia’s eyes went slightly glassy. ‘And I really do like that red... Can you get me some—?’
Vivi held up her hand. She’d won a point here and she wasn’t conceding it the next second. She was going on in her new, fully sorted style. ‘I’ll get someone else to come in and take notes. I’m away the next few days, remember?’
Gia’s eyes snapped back into focus and she laughed. ‘Okay. But no more than four days—I can’t cope longer without you.’
Four days was longer than Vivi had had off in one stretch in the last four years. But she grinned at Gia’s genuine appeal—at the realisation that her incredibly demanding boss did actually recognise that Vivi was great at her job. But she also deserved more.
Back in her own office she drew a deep breath. If she could manage Gia, she could figure out the rest of her life, right? She could take it on.
‘Can you sign for these, please, Vivi? They’re both on your sig. only.’ The receptionist looked nervous as she came to the door. Yeah, Vivi had been grumpy these last few days. So she smiled sweetly and signed. ‘Thank you.’
Two parcels. She picked up the top one—the smaller. It was addressed to her, with ‘private and confidential’ typewritten on the front of it. Inside was another packet—with only her name on the front. This packet she unwrapped slowly, her heart thudding. Because she recognised her mother’s delicately perfect handwriting. She’d never really appreciated how beautiful it was before.
Inside was a whole bunch of envelopes, bound together with a rubber band. Her name on each envelope, but no address. She opened the top one. At first she couldn’t read the words, she was too nervous. Goosebumps rippled down her arms and she sat in her chair, her legs wobbly. The letter was signed from them both.
Her parents were in touch with Stella? Her parents wanted to get in touch with her?
And inside all those envelopes were all the letters her mother had written over the years and never known where to send them. The Christmas cards. The birthday cards. All kept. All written. Some short messages. Some longer.
