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Frowning, Clara opened the file. On top, before all the contract information and emergency contact details, sat her divorce papers, just waiting for Jacob’s signature. Of course. That would be Merry’s idea of a brilliant Christmas present.
But for Clara it was growing harder and harder not to imagine both futures—the one she could have had with Jacob and the one she was living now—and wonder what the first would have been like if they’d ever really opened up to each other. She accepted now that she’d never let him in, had never wanted to open herself up that way. What if he had been doing the same? She’d always known Jacob had held his own secrets close to his chest. There were some things they just didn’t talk about and she’d accepted that, not wanting to push him and have him push back.
She’d never told him why his behaviour hurt her so much. And she’d never asked him why he didn’t want children. Was it just a knee-jerk reaction, the fear of a young man, which he might grow out of? Or had there been something deeper there? His reaction to her pregnancy scare told her there was. Was it too late to find out what that problem was?
And would it make a difference when she told him about Ivy?
She needed to tell him. And she was starting to think it couldn’t wait until January.
Maybe it was just the Christmas sentimentality getting to her. Didn’t every single person have a wobble around the festive season and start wishing that maybe they had someone to share it with?
Well, everyone except Merry. Her best friend was very firmly anti-relationship. Something that worked very well alongside Clara’s resolve to give Ivy a stable, secure and loving upbringing, even if that meant being a one-parent family rather than introducing her to potential step-parents who might not hang around.
Could Jacob give her that security? Clara still wasn’t sure. But she realised now she wouldn’t ever be sure unless she opened up to him.
‘Everything okay with the lights?’ Jacob asked from just over her shoulder.
Clara slammed the folder closed and shoved it back into the box, hiding it under some emergency ribbon for the tree.
‘Fine.’ She grabbed the fairy lights and turned, stumbling back slightly on her heels as she discovered Jacob was even closer than she’d realised.
He reached out to steady her and Clara could feel the warmth of his hands even through her light sweater. She bit the inside of her cheek and stepped away.
She’d let her guard down. Let herself appreciate the way he looked at her—the way he looked in his jeans and jumper. She’d let her imagination enjoy the moment. And she couldn’t afford to do that, not any more.
Especially not when he had that hot look in his eye. The one she remembered all too well from their wedding night.
She had to focus on getting the job done and getting out of there. The connection between them might still be there, but giving in to that attraction was exactly how they’d ended up as man and wife without knowing the most basic things about each other. She couldn’t let that happen this time. She needed to tell Jacob about Ivy before she could even think about what it might mean for their relationship.
Swallowing, Clara found her voice again. ‘Let’s string some lights.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
JACOB FLICKED THE SWITCH on the lights again, smiling when every single bulb lit up. Clara’s excessive testing at least meant he didn’t need to hunt for the missing ones and replace them, like he always found himself doing at home.
Maybe it truly was a perfect Christmas.
The thought soured even before he appreciated it as he remembered the folder in the decorations box. She’d been fast to close it, but not so quick that he hadn’t seen enough to know what it contained.
Divorce papers. The very ones he’d been avoiding signing for five years.
Who brought divorce papers to a Christmas celebration?
But this wasn’t Clara’s celebration, no matter how much he’d tried to convince her to join it. For her, this was still work. And his signature on those papers was part of her payment.
She’d earned it. More than earned it. She deserved to be free of him.
Except... The hardest thing was knowing how good things could be between them. Yes, their marriage had lasted less than a year, and yes, he’d screwed up. And Clara was right—they’d spent more time in bed than they had talking. They hadn’t known each other the way they’d needed to.
But that time in bed... He’d been working so hard to forget it, until the moment she’d stumbled against him and it all came flooding back. The feel of her body pressed against his, however fleeting, had been so familiar, so right, his own had immediately reacted the way it always did when Clara was near.
And now all he could think about was that four-poster bed, going to waste upstairs.
But no. He needed to keep his distance. Set her free. Sign her blasted papers.
It was just that it had been five years. Five long years he’d hung in there, not quite letting her go. Now he just couldn’t imagine saying goodbye without kissing her one more time. Without showing her that however much she’d thought he hadn’t wanted her when they were married, he had, and he still did. For all the distance he’d put between them, trying to keep her safe from him, he wanted to stride across it now and hold her, kiss her, touch her.
Love her, one last time.
‘Just a few more decorations and I think we’re done here,’ Clara said, unnecessarily cheerily, in his opinion. ‘I’ll be able to leave you to enjoy Christmas with your family.’
Jacob checked his watch. His parents and Heather were due at four, only another hour away. Clara was cutting it fine and, from the way she scurried around the tree adding decorations, she knew it. She’d already packed up everything else. Clearly, she planned on making her escape the first chance she got.
Only he wasn’t sure he could let her go. Not forever. Not like this.
‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’ he asked. ‘Not even for a sherry and a mince pie?’ That was the polite, proper thing to do on Christmas Eve, wasn’t it? And Clara wouldn’t want to be impolite... ‘I know my family would like to see you again, however briefly. To thank you for everything you’ve done setting up this weekend, if nothing else.’
Clara paused, halfway through hanging a silver bell on the tree. ‘You told them you were working with me on this project??
??
‘Of course I did.’ Maybe not entirely intentionally, but he’d told them. Jacob wasn’t one of those people who told his parents everything that was going on in his life and he was pretty sure they wouldn’t want to know. But when it mattered, he kept them informed. Mostly.
‘And they weren’t...weird about it?’
‘Why would they be?’
Clara raised her eyebrows at him and Jacob interpreted the look as meaning: Ex-wife. Remember?
‘They were fine,’ he said, skipping over his mother’s concern. Mothers worried.
‘Really?’ Clara asked, disbelief clear in her voice.
Jacob sighed. He’d never been able to get away with lying to her when they’d been married either. He’d thought that made them a great match, at the time. But clearly Clara had been much better at hiding the truth. Otherwise he’d have realised how unhappy she was long before she’d left.
He’d honestly thought she was coming back. That it had been just another of their spats—a minor retaliation for the fact he’d had to work on Christmas Day. He hadn’t believed she’d really meant it.
Not until she still hadn’t come back a month later.
No wonder his mother worried. He’d been the poster child for denial at the time.
‘They just want me to be happy. And I want them to be happy. And you staying for sherry and a mince pie would make us all very happy.’
With a small, tight smile on her lips, Clara shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry.’ Reaching down, she picked up her bag.
She was actually leaving him. Again. And this time he was under no illusions that she would come back.
He had to let her go. But not like this. Not when he was so close to understanding everything that had gone wrong between them. To knowing her the way he never had before. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference, but maybe it would. And he just knew, deep down, that there was more here. Something she wasn’t saying.
