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They were over.
She was still too numb to do more than swallow back a huge lump that had formed in her throat.
* * *
Andreas sipped at his single malt as he read through the emails Debbie had decided were worthy of his attention, keeping one eye on the time. An old friend from his Manhattan days, when he’d been a mere employee, was due any minute. As was their tradition, they’d agreed to meet in their old ‘watering hole’, as Frank still liked to call it.
‘Can I get you another drink, sir?’
He looked up from the screen at the young, pretty waitress who had been paying him extra attention since he’d arrived at the bar and settled himself in an empty corner booth. It was still early but tonight was the opening game of the baseball season and this bar was a firm favourite for Yankee fans. He estimated that he and Frank would have an hour of catching up before the place filled up.
‘I’m good for the moment, thank you,’ he answered with a quick grin. ‘I’ll let you know if I need anything else.’
She winked before sashaying away. ‘Be sure that you do.’
Focussing his attention back on his smartphone, he rubbed the back of his neck and chided himself for wasting an opportunity for a little flirtation.
This pretty waitress was a perfect example of what he’d been looking forward to all these years: grabbing opportunities for fun when they came along. Andreas was now free to do what he liked with whom he liked when he liked. Natalia had announced at his cousin’s wedding that she was moving in with her boyfriend. A boyfriend she had conveniently forgotten to mention to her protective uncle until she was certain things would work out between them.
He’d wished her luck and even managed to inject sincerity in his voice.
Who knew, he thought cynically, taking another sip of his Scotch, maybe it would work for them? And if it didn’t he would be there to pick up the pieces. He’d come to accept that when it came to Natalia, he would always be there.
The main thing, he had told himself numerous times, was that his freedom had officially arrived. He didn’t even have a fake fiancée to worry about.
Lord knew what he would do if the rumours about him gained traction. It had been six days since he’d shut the door on the viper and their relationship. He’d ordered Debbie to check in frequently with their media contacts and inform him immediately if the rumours started up again. So far, all was quiet.
Maybe their brief relationship had been enough on its own to quell the rumours.
The waitress caught his eye again. She really was incredibly pretty, a true all-American girl with a toothy smile and perfectly blonde hair.
Carrie’s hair had been blonde the first time he’d met her, their first oh-so-fleeting glance…
He took a deep breath and downed his Scotch.
Do not think of her. Not by name.
It was easier to depersonalise her. Depersonalise her and forget about her.
Less than a minute after he’d slammed his empty glass on the table, the waitress brought him another over.
‘Where are you from?’ she asked, lingering at the table.
‘Greece.’ He returned the smile and willed himself to feel something.
Anything.
‘Greece, huh? I’ve always wanted to go there.’
She’d moved close enough for him to smell her perfume. It was nice. Floral.
It did nothing for him.
Carrie’s scent had been evocative. It had hit him in the loins.
His mind suddenly loosened, memories he’d shut tightly away springing free. The heat of her kisses, the movement of her lips when she spoke, the way she smiled sleepily when she looked at him after waking…
The way she had cried on his shoulder, her desolation over her sister, the way she had clung to him, as if he were the lifeline she’d needed when her emotions had thrown her out to sea…
Carrie…
Carrie…
Carrie!
Her name rang loudly in his ears.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Carrie.’
‘Sorry?’
He blinked and saw the waitress looking at him with puzzlement.
He’d said her name aloud.
Carrie.
Scared, terrified Carrie who’d spent her life watching her mother and sister being used and sometimes abused by rich men.
Her kisses didn’t lie. Her lovemaking didn’t lie.
Her scared brain did.
‘Her name is Carrie,’ he said more clearly. ‘The woman I love. She’s called Carrie.’
He hadn’t told her he loved her. He’d held that back as the strength and vehemence of her rejection had accelerated, protecting his ego.
Why had he not recognised the fear in her eyes for what it was rather than just listened to what she’d said? Why had he not laid his heart truly on the line for her?
