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What could he say? Nothing.
‘When she was diagnosed we knew she wouldn’t have long but it happened so quickly. Seven months. That’s all we had—that’s all she had. Seven months. All the time in the world would never have been enough.’
It was as if a floodgate had opened. Emily’s anguish spilled out, unable to be contained.
‘What happened to her?’ he asked quietly, nestling his hand into her hair and cradling her scalp protectively.
It took a few attempts for her to get the words out. ‘She had Progressive Bulbar Palsy.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A form of motor neurone disease. Very aggressive. So cruel....’ Her words tailed away.
‘Is that why you took all that time off work?’ he asked, his stomach clenching. He’d assumed it had all been tied to her father’s recent mental breakdown; he’d had no idea it stretched back so long.
She rocked into him. ‘I had to be there. So little time.’ Emily couldn’t speak any more, her vocal cords choked by her grief.
Since the diagnosis, Emily had worked on autopilot, on the go all the time, never sitting still long enough actually to face what was happening to her mother full-on. It had been the same when she’d died.
She hadn’t cried since the funeral, too worried about her father to grieve for the woman they’d all adored.
‘Let me ask you something.’ Pascha spoke in a gentle tone that soothed her as much as the tender movements of his hand in her hair, massaging her scalp. ‘When your mother died, did she know how much you loved her?’
She tilted her face to look at him. His face was crinkled, his eyes a litany of emotion. She nodded in response, still unable to speak.
‘Then you did have enough time, milaya moya.’ His finger brushed against her cheek, his grey eyes swirling with emotion. ‘I know it doesn’t feel like you did and you’re right—all the time in the world would never have been enough. But for your mother to go to her grave knowing how much you all loved her is the greatest gift you could have given her. For that, you were blessed with all the time you needed.’
Even through the pain of her grief, Emily could feel the sorrow beneath the empathetic tone of his words. Her hand moved on its own accord to touch his face. Dark stubble had slowly spread along his jawline throughout the evening, a roughness to the touch that felt impossibly comforting.
She shifted a little, moving her face up his chest so her cheek rested on his shoulder. ‘Are you thinking of your father?’
His jaw clenched but he nodded. ‘I never got the chance to say goodbye or to—’ He cut his own words off, tilting his head back to look at the sky thickening with clouds once again. ‘I never told him how much he meant to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
He looked back down at her, his usually composed features raw.
Emily had been there at the end, holding her mother’s hand when she’d slipped away. They’d all been there. It was a comfort knowing her mum had been with the people she loved most when the end had come, that she hadn’t left this life alone.
All Pascha had was regrets. She could feel them as keenly as she felt their mutual sorrow.
She had no idea how long they sat there gazing at each other, his hand nestled in her hair, her fingertips tracing his stubbly jawline.
She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel those wide, firm lips upon hers and learn for herself what they’d feel like upon her mouth. And from the deepening of Pascha’s breath and the growing intensity in his eyes she could tell that he wanted it too.
His head dipped at the same moment she raised her chin, their lips coming together in a whisper of movement. He exhaled at the same moment she expelled the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and, inhaling again, she breathed him in, a dark, masculine essence that filled her with such deep longing.
She pulled back to stare at him, recognising the same puzzlement in his own stare as she knew must be in hers.
But then their lips came together again, his strong arms enveloped her and he was kissing her properly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, filling her senses with his exotic taste.
As if they had free will, her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and she pressed her hands to his skin. It was smoother to the touch than she could ever have imagined and she traced her fingers over it in circles.
The deeper his kisses, the more she wanted, soaking in as much of his taste and touch as she could consume.
Time slipped away, the world shrinking just to them, a mesh of hungry lips and tongues devouring each other.
His hand swept down her back to clasp her thigh over the restriction of the blanket she was nestled in.
