PROLOGUE
Morning rays of late-winter sunlight spilled across the farmhouse bedroom, coaxing a soft, contented moan from Rita Jory as she began to stir. She sank a little deeper into the luxurious queen-size bed, the soft sheets curling around her like a warm embrace, and felt thoroughly comfortable. For a moment she lay still, listening to the familiar creaks of the old farmhouse, the soft mooing of cows outside, and the comforting shuffle of Jago Jenken moving about downstairs.
For the past few months, their relationship had been a whirlwind of laughter, dinners out, cosy nights by the fire, long walks across the cliffs and sex. Plenty of it. Mind-blowing, explosive, loving sex.
Even her first Christmas as a widow had been made bearable by their exciting honeymoon phase. Without doubt, life with this charming man had settled into something unexpectedly lovely. Warm, passionate and steady. Maybe… if anything,toolovely.
For despite all of the wonderfulness, sometimes questions would nudge in and throw her off kilter.Where exactly is this going? Are we meant to be together forever or is it just a glorious interlude?Had she really given herself time to grieve her husband before she had fallen into another relationship?
Before she could sink too far into her thoughts, the door creaked open.
Balancing a tray stacked with warmed pastries and fresh berries, Jago tiptoed in. On the coffee mug at the centre of it all, a pink Post-it read: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY.
Rita blinked awake. ‘Hello, you. I must have fallen back to sleep.’
‘Breakfast in bed.’ He grinned, setting the goodies carefully down on the bedside table. ‘For one very special lady.’
She yawned, her tawny hair a messy halo around her face. ‘Aw, you darling, you really didn’t have to…’
‘I wanted to.’ He sat on the edge of the bed beside her, brushing her nose with his finger. That familiar dimple appeared in his left cheek, and her heart fluttered. Seven months of magic. Seven months of feeling alive again. Seven months of… but there was something else. A twinge of guilt; some sort of uncertainty she couldn’t quite name.
‘You really are ridiculous sometimes.’ She laughed, pushing that little flicker of discomfort away, and reached for a buttery croissant.
‘Ridiculous?Moi?’ He clutched his chest dramatically. ‘I prefer charming, romantic, slightly on the wild side.’
Rita rolled her eyes. ‘My very own Ross Poldark, yeah, yeah, I know it. You know it.’
He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. ‘And I thought… if all of this wasn’t enough already, then maybe you’d like a little extra surprise.’ From behind his back, he pulled out a small red velvet box.
Rita’s smile faltered. Her stomach plunged.Oh, God.Already?This soon… surely not…
She couldn’t stop the flash of horror crossing her face. She glanced up and saw that Jago had seen it. His expression dipped, hurt flickering in his eyes. She opened the box in nervoustrepidation. To her relief, it wasn’t a ring but a delicate silver bracelet.
‘Wow,’ she breathed, hoping desperately that her moment of panic hadn’t been too obvious.
But Jago’s brow creased. ‘Rita, you didn’t think…’
‘No, God, no,’ she cut in quickly. ‘Anyway, I’m happy just the way we are. Honestly. Really.’
She lifted the bracelet carefully. Attached was a tiny heart charm with intricately engraved initials: R & J.
‘You like it?’ Jago asked, his tone uncertain as he placed it on her wrist and rubbed the interwoven initials with tender intensity. ‘This is us. You and me. Entwined together, hopefully forever.’
Rita forced her smile into her eyes. ‘Thank you, it’s beautiful. Really beautiful.’
And then it happened. The words slipped out, uninvited, catastrophic, with nowhere to go other than Disasterville. ‘I love it, Archie…’
Jago, who had been leaning in for a kiss, froze. Pulled back, eyes widening.
He frowned. ‘Wait… what did you say?’
‘I… shit! No! I didn’t mean…’ Rita’s hand flew up as if she could bat the word out of the air. ‘Jago, I’m so sorry.’
‘Archie?’ His voice was low, sharp. ‘You called me Archie.’
Her heart pounded. ‘I was with him a long time. It was a simple mistake. Jago… it’s OK.’
‘OK?’ His voice quivered. ‘Do you know what that feels like? To do all this’ – he gestured to the tray, to the bracelet, to her – ‘and then hear you call me by my dead brother’s name?’ He blew out a breath and stood up, turning away before facing her again. ‘I hoped you’d moved on. We’d moved on, together…’
