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Her eyes darkened but she smiled in rueful acknowledgement. ‘Sorry. Habit, I guess.’
‘I don’t need therapy,’ Aaron said, trying to make a joke of it even though he still felt on edge. ‘And certainly not art therapy. I can’t even draw stick figures.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ She shook her head and smiled, although he suspected it took some effort. ‘I suppose I’ll never make a convert of you.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘It would be nice if you respected what I did,’ she answered, eyebrows raised, and Aaron grimaced.
‘I’m afraid I’m too much of a literalist. I like firm results—tangible, quantifiable proof.’
‘Life doesn’t always work that way.’
He shook his head. ‘Mine does.’
She stared at him, her head cocked to one side, her gaze sweeping slowly, thoughtfully over him in a way Aaron didn’t like. ‘And you don’t feel like you’re missing out on something, living like that?’
‘No, I don’t. I get results. Quantifiable success.’
‘And healing isn’t quantifiable,’ Zoe surmised. ‘Is it? Or happiness?’
‘No, they aren’t.’
She stared at him again and he felt everything inside him tense, resisting the very nature of this conversation, this intimacy.
‘Are you happy, Aaron?’
Damn it, he did not want her to ask questions like that. He most certainly didn’t want to answer them. ‘What’s happy?’ he said, dismissive, gruff, and she smiled wryly.
‘That’s not an answer.’
He wasn’t going to give her one. ‘Are you happy?’ he threw back, and she drew her knees to her chest, her hair brushing the tops of them, her eyes dark and soft.
‘I don’t know. Everything is so uncertain now. But, in general, yes. I think I’ve been happy. I’ve lived my life happily…for the most part.’
He had the strangest sensation that she was holding something back…just as he was. And he felt a stirring of uneasy guilt that she wasn’t happy now, and it was his fault.
‘Let me get dessert,’ he said, mostly because he’d had enough of this conversation.
‘Dessert?’
‘I bought something. I figured you were going for the typical pregnancy cravings, so…’ Quickly he went to the freezer where he’d put the bag from earlier and withdrew a pint of chocolate-chip ice cream. ‘Have you had a craving for this?’
The look on her face was almost comical, Aaron thought. She looked torn, caught between regret and a smile, and he knew immediately this wasn’t something she wanted.
‘Don’t tell me I’ll have to eat this all by myself,’ he said, and she gave in to the smile, whimsical and bittersweet as it was.
‘I’m afraid I’m lactose intolerant. But it was a lovely thought.’
‘Ah.’ Lactose intolerant; right. He put the ice cream back in the freezer. ‘So maybe a nice sorbet?’ he suggested. He felt like a fool and a failure, which he knew was ridiculous. It was just ice-cream—and yet he’d tried. And it hadn’t worked. Failure.
‘Sorbet would be perfect,’ Zoe said quietly, and then she was there behind him, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. ‘Thank you, Aaron,’ she said softly, and for some ridiculous reason his throat tightened. He didn’t answer.
It wasn’t much, Zoe knew, and yet it touched her all too deeply. The hesitant confidences, the thoughtful touches…He was trying. Not very well, admittedly, but his attempts at engaging her emotionally made Zoe’s heart soften and yearn. She could fall in love with this man, more than any of the men she’d convinced herself she cared for. She had a horrible feeling this could be the real deal.
And she didn’t want it. She couldn’t. Aaron might be trying, but that was all it was. Paltry attempts that she wanted to make into so much more. In the end the result would be the same: he’d break her heart. He’d crush it and he wouldn’t care—or perhaps even notice.
A few days after Aaron’s ice cream attempt, he came home a bit early, surprising her, and she tried to ignore the little bolt of pleasure she felt at simply seeing him walk through the door, his suit jacket hooked over one finger.
‘You’re home a bit early.’
‘I have an invitation to a new museum opening in SoHo tomorrow night,’ Aaron said. ‘And I wondered if you wanted to come.’
‘Oh.’ She felt an unexpected burst of pleasure at the thought of a proper outing—almost a date. ‘I’d love to.’ She bit her lip, frowning. ‘Is it fancy? I don’t really have…’
‘You can get something tomorrow. I’ll leave you my credit card.’
Zoe arched an eyebrow, deliberately teasing him. ‘You’re not worried I’ll go on a bender and max out your card?’
‘I’m protected against such possibilities,’ Aaron answered, without even a shred of humour. Zoe suppressed a sigh. Just when she thought they were getting somewhere—reaching some kind of understanding, some kind of sympathy—she felt as if she’d fallen backwards on her behind. Aaron had only offered her his credit card knowing that if she ran off with it he’d be covered. Of course.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she said lightly.
‘Of course, if you’d rather not shop I can have my assistant buy you something,’ Aaron offered. He’d loosened his tie and stood at the kitchen counter, drinking a beer. If someone could look in the window and see this scene, Zoe thought suddenly, it would seem so amazingly, achingly normal. A man and a woman chatting about their day, sharing the occasional smile or even a laugh.
Too bad the reality was so different—so much less. And she wanted more. Absurd, hopeless, but she could not keep herself from feeling it, craving it.
‘Why don’t you have your assistant pick something, then?’ she said, and with effort kept her voice casual. ‘I don’t really like shopping.’ That much was true, but she also needed to keep some kind of distance. Picking out a dress herself, knowing she’d care too much and want to please Aaron, was dangerous. If she acted like she didn’t care what she wore, then maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe her foolish, contrary heart would stop insisting it cared about Aaron when her head told her what an idiotic thing that would be to do.
‘Fine,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘I’ll have her pick it out and deliver it. The opening is at eight.’
When the box came the next afternoon, clearly from an exclusive and expensive boutique, Zoe couldn’t keep a tremor of anticipation from going through her. She might not particularly enjoy shopping, but what woman didn’t enjoy receiving new clothes? Even if they had been picked out by an indifferent secretary.
The dress wasn’t indifferent, though. The dress, Zoe saw as she lifted it from the folds of tissue paper with a hushed breath, was utterly gorgeous. It was made of a silvery-grey silk that shimmered in the light, with a halter neck and a fitted bodice, before flaring out gently around the ankles.
She stripped off her jeans and T-shirt and slid the dress on, twirled around it and felt like a princess.
What would Aaron think?
Not important, she told herself. Not important at all. She was just going to enjoy herself tonight, enjoy being out and about and feeling pretty rather than something close to what the cat dragged in. And she wouldn’t think about Aaron at all.
She slid the dress on a hanger and, with a smile still lingering on her lips, headed for the bath.
Several hours later she was dressed and ready. And Aaron hadn’t even returned. He’d texted to say he’d be back to pick her up at a quarter to eight, but it was almost the hour and she’d had no word from him.
Sighing, Zoe stared at her reflection. At least she looked better than she had in days. She’d put her hair up in a chignon and even put on a little make-up: eye-liner to make her eyes look bigger and darker and some light blusher and lipstick.
In the box underneath the dress she’d found a pair of diamanté-encrusted stilettos, perfect to go with the dress, and amazingly in her size. She gave a twirl in front of the mirror just as she heard the lift doors ping open and Aaron come into the apartment.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the hallway.
His gaze narrowed in on her right away, but he didn’t say anything. Zoe held her breath, waiting—for what? A compliment? A single word of praise? Surely even Aaron could manage that much.
He tugged at his tie and gave one brusque nod. ‘It fits.’
It fits? That was all? Disappointment made Zoe’s throat tighten and she swallowed, made herself smile. ‘Yes, it does. Your assistant must have known my size.’
Aaron didn’t answer for a moment, his long, lean fingers working the silken knot of his tie. ‘My assistant didn’t buy it,’ he finally said, sounding both gruff and reluctant.
Zoe blinked. ‘She didn’t?’
‘No.’ The knot unravelled and he slid his tie off, causing Zoe’s gaze to be hopelessly drawn to the lean, brown column of his throat, the pulse she could just see flickering there as he undid the top buttons of his shirt.
‘Who did, then?’
