Page 67 of Unwritten Rules

And at this moment, as she picks up her bright pink handbag and drops her phone and lipstick into it, I want nothing so much as to hold Heaven in my arms.

The pain in my chest worsens at the realisation that the only places that Heaven can exist for me are in my dreams and deep within my secret heart – never within my embrace, not the way I long for her to be.

“You make me laugh, Nathaniel. Exquisite? I know you’ve got better lines than that.” She stops, crossing her arms over her chest and tilts her chin, playfully mocking me. “I mean, come on! I rolled my eyes so hard, I checked out my own ass.”

* * *

Lunch at the DeMarco house is a quiet affair.

It’s a beautiful day, and as such, Liv has had the staff that Henry insists on having set up on the expansive raised patio at the back of their over-the-top mansion less than an hour outside of London.

I’ve been seated between Mila and the angelic-looking, yet anything but, Bella North. Her father has been stuck on Facetime with her mother – a fucking bitch of the highest order who, Caden disclosed to Henry after I’d left yesterday, is currently back in rehab for the third time in Bella’s short life.

“Uncie Nate, you have a girlfriend?”

Thanks, Bella, you utter shit-stirrer.

I look down on her pretty little face surrounded by a halo of tight blonde curls, her smile possibly wider than her father’s infamous grin.

“No, Bella. You know I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Do Mila have a boyfriend?” Her mouth widens, and I swear I can see mischief sparkle in her big blue eyes.

Oh, shit. I walked right into this mess!

“No.” My teeth are gritted as I reply, feeling the weight of the eyes of just about everyone at the table on me.

Mila, to my left, tucks into her salad with gusto – of no help whatsoever.

On her left, Josie and Nola grab their glasses of wine, bringing them to their lips in unison, an almost practised move.

Further down the table, the conversation has stopped between Liv’s found family – Father Thomas from her volunteer work and Martha and Ted Goode, who now work alongside her at her non-profit – having been silenced by the mini dictator beside me.

Across the table, Alex is beside Olivia – shock fucking horror there – with his head stuck in the shaded bassinet that houses baby Sebastian.

Liv’s eyes are fixed on Bella, a small smile playing on her face before the mini tyrant beside me speaks again, drawing my attention as she sing-songs.

“Uncie Nate and Mila, up a tree, k-i-s-s-u-l-p.”

“Nate!”

Henry’s voice is a loud bark across the table, my eyes flying from the child before me to meet his dark gaze.

“What?”

“I need to speak with you.”

I nod my head, tossing my napkin on the table, and leave the group to follow Henry across the patio and into the living area beyond without a backward glance.

Once we reach the fireplace in the main living room, he spins to face me, his expression as dark as a thundercloud, lightning spitting from those unique eyes of his.

My oldest friend busies himself, fixing us both some of his favourite Macallan 64 that he only breaks out on the rarest of occasions – usually when he’s feeling vulnerable as fuck.

My heart sinks as I contemplate what will be said here and now.

Henry and Mila share the same eyes, according to most people. I can see the similarity, to be honest – but it’s the intonation portrayed by those orbs that make his different from the woman I adore above all others.

My stomach dips at the acknowledgement. The woman I fucking adore – the woman I love.