Page 80 of Winter With You

‘Actually,’ Luca began. ‘I had a meet with Robin Astoria. She saw one of the articles from the Zeeta Friedmann show and asked me to put together something for a charity event.’

‘And you have time for that?’ Sybille said, eyes querying. ‘When you have to style Gabriella Felix? And since when did clients get taken on without my input?’

He felt the deep scrutiny and judgement, whether it was really there or not. He had to do this. It was the safest thing for everybody. ‘So, Sybille, I was wondering if you might have time to take Gabriella on for the rest of her book events.’

‘No,’ Sybille answered straight away.

‘But—’

‘Did you not hear me, Luca? I said no.’

‘I heard you but⁠—’

‘Then you have my answer.’

‘But, why?’

Sybille sighed. ‘Because I always knew this was going to happen one day and now it is happening it needs to do exactly that… happen.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I just thought that you might⁠—’

‘Take over dressing Gabriella Felix because you’re starting to have feelings for her?’ Sybille asked bluntly. ‘And you won’t face the implications of that.’

‘No!’ Luca exclaimed. ‘That’s not it. That would be completely unprofessional and I am not unprofessional.’

Sybille shook her head. ‘You are a terrible liar, Mr Manning. And why do you lie?’

He bit his lip. Because that was all he had ever known. Because he lied every single day being Luca Manning. He didn’t want that in his life going forward but what choice did he have? The alternative was danger, as had been demonstrated already. But was the answer spending the rest of his days still running away?

‘I don’t know,’ he said with a sigh.

Sybille put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Talk to me, Luca.’

‘I can’t,’ he said. He moved away, into the shaft of winter sunlight coming through the large arched windows, towards that view of the city decorated for the holidays. He felt a tight breath gather in his chest.

‘Do you know, when I first rented this space, before I bought it, I spent the first six months pretending to be someone else,’ Sybille said. She arrived at his side and stood in the sunlight next to him.

He waited for her to continue but there was nothing coming from her, the only sound the faint hum of the traffic below. Finally, he spoke. ‘Why?’

‘Why do you think?’ Sybille asked him.

He shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Really? You do not have any idea what it is like to feel in all aspects of your life that you are the square peg for a round hole?’

His stance wavered a little. ‘Is that how you felt?’

‘Yes,’ Sybille stated firmly. ‘Sometimes I still do but, the difference is, now I do not give any shits about it.’ She moved closer to the window, until she was right up to the glass. ‘I am French. A migrant. Much rarer a species then than now. I was starting a business that most people considered to be unnecessary, a hobby of dress-up, or an art form people like to look at but take little real notice of. And I let those things dominate my thinking. Perhaps I was crazy. Maybe I was not good enough to be in the great New York City with these hopes and dreams but, one day…’ She sighed, stopped talking.

‘One day what happened?’

She turned to face him. ‘One day I realised that I was the one who would ruin my hopes and dreams if I didn’t stop pretending.’

He swallowed. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine you ever pretending to be anything for anyone.’

‘And I highly suspect everyone would think the same about you,’ Sybille countered. ‘But that’s the nature of survival, is it not?’

He shook his head, but he felt that something had shifted between them, and his instincts were caught somewhere between opening up and shutting down.