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Had she always loved him? Had she never fallen out of love with him? He had left and she had been forced to carry on, and she had had reason enough to be furious with him in the abstract, but she had still found her way into his bed within days of laying eyes on him again. She had told herself it was for her own purposes, but the reality was, she hadn’t leaped into bed with anyone else. She had never wanted anyone else the way she wanted Tariq.
She wondered if on some level she had deliberately left her bag with her bank card behind when she’d set out for the train—because she hadn’t really wanted to leave him.
She wanted to go with him wherever he wanted to take her, even though she knew it was highly likely that he would break her heart when he married someone more appropriate, but she couldn’t find it in her to be as worried about that eventuality as she ought to be. It was clear to her now that she had been desperately in love with Tariq since the day she’d first seen him all those years ago, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Just as there was no point attempting to be noble and leave him first—she might as well enjoy what little time with him she had, the better to hold on to in the lonely years to come.
Because Jessa knew that Tariq could never love her, not after what she had done in giving Jeremy away. How could he, when it was obvious to her that he had wanted his own family so desperately for all of his life? The truth was that she knew, deep down, that she had no right to him. She had been given the opportunity for a second chance, and she was not strong enough to resist it, even though it was clear to her that he would leave her once again.
Jessa uncurled from her chair and stood, staring out at the view but seeing instead his hard, proud face. He didn’t have to love her. She would love him enough for them both. She was no stranger to hard love, love like stone, all immovable surfaces and impossibilities. She loved Jeremy more than she had ever thought it possible to love another person, and yet she had given him away, and knew with every breath and every regret that it had been the right decision no matter how much it hurt. She was used to love that bit back and left marks and forced her to be strong.
She could be strong for Tariq, too.
Her sister Sharon was a different story.
“Have you gone mad?” Sharon demanded down the telephone line, sounding scandalized—and uncharacteristically shrill.
Jessa had fortified herself with several cups of the hot, rich coffee from the breakfast service, but it seemed to have done nothing but make her agitated. Or perhaps she was already agitated. She had dressed with extra care, as if Sharon might be able to see her through the telephone and perhaps intuit what Jessa had been doing, but she found that the simple silk blouse and A-line skirt made her feel as insane as Sharon accused her of being. Was she dressing up, pretending to be someone else? Someone more sophisticated that Tariq could love? Foolish, she scolded herself, and adjusted her position, holding her mobile close to her ear.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” she told her sister, which was no more than the truth. She’d settled in for this conversation in the sitting room off the master suite, on the prim settee next to the windows, her back to the breathtaking view of Paris and angled away from the stunning Cézanne painting that took up most of the far wall—she wanted no distractions.
“I thought it was strange enough that you’d run off on a holiday with no advance warning,” Sharon continued. “But to get mixed up with that man again? Jessa, how could you?”
“You don’t know him,” Jessa said evenly, feeling called to protect Tariq, even from her sister who could do him no real harm. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“I know quite enough!” Sharon said with a snort. “I know that he lied to you and left you! I know that men like him think they can swan in and out of people’s lives as they please, with no thought to the consequences!”
“Tariq is not the same person he was then,” Jessa said. She sighed. “And nothing is really as simple as it might have seemed back then.”
“You can do whatever you like with your own life, no matter how reckless, but this isn’t just about you, is it?” Sharon let out a ragged breath. “Selfish!” she half whispered, but Jessa heard her perfectly. She could even picture what her sister was doing—pacing the kitchen in her cottage with one arm wrapped around her waist, her face set in a terrible frown—as if she was there to see it in person.
Jessa told herself not to snap back at Sharon. Of course her sister was terrified by the prospect of Jessa with Tariq again. How could she not be? Jessa closed her eyes and lay her palm flat against her chest, just above her heart, as if she could massage away the ache that bloomed there. She could love Sharon, too, because she knew full well that beneath her sister’s prickly exterior she loved Jessa in return. Sharon had always been there for Jessa. And wasn’t that what love was for, in the end? To embrace others when they most needed it, whether they appreciated it or not?
