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There are no words to express what it means to me, knowing that Emma will be with you when I am gone. There is no one in the world I would rather bring up my precious daughter, and I trust you completely to do what is right for her.
But Chloe, promise me that you will not give up on your own happiness. I know you have been hurt in the past, but don’t let that stop you taking a chance on love. I truly believe that it’s better to regret the things that don’t work out in the way you’d hoped, than regret not taking a chance on something that could be amazing.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for everything you have done for me, and will continue to do for me through Emma after I am gone. You have been the most loyal and wonderful friend anyone could ever ask for and I feel truly blessed to have had you in my life.
All my love, always.
Your best friend forever, Liz.
Chloe slipped the letter back into the envelope with a shaking hand. She didn’t realise she was weeping until she saw a tear splash onto the envelope, making the blue ink start to run. She missed Liz so much, although she knew she’d always be in her heart. And she’d always cherish the memories of her friendship.
But Liz’s words in the letter about taking a chance on love had been difficult to read. That was exactly what Chloe had done by staying with Lorenzo—but it was turning out so much more painful than Chloe could have imagined.
Lorenzo gripped the steering wheel, fury eating through him as fast as the powerful limousine ate up the miles to the village.
He could not believe that Chloe had taken the convertible. He hadn’t known she had it in her to show such defiance—to deliberately disobey a direct order from him. He’d only forbidden her to drive for her own safety. The roads were narrow and winding, with sudden bends that took drivers by surprise. And the convertible was an exceptionally powerful car—a steel deathtrap in inexperienced hands.
When he found Chloe he would demand an explanation. He would let her know that it was not acceptable for her to defy him—that he would not tolerate it.
Suddenly, as he approached a tight bend, a metallic shaft of light flashed in his eye. A car had driven off the road ahead of him—the driver failing to make the sharp turn in time.
‘Chloe!’ Her name burst from his lips and he felt his heart crash painfully against his ribs.
He slammed on the brakes, almost losing control of the limo, and pulled off the road into an entrance to a field. He was out of his seat in a second, sprinting back to where the other car had gone through the hedge.
He clambered through the broken gap in the hedgerow, oblivious to the brambles clawing at his legs, and realised that it was not the convertible. In fact it was not even the same colour or model car. He had been thinking so hard about Chloe that his mind had played a vicious trick on him.
Filled with a mixture of relief and edginess, he hurried to the vehicle, to check if anyone needed his help. The car was abandoned. The driver and any passengers had already left the scene. He laid his hand above the engine, and confirmed that the car was cold—the accident had happened some time ago.
He walked shakily back to the limo, realising he had broken out into a cold sweat. The thought of Chloe being in an accident had terrified him. He leant against the rusty five-bar gate into the field and took some deep steadying breaths.
The only other time he could remember having felt anything like it was the night of Emma’s ear infection. But this time his reaction had been even more acute. He told himself that it must be because there was a car crash involved. Car crashes were sudden and violent, and were potentially fatal.
He got back into the limo and headed onwards in the direction of the village—driving much more slowly. Then, when he reached the row of cottages and saw the convertible parked at the side of the street, he felt a second, even more intense wave of relief.
Chloe had given him a nasty fright. He would make sure she never did such a thing again.
He got out of the car angrily and walked to the cottage, glancing in through the front-room window as he approached the front door. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.
Chloe was weeping. She was sitting on the sofa, with her face buried in her hands and her whole body wracked with sobs.
A pain as sharp as a knife twisted in his stomach as he watched her.
He wanted to go in and comfort her. To wrap his arms tenderly around her and take her away from whatever was causing her such distress.
But she had not wanted him there. She had made that very clear. She had told him it was personal and that she wanted to be alone.
Suddenly, he knew that he could not disturb her. His presence would make her suffering even worse.
He turned silently away. Then he repositioned the limousine further along the street so she would not see it when she left, and sat quietly waiting for her to leave. From a distance he would check she was all right. And then he would follow her home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHLOE stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the bedroom, looking out over the pre-dawn landscape. It was not much past 4:00 a.m., but the dim, colourless light of dawn was creeping across the sky.
She couldn’t sleep. She was thinking of the time she’d told Lorenzo about the house of her dreams—the house which she thought had been the inspiration behind the purchase of this property they were currently living in.
It was about a year after she’d started working for him, and they had driven out of London for a business meeting with a man who’d refused to leave his home in Sussex to meet with Lorenzo in London. Chloe had loved the journey, sitting next to her gorgeous boss in the front of his sports car, chattering away about inconsequential things.
