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‘Just that she died a couple of years ago.’
And she could have left it there. She could have breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t know anything more than that.
‘Three years ago, actually,’ Talia burst out before she could stop herself, as if she wanted him to finally know.
She didn’t care to examine why.
‘Three years?’ He frowned, his gaze sharpening on her. ‘After you’d left... Duke’s?’
‘When I left,’ she stated flatly.
He stared at her, almost icily, for far too long. It was all she could do not to shift uncomfortably.
‘But that isn’t why you left?’ he asked at last. ‘Because your mother...mama had died?’
‘No, but...it was a short illness.’
‘You used to talk to your family every Sunday.’ His frown deepened. ‘You never once mentioned she wasn’t well.’
She didn’t realise she’d bitten her lip, hard enough to draw blood, until she tasted the faint metallic taste.
‘I didn’t know. She made them keep it from me because she didn’t want to ruin my move to North Carolina.’
A hard ball lodged itself in her throat and she couldn’t continue.
‘So, what happened? They called you that last day to tell you and you jumped straight on a flight?’
‘Pretty much,’ she mumbled.
Even now, three years on, it still pained her to think of that day. The realisation that her mama was so ill, and the guilt. That overwhelming sense of remorse.
‘I guess I’d known something was wrong for a while,’ Talia heard herself confessing. ‘She hadn’t looked quite...right. And she was always so tired. I just didn’t want to see it so I think I told myself it was nothing.’
His eyes glittered, a tautness shifting around his face, and something twisted inside her. She told herself that she didn’t care what that something was, but deep down she knew that wasn’t entirely true.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded eventually.
‘You were at work.’
Censure moved over his features. And something else that she didn’t care to identify.
‘I would have been there for you.’
‘Would you?’ The words slipped out unchecked. More of an accusation than a question. ‘You were always about work. It came first, second and third to you. And you’d already told me about the surgeries you had that day.’
It was only later that she’d really analysed just how many of their conversations had revolved around work, patients, procedures.
Work and sex. That was all they’d had. There had certainly been no opening up to each other about themselves as individuals.
‘Besides, I rarely even talked to you about my family because I was always conscious that you never talked about yours.’
‘I told you about mine.’ He shrugged. ‘My mother died when I was younger, my father and I aren’t close, and I don’t have any siblings.’
‘And that’s it.’ She threw her arms up. ‘That’s all I ever knew about you.’
‘Because that’s all there is to know.’ He sounded so casual that anyone else might have believed him.
But she knew better.
