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Slowly she turned to look at him, without speaking. It wasn’t much, but Ben took it as a sign she was at least willing to listen. ‘I’m sorry about what I said. About...’
‘Your one-night rule?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Fine.’
She’d turned her attention back to her plate again, picking at the bread. Ben watched her, waiting for something more, but it wasn’t forthcoming.
‘Not feeling inclined to apologise for accusing me of trapping you in this cottage purely to seduce you?’
‘Not really.’ She reached for her wine glass. ‘Apart from anything else, you did seduce me.’
She had a point there. And somehow Ben knew that saying, You asked me to wasn’t going to make anything any better.
‘How does it even work, anyway?’ she asked, after a long moment’s silence in the flickering firelight. ‘Your stupid rule? What? You just live your life going from one-night stand to one-night stand?’
‘No.’ Ben rubbed a hand across his forehead. Now she wanted to talk about this? There was a reason he usually had this talk before he hit the sheets. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then what?’ Putting down her plate, Luce turned her body to face his, all attention on him. ‘Come on. I want to know.’
* * *
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. But, Luce rationalised, as a victim of his stupid rule, at the very least she deserved to understand it.
Finally Ben spoke. ‘I date women. Same as anyone. I just make a point not to spend more than one night with them at a time.’
‘Because twenty-four hours is too much like commitment?’ Luce said, rolling her eyes. Men. What were they so damn scared of?
Ben sighed. ‘Because if one night becomes two nights then it’s all too easy for it to be three nights. A week. A month. More. And suddenly she’s expecting a ring and a life. Something I can’t give her.’
‘You’ve tried, then?’ Luce folded her legs up under her, twisting so her feet were closer to the hearth. With just the flickering fire to light the room it felt smaller, cosier. As if the world were only just big enough to encircle the two of them and their shadows.
‘I don’t have to. I’ve seen it before.’ The way he said it, Luce knew that whatever he’d witnessed it had been up close and far too personal.
Frowning, she made an educated guess. ‘Your parents?’
‘Yeah.’ Ben topped up their wine glasses, even though neither of them had drunk very much. ‘Dad...his life was the business. Everything came second to Hampton & Sons. Even the sons.’
How must that have felt? Knowing he was less important than a building? Luce couldn’t imagine. Her family might expect a lot from her, but at least she always knew they needed her.
‘And your mum?’ she asked.
Ben blew out a long breath. ‘Mum would follow him around from business opportunity to networking dinner, smiling when he wanted her to smile, wearing what he wanted her to wear. She gave up her whole life to satisfy him, until finally she realised she’d given up herself.’
‘She left?’
‘When I was eight.’ Ben stared into the fire. ‘She just...she couldn’t do it any more. We didn’t see her much after that. And then she died two years later.’
Luce swallowed, her heart heavy in her chest. ‘I’m sorry. I never knew.’ She could almost imagine him, ten years old, perfectly turned out in a suit at his mother’s graveside. His heart must have broken. Was that when he’d given up on family?
Ben shrugged. ‘No reason you should. Anyway, that’s why. My life—it’s all about fixing things and moving on. Just like Dad. And I won’t subject a wife or a child to that.’
‘So you just don’t let anyone get close enough to want it?’ Couldn’t he see how bleak that existence was?
‘Seems easiest.’ He drained his wine and poured himself another glass. ‘So, what about you? What is it that makes you believe that bricks and mortar are important? I mean, I’m all for lucrative property opportunities. But your house is more than that to you, isn’t it?’
‘It’s home,’ Luce agreed. ‘It always will be.’
‘So tell me. What makes it home?’
Luce glanced over and saw that Ben’s eyes were closed, as if by not being able to see her he was distancing himself from the question he was asking. But if he wanted to understand what made a house a home, she wasn’t going to deny him.
‘It was my grandfather’s house, originally. I told you that, right?’ She trailed her finger around the stem of her glass, trying to find the words to explain what the house meant to her. ‘He bought it after he moved to Cardiff with Grandma and made a little money, back in the fifties. It’s not in a great area, but it’s still more than I could afford to buy today. And it’s close to the university.’
