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No. His response, when I told him I loved him, is burned into my consciousness. I will never forget it. I will never forget how that felt.
‘Wait a moment.’ He catches me, turns me around to face him, and my body jerks with recognition of this, of what he means to me. I wrench my hand free, glaring at him, wishing he could understand how much he’s hurting me. ‘Just let me get this out.’
But I’m done waiting. ‘I don’t think there’s anything left to say, Nicholas. Unless you’ve had some kind of miraculous heart transplant?’
His jaw shifts, and I glare at him, waiting, but he says nothing for so long that I actually wonder if he’s just here to hit me up for one last night before he leaves. My skin crawls. What started out as ‘just sex’ is now so much more that it would be an insult to even pretend we’re not. Except that’s what he did. It’s galling and frustrating and hurtful and enraging, all at the same time.
‘Please.’ The single word brings me to a stop. I look at him with a growing sense of desperation. Doesn’t he realise how hard this is for me? Doesn’t he realise how much I hate this?
He must take my silence for consent, because a moment later he speaks, his voice thickened with concentration.
‘My mother is in full planning mode, first for a New Year’s Eve ball, which I gather is going to be a little more like the casting room of The Bachelor, with me as the prize.’ He winces self-consciously. ‘She’s already got the wedding planned, now we just need to find someone for me to marry.’
Does he have any idea it’s like being scratched all over? His words are vile. I hate them. I hate that he is here telling me this.
‘We’ve discussed your obligations.’ My voice simmers with contempt.
His own is gently placating. ‘And six weeks ago, I was happy to go along with them. What did I care who I ended up married to? My only criterion was that it be someone I could stand spending time with. In many ways, the less I had in common with her, the better. This was to be a straightforward arrangement. No muss, no fuss. Simple, right?’
‘Undoubtedly.’ I can’t do this. I spin away from him again, needing to be alone, or at least away from him, breathing in frigid, ice-filled air. My lungs stutter.
He reaches for my elbow, spinning me around gently, insistently.
‘And then I met you and, somehow, everything changed.’
I draw in a sharp breath.
‘I don’t know when it happened, but what I wanted when we started this has shifted and now I need so much more. From you, from my life, from my marriage. Everything’s different, Imogen. Everything.’
The world stops spinning. This doesn’t make sense.
‘What?’ I blink, wishing I didn’t sound so completely non-comprehending. ‘Wait.’ I hold a hand up. ‘This doesn’t make sense. You left three days ago. After telling me you didn’t love me, that you’d never love me.’
‘I know that.’ He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration and confusion barrelling towards me.
‘I...’ He draws in a breath, his eyes scanning my face, then he shakes his head, as if it’s not quite what he meant, and starts again. ‘When I was twelve, I came off my bike and I never rode again. I refused. I didn’t like the way it felt to fall, so I gave up the pleasure of riding, which I had, up until then, loved very much.’ He closes the distance and cups my face.
‘You’ve told me that.’
His eyes gaze into mine. ‘I hated the way Saffy made me feel. I hated being let down, hurt, burned, stripped raw in front of so many people. I felt worthless, Imogen. Worthless and unwanted. So I promised myself I would never fall in love again. That I would never be so gullible as to believe in love—what a stupid construct! But, Imogen, I left New York and I nearly turned my back on a whole lifetime of experiences and joy—a lifetime with you—because I was too scared to get hurt again.’
I can’t get enough air in. His eyes drop to my lips, and there’s a frown on his face, as if he has no idea where he stands with me.
‘I fell in love with you, anyway, and I have been fighting it the whole time we’ve been together. I have not been able to put you out of my head for even a day. Not one single day, not an hour, in fact, since we met. I love you. I am obsessed with you, and I should have known that when you told me how you felt. I should have understood, but I have spent five years running from even the idea of love and I didn’t know how to turn my back on that.’
His thumb pad brushes over my lips and I shudder. In a good way, I think. Or maybe just in an emotionally drained way because, despite the fact it’s only been three days, I feel as if I have been strapped over a pile of burning coal and I’m so spent.
‘It has been an agony and a form of torture to think of you going home to marry someone else,’ I mutter, my heart still so sore, so hurt, that I find forgiveness and understanding hard to muster, even in the face of what he’s just
said.
‘I know.’ He drops his forehead to mine, his warm breath fanning my face. ‘I hate that. I am so sorry. The sight of you in the elevator, pushing me away, has replayed on my mind like some godawful ten-second clip since I left.’
‘Left? You went home?’
He nods.
‘And now you’re back?’
