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“No.” Noah threw back half the mineral water. “I needed some time to sort my head out. I don’t want to feel this way about her. I’ve fought it basically since I first met her. But I love her, and apparently that’s not something I have any say in.”
Gray considered that.
“You don’t approve?”
“It’s not that,” he said heavily. “It’s just –,”
“What?”
“She’s pretty pissed at you.”
Noah’s gut twisted. He was at the edge of the ravine again, a steep, impossible fall right before him. “Yeah?”
“Furious. I don’t think you’re going to find it easy to get her to listen to you.”
Noah finished his drink. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“I mean it, Noah. She felt like you pulled the rug out from under her.”
“And I guess you haven’t enlightened her as to our conversation?”
“I know you. If you’d loved her, or wanted to be with her, you’d have stayed, no matter what I said.”
“I was an idiot,” Noah growled. “I didn’t have any idea how I felt. I didn’t know what the weight pressing against my chest meant, but hell, I’ve realized since. I have thought about her every hour of every day since I left.”
“Then you’d better go try your luck.”
Noah nodded, tension radiating through him. What if Max didn’t want him? What if she told him to go to hell?
Then at least he’d know. He had to do this. There was never an easy way from the earth to the stars…
“I need to go home before the event, Felix.” Max stifled a yawn as she slid into the backseat of her car, scrolling through her emails and flicking aside the ones she could attend to later. She’d been in the office for twelve hours, and the thought of going to a restaurant opening tonight was almost bone-wearying but she didn’t contemplate, even for one moment, backing out. She’d committed to go, for a start, but on top of that, if Max had learned anything in the past two weeks it was that staying busy was the only way to keep sane. If she was home, or alone, without work or distraction, it was too easy for her mind to wander, to focus on memories that brought her no joy. Or perhaps it was that they brought her too much joy and were therefore immensely painful: there was no scope to sink into those reflections and enjoy them as snippets of her past. Too much pain flooded through her whenever she thought of Noah, and so she blocked him from her mind as much as possible.
She leaned back against the luxurious leather seat, forcing herself to focus, forcing herself not to think about Noah when he was everything she saw and thought. As the car turned into her street, she switched off her phone and pushed it into her bag, turning to look out of the window.
Everything at home reminded her of Noah. Everything. And she tormented herself by staying, when it would have been easier to leave, to go to one of her homes that they’d never been to together, to spend the summer in Rome or Berlin, Sydney or Cape Town, anywhere other than Chelsea, where he was in the kitchen, the lounge, her bedroom, everywhere.
A soft moan filled her mouth and she swallowed it back, refusing to let anyone, especially her driver, see what an emotional wreck she was.
The car drew through her gate, and into the garage; Max placed her hand on the door, prepared to step from the car as soon as it was parked. The engine was cut – she pushed open the door, aware of her driver stepping out and coming around. No, she wanted to scream. Leave me alone. She just needed a moment to feel shell-shocked, to be numb, to gather herself back together again before putting her mask on and pretending to all the world that she was the same Max Fortescue she’d always been – untouchable, unaffected, totally fine.
“It’s okay, Felix. I’ve got it.”
She didn’t look at him, wishing she’d pulled on a pair of sunglasses to cover her eyes. She kept her head bent instead, not looking at his face as she made her way through the garage and into the door of her house, upstairs. “I won’t be long,” she called over her shoulder. “I just need to have a shower and get changed.” Damn it, her voice wobbled a little, emotions clear in every syllable. She swallowed hard, bee-lining to the kitchen where she opened the fridge and stared aimlessly at the display before shutting it again, turning around just as someone stepped into the living room.
Her lips parted on a gasp of confusion. It wasn’t Felix who followed, but Noah Bloody Storm, dressed in the same clothes as her driver – wait. “You drove me here,” she murmured, numb, holding her arms around her torso, unprepared for this, not ready, not sure of anything except her body’s immediate response – to run towards him and throw herself at his chest, to feel his arms wrap around her, to hear him tell her, one more time, that everything was okay. That everything would be fine.
It was a neediness of which she didn’t approve, a craving she didn’t want to feel.
“Noah?” Her voice was louder than she intended. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.” The words were graveled. She dug her fingernails into her palms, resenting the sensual heat that fired through her at the sound of his voice.
“Why?” She changed her mind on the drink front, turning back to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of wine, pouring a generous measure into a Riedel glass which she slammed a little too heavily
onto the counter. “Haven’t we said everything we need to say? Oh, no, that’s right. You left too abruptly for that. So what else is there?”
She threw back a gulp of the wine.
