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He nods, but it’s as though he’s trapped, imprisoned, and he doesn’t want to be.
‘What did you do with them that Christmas?’ It’s a question designed to relax him. To take him back to a more pleasant time.
But Noah isn’t like anyone I’ve ever spoken to; he’s not my patient and he doesn’t act like a man who wants help. ‘It was twenty-eight years ago. Before you were born. I barely remember.’
‘Liar,’ I say, half joking. ‘Did they give you a present?’
He is stiff at my side and then he lifts a hand and points at the Eiffel Tower. It is midnight and it’s sparkling like the stars from heaven have drifted across it. It’s a subject change I don’t want to allow, but it’s breathtakingly beautiful.
And, as if he needs extra insurance, a guarantee that the matter is closed, he spins my body in the circle of his arms and kisses me—kisses me to silence me and distract me and remind me of how much we need this, both of us for different reasons.
‘Spend Christmas with me.’ I breathe the invitation into his mouth, my tongue whispering it to his.
He stiffens again, frozen, still, rejecting.
It only serves to heighten my determination. I pull away from him slightly. It was an impulsive suggestion, but now that it’s out there I realise how right it is.
‘I mean it, Noah. Why not come over?’
‘Jesus, Holly, you don’t ever give up. I’ve told you, I don’t want to fucking celebrate Christmas, okay?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
I DON’T WANT to hurt Holly but Christ, if she won’t back off, that’s what’s going to happen. Not physically—never, ever physically—the very idea of her being wounded wounds me. But her emotions are far too invested in this, and I don’t want her emotions.
Emotions are untrustworthy and dangerous.
But when she frowns, blinks as if she’s misheard me, my gut rolls and I think maybe her emotional wounds wound me as well.
‘I’m sorry.’ I mutter the apology, shoving my hands into my pockets and turning to stare at the Eiffel Tower. ‘But I think us spending Christmas together would be a bad idea.’
To her credit, she rallies. Holly’s not like anyone I’ve ever known. She is sensible and confident even in the face of outright rejection. ‘Why? Why is it a bad idea?’
‘Because, Holly! I just told you, I hate Christmas, and you’re like a fucking elf. I bet you’ve got a big tree up and decorations and presents all wrapped with matching paper...’
I don’t look at her, but I know I’m right. I don’t need confirmation.
‘You have a daughter! Have you even thought about what it would mean to her to wake up and see the man you’re sleeping with on Christmas morning?’
Her cheeks flush and her jaw drops; I can tell that she hasn’t. Worse, I can see that she’s anguished by that realisation. I soften my voice, but it is no less intense for that.
‘And because I don’t need you to take pity on me. To include me in a family celebration because you feel sad about how I’m spending my day.’
‘And how will you spend your day?’
‘I don’t know. It’s a few weeks away. I guess I’ll shower, eat, work, drink.’
She makes a noise of disapproval.
‘And then, if I’m really good, maybe Santa will send you over at night.’ I turn to face her then, my eyes holding a warning, hers ignoring it.
‘To sleep with you.’
‘Not to sleep with you.’ I lift a finger to the thick lapel of her coat, pushing it aside so I can touch the soft skin of her décolletage. ‘To fuck you.’
She blinks up at me and again I feel her hurt rolling over me. ‘You’re trying to push me away,’ she says simply. ‘That’s what you do when you start to feel something for someone, isn’t it?’
‘For fuck’s sake. Do we have to do this?’
