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But she didn’t do that anymore.
She stuffed her hands deep into her pockets and stepped away.
From high above Gael watched her, the same expression on his face that had been there all week.
Confusion.
Desperation.
But overriding everything, loss.
He tried to summon her face to his mind, as she’d looked at him in Spain. Her face when she’d woken from their nap, sweet and trusting, happy and relaxed. But it was elusive, like a ghost of the past that he now doubted ever existed.
His fingers ran across the soft leather of Diego’s armchair. “You loved her, didn’t you?” He sighed. “You loved her in a way you never loved me.”
He sank into the chair and dropped his head forward, between his hands. The irony was not lost on him. Gael was envious of his father, for the love he had been able to experience for Carrie. In the same way Diego had envied Gael for the love he’d received from Gabriella.
And in the middle of all of it stood the Innocents. Gael as a child, who simply existed. And Carrie. Carrie, a contradiction in terms. Carrie who’d worked hard to cultivate an image of hard pragmatism, who took time out each week to read the Classics to an ailing man. Carrie who was intelligent and successful and beautiful, who insisted she wanted no part of a relationship with a man. No part other than sex.
His eyes lifted again to the garden. With a sliver of moonlight slicing through her, she reached up and picked a single rose from amongst the leaves. She did it quickly, as though worried she might be seen, then turned and stalked back towards the house.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She couldn’t wait to leave. Duty to her mother constrained her to linger at Forest View for at least a day after the funeral, but mentally Carrie was erecting every barrier she possessed. She wanted to put distance between herself and her mother, and the childhood she now saw as having been miserable in many ways.
She pulled the fridge open and stared at its contents. Platters from yesterday’s wake were lined up, covered in cling film. She surveyed their contents with a shake of her head, then shut the doors.
“Good morning.”
Gael.
She flicked her eyes to him. Her heart was pounding and her pulse was racing, but she kept her appearance outwardly calm. “Good morning,” she responded with a curt nod.
“Have you eaten?”
Carrie shook her head. Leftover chicken sandwiches and crab cakes didn’t seem appetising for breakfast.
Gael’s eyes narrowed. “I came in to make an omelette. Keep me company and I’ll make some for you.”
Carrie’s stomach let out a betraying growl, but she shook her head. “No, thank you.” She couldn’t keep him company. Being in the same house as him was agony. She reached behind him, to the always-overflowing fruit bowl and plucked out an apple. “I’ll see you later.”
“Carrie,” his voice was a groan of desperation as his fingers curled around her wrist. “This is madness. We must talk.”
Her eyes caught his, but she looked away again quickly. “No, we mustn’t.”
His thumb padded across her forearm. “Why? Why are you running away?”
She squared her shoulders. Because only idiotas forgive, and he’d hurt her more times than she could count. Because he’d always have the power to obliterate her soul, and she couldn’t stand living with that fear. “I told you in Barcelona, Gael. I like fun! Sex is fun. What we have is not. It’s too intense.”
He ran his free hand over his jaw. It was intense. It always had been.
“And so you’ve replaced me?” He had to know. Though he was afraid of her answer, he needed to hear it from her lips.
“Replaced you?” She said with a confused frown, before she could think it through.
“Your guard dog friend informed me delightedly that I have already been usurped.”
Carrie felt a smile tickle her lips, though it wasn’t funny. She saw the pain in Gael’s face, and for a brief moment, she was tempted to perpetuate the lie. Because it felt good to hurt him back just a little bit. But she couldn’t do it. “She made it up.”
