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He smiled, the first genuine smile since their discussion started.
Leonie’s face brightened. “Can you forgive me?”
“Yes,” he said slowly “I think I can.”
“Oh, Oliver, you are the kindest, best, most amazing—” She got up and plonked down next to him. Realising she’d misread him totally, he stood abruptly. She blinked up at him, perplexed.
“What’s the matter?”
“The matter is,” he said, scrubbing a hand round the back of his neck, “that, yes I forgive you. But if you think we can try again, no, it’s not going to happen.” He watched her jaw drop. “You destroyed the trust between us, Leonie, and once that’s gone, you’ve lost the very thing a relationship is based on. You can’t just paper over the cracks like it never happened.”
“Lots of people break up and then get back together.”
“Not us. Not after what you did.”
She let out a long whine. “Don’t say that.” He shook his head, and her lower lip trembled. “You’re still angry with me, that’s all. It’s going to take a while for you to trust me, I know. But I’ll make it up to you.”
He steeled his heart, because there was always going to be a part of him that hated causing pain. And he had loved her—or thought he had—once. “There’s nothing to make up. I’ve moved on, Leonie,” he said quietly.
“I hope you’re not implying withher.” The words were almost spat at him. “Arianne says she’s totally not your type. She’s a hippy.”
“I’m flattered Arianne knows me so well.”
She gave him a withering look. “I don’t believe you want her, not for a second.” She paused, narrowed her eyes. “Besides she’s going back to the UK in a couple of weeks, Arianne said. How would it ever work, Oliver. Besides, she’s just a kindy teacher, for heaven’s sake…”
Anger surged up his throat. He took a breath. “Please don’t propose to know what I want, Leonie.”
He wasn’t going to grace her with any more ammunition. He wanted her gone, out of his life. Because he knew now with absolute certainty, and it was such a relief: he was over her completely.
His voice was low, but steady when he finally trusted himself not to shout. “I’m off to Melbourne tomorrow to run a seminar. The apartment will be empty. You can organise a couple of realtors to come in and do evaluations. And when I get back, we’ll put this—” he hesitated, a twitch at the corner of his lips, “thisspace ageapartment on the market and sell up. And then we’ll get on with our lives. Separately. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot to do.” He watched her as she slammed her glass onto the coffee table, her cheeks flushed red, before he finished smoothly, “Let me see you out.”
