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I left without a goodbye.
I left, and now he’s suffering the injustice of having to share his inheritance with me.
And what if he’s married? What if he has an entire family to uproot? Would Katherine really do that to him?
I’m already typing Edward Fitzroy Wife.
Enter.
So many pictures, so many articles, all pondering his personal life. Connecting him to society’s finest: tech legends, business moguls...women on a par with himself. In looks and brains. Each one so much more than I could ever be.
The past rushes forth, the pain surprisingly acute, and I close my eyes, shut out the memory determined to surface.
You’re good enough just the way you are. You have nothing to prove. No one to impress.
I breathe through the tightness, force my fists to relax.
Leave the past in the past and focus on the present, on the situation you’re in...
I reach for my mocha, take a sugary soothing sip, and dare to scroll further...
Wait!
The hot liquid catches in my throat and I cough it up, my lips quivering over a hit.
No.
I click the headline, unable to resist:
A Good-Looking Guy, Successful and
of a Certain Age, Still a Bachelor...
Is our Dashing Fitzroy Gay?
It’s an inevitable article, born of an inevitable question, but it tickles me. That’s one question I’m sure I know the answer to. We might not have crossed that line, but the look in his eye back then...the look in his eye only yesterday, so strong it rose above the hatred... No, he’s not gay.
I only wish I could be as sure about Katherine’s intentions. And I know the letter will help explain, but I haven’t been able to open it. It’s there now, poking out from beneath my laptop, but each time I reach for it my stomach turns over and my fingers refuse to do my bidding. Guilt and grief holding me hostage.
I should have come back sooner. I should have known she was sick. I should have... I should have...
My eyes sting and I grit my teeth, swallow. I’m in a public place, it’s no time for tears, but I’m confused...so confused.
‘What were you thinking, Katherine?’ I whisper.
‘You mean you don’t know?’
I jump as the deep, sexy drawl resonates through my core, my eyes widening as I spin on my stool. ‘Edward!’
I can’t believe my eyes...but my body does. It’s already a hive of activity, my pulse spiking, my mouth drying out.
Does he have to be so goddam sexy all the time? The collar of his herringbone coat is pulled high, his dark wintry look crisp and elegant. His chestnut hair is immaculate, despite the chilling breeze outside, and his eyes, that mouth...
He already looks angry about something. The pink in his cheeks from the biting wind is the only sign of humanity in his face that’s set like stone.
‘What are you—? Why are you—? How did you know I’d be here?’
And why do I have to sound like a tongue-tied schoolgirl with an impossible infatuation?
