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I was the farthest thing from it.
I was grateful.
Loving Max had taught me so much. It had taught me compassion and understanding. I’d learnt how to be patient and calm, how to love someone even when they didn’t feel as though they were deserving of it.
I’d grown so much. For the first time in my life, I’d truly learnt what it was to love someone despite all odds, even when it was a bad idea, even when loving them felt as though it was a fruitless endeavour.
I’d learnt that love didn’t care.
Love didn’t care about the trauma someone carried.
I loved Max in spite of his pain. I loved himbecauseof his pain. I loved him because he was worthy of being loved. I loved him because nothing had ever felt as right or as natural as loving the man who resisted it so emphatically.
I loved him because it was simply impossible to feel any other way about him, no matter how badly I wished I could hate him.
I loved him because I loved him.
I’d fought and argued and yelled at myself. I’d screamed in the shower. I’d cried in the bath. I’d drowned my emotions in ice-cream and crisps and hoped that tomorrow would be a day where I’d wake up and not care about him, but that wasn’t how love worked.
Love didn’t give a damn what I wanted.
I had never loved anyone the way I loved Max.
I would never love anyone the way I loved Max.
I could say that with absolute certainty. It was a love I would hold onto for the rest of my life. I knew that one day, I’d be able to say that I wasn’tinlove with him, but I’d always love him.
This infuriating, sexy, annoying, enigmatic man had made such an impact in my life to say that he’d been in it for such a short time. He was forever immortalised in this book,The Trouble with the Duke, and I didn’t regret it for a second.
I’d planned to change my hero, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I was going to keep my surly, grumpy, black-haired, blue-eyed hero named Mack. It wasn’t the most traditional British name for an aristocrat, but it was one that made sense to me. I knew I’d have to come up with a real name that ‘Mack’ would be a nickname for, maybe a surname, but that was a problem for Future Ellie.
When I was at home.
In London.
With Winston bringing me crows through the window and me calling my brother to save me. With coffee dates with Meg and my agent and my editor and girls’ nights at our favourite restaurants and cold bedsheets with nobody there next to me.
I hugged one knee to my chest and looked at the screen.
Done.
I was done.
The End was here.
For more than just my book.
•••
“You’re leaving.” Penny poured wine into the glass she’d set in front of me. “I’m kind of used to you being here, not going to lie.”
“Really? It’s not like I’ve frequented this place on a nightly basis.”
“Well, no, but most of the people in this village are arseholes. You’re not.” She screwed the cap back on the bottle and put it in the fridge behind her. “I didn’t need to spend every day with you to know that you’re a good person.”
My lips pulled into a smile. “I’ll miss you, too.”
