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I need to think about England objectively, but I’m not going to be able to do that today. I go to my office for a while, hoping to lose myself in work, but I’m distracted and irritable, and my staff are heartily sick of me by the time I decide to head home at five p.m. It’s early for me, but I’m tired and emotional, and I don’t like working when my mind’s not on the job.
My brother, Arthur, is a dog breeder, and he looks after Nymph whenever I’m busy. I stop off at his kennels and pick her up, drive home, then take her out for a walk for half an hour around Albert Park.
My brain feels as if it’s overstuffed with too many thoughts. I feel a bit feverish, like I’m coming down with something. I argue with Mack all the time, and I’m used to him yelling at me, but for some reason his words today really upset me. Maybe it’s because what he said hit me so close to home. He and Huxley are like brothers, and I know Mack’s worried about him. He genuinely wants him to be happy.
My muscles are warming up now, and I breathe deeply, enjoying the exercise. I need to think about this properly, break it down into parts. Two years isn’t twenty. There’s no reason Huxley and I couldn’t have a long-distance relationship for a while.
But there are so many other factors, the main one being that he’s surrounded by other women at the club. Would he really be able to resist them? I know Mack would say I’m being unfair, but I don’t have that high an opinion of myself to assume any man would choose being faithful to me over the attraction of short-term sex with a variety of other women.
And I’m not even considering bringing a baby into the equation. I really didn’t think it through. I’m such a fucking idiot. If I am pregnant, what am I going to do? Huxley is going to want to be a part of the baby’s life. Of course he is. He gave up everything for a woman he’d had a one-night stand with because she fell pregnant; what’s he going to want to do for one of his best friends? So would I tell Titus that I’d pass on the move to England and risk losing five hundred million dollars—oh my fucking God—stay here, and make a go of it with Huxley?
Me, him, and the baby—one big happy family? Of course it’s not going to happen. Real life doesn’t work out like that. This isn’t a fucking romance novel. Now Mack’s with Sidnie, he wants everyone to be as happy as he is, but what’s happened with him is an aberration, not the norm.
Deep down, in the secret parts of my heart that nobody else sees, I’m envious of Mack and Sidnie. He’s so fucking happy, it makes me want to throw up.
Oh, I’m thrilled for him, don’t get me wrong. I’m absolutely stoked that he’s found someone who understands him, and who adores him. He deserves it, because he’s such a nice guy, a true philanthropist, and he works so incredibly hard.
But I’m still green as the Hulk, because I know how unusual true love is, and I wish it could have happened for me and Huxley. I wish we’d gotten together when we were young, and we’d dated for a year or two, and then we could have married, and I might even have had a baby by now the proper way, in a settled, committed relationship.
The thought makes my eyes sting. I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Luckily, my phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans, and I take it out. It’s a text from Penelope—my sister.
Have you got time for a coffee?she asks.
Sure, I reply.I’ve got until eight. I’m on my way back from walking Nymph.
I’ll be there around six.
See you then x
Glad of the distraction, I pick up the pace with Nymph and head home. By the time I get in, it’s five to six, so I switch the coffee machine on and start brewing two lattes.
It’s a beautiful evening, and the apartment is filled with late summer sunshine. It’s not a huge place—I’m not quite as rich as the boys—but it’s still spectacular. It’s all open plan—one big living room, dining room, and kitchen—with a view of Auckland Harbour Bridge through the huge windows. The furniture is mostly Tasmanian blackwood and cream, and I bought a couple of Helene Huxley’s paintings for the walls, which give the place a splash of color. I love it, and I feel very at home here, but tonight it brings me no pleasure. All I can think about is that I’m meeting Huxley at eight this evening, and I’m going to have to tell him about England. Oh God. What’s he going to say?
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth
Pen texts me to say she’s on her way up. While the espresso fills one of the cups, I go over to the front door and open it to see her walking up the corridor. I smile. “Hey, you!”
Nymph runs past me and dashes up to her, and she stops briefly to fuss her before following her up to the apartment. We exchange a kiss, and she comes in.
She’s six years older and a couple of inches taller than me, but other than that we’re relatively alike, with the same light-brown hair, although hers is longer and wavier, and she often wears it up in a bun, like today.
“The coffee’s nearly ready,” I tell her, going over to steam the milk. “How are you doing?”
She dumps her purse on the breakfast bar and sits on one of the barstools. “Honestly?”
I glance over at her. “Oh, what’s up?”
She gives me a sad smile, and her bottom lip trembles. Only then do I see how pale she is, and the dark patches under her eyes, before she puts her face in her hands and bursts into tears.
“Oh, no…” I run around the counter and put my arms around her. “You’ve had a miscarriage?”
She wipes her face, but it’s pointless, and more tears stream down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was determined not to get upset, but…”
“No, girl, you let it out, don’t worry.” I pull a barstool toward me and perch on it so I can hold her while she cries.
