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Of all the times I’ve tried to imagine what life would be like as Keir’s girlfriend, I’ve never stopped to consider how much my everyday life would change.
He’s right, though. I know he is.
Being in a relationship with Lord Grayrose would instantly make me a public figure, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Maybe he doesn’t realize how unsettling that is, since he’s lived his entire life in a fishbowl, but that isn’t normal. Normal, regular couples don’t have to deal with this madness.
“You’re right,” I say, echoing my own thoughts. “It would be a lot worse if we were in a relationship. And it’s hard enough to make a relationship work without all the added pressure of having the entire world scrutinizing every move we make.”
“Exactly. You always wonder why I’m so reluctant to jump into a new relationship? Well, here you go. This is why it’s better to keep things simple and low-key. We can spend time together. We can fuck. We can travel. But we’ve made the mistake of being too interesting. We’ve become a news item. A story.”
Every word is true, but that only makes it more difficult to hear. “Maybe we need to take a step back, then,” I say. My throat is so tight that I can barely speak, but I might not have the courage or the strength to say this later, and it needs to be said. “Maybe we should break up, or at least take a break.”
He doesn’t hesitate at all. “Fine.”
Why does that one word feel like such a slap in the face? We’re in agreement and I shouldn’t be angry about it, but I can’t help the way I feel.
And if I’m being perfectly honest? I guess maybe I was hoping he’d try to talk me out of it.
“So we’re done?” I ask, because apparently I have some kind of masochistic need to hear him say the words out loud.
“How can we be done? How can we break up if we weren’t ever together in the first place.Youmight be done, and that’s fine. You can go. I won’t stop you.”
I’m going to start crying if I say anything else at all. He’s already seen me shed too many tears, and I’m not going to let him see me cry today.
Instead, I turn and walk away. True to his word, he doesn’t try to stop me.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
KEIRAN
The flight back to Glasgow is almost completely silent. Ella and I are sitting at opposite ends of the cabin, and Isla is shuttling between us, chatting to whoever seems more inclined to listen at any given moment.
I’m not ready to go back to Scotland and I know Ella isn’t, either. But Isla has rehearsals for a school play that she doesn’t want to miss, so here we are.
If she’s the only one of us who gets to have a semi-normal life for now, so be it. She certainly deserves it after everything I’ve put her through.
“Dad, the seatbelt light came on!” she announces as she climbs into the seat next to me. “Are we getting ready to land?”
“We are,” I nod. “Just in time to get you to the rehearsal.”
She cheers and I help her fasten her seatbelt as we start to descend into Glasgow. I cast a quick glance in Ella’s direction but she’s facing forward, just like she has been this entire flight.
We’ve hardly spoken since our discussion yesterday, but we also haven’t really had time to talk much—and honestly? I think we’ve both said everything that needs to be said at this point.
There are two black SUV’s waiting for us on the tarmac when we exit the plane, and I gesture to the one in front when Ella turns back to give me a questioning look. “He’ll drop you off at the apartment while I take Isla to her rehearsal.”
“Oh, right,” she nods. She looks like she wants to say something else, but turns away instead and walks to the waiting SUV. “See you back at the penthouse.”
Isla starts questioning me as soon as we climb into the other vehicle. “Why did you make Ella go home by herself?” She pins me with a hard look that she no doubt learned from her Aunt Saffron. “I wanted her to ride with us.”
“We’re going to different places,” I shrug as if it’s no big deal.
And itisn’ta big deal. In fact, it’s better if we ride separately for now, since that’ll keep the paparazzi guessing and will make it harder for them to photograph the two of us together.
Isla’s frowns. “She isn’t going to watch my performance? Did you tell her not to come?”
Jesus, why do I always have to be the bad guy? Does my own daughter really think I’m an asshole?
Probably best if I don’t know the answer to that particular question.
