The words were tumbling out. ‘I want love.’
A muscle worked in his cheek. ‘I do love you, you know that. As much as I can.’
‘But are you in love with me?’
She couldn’t believe she’d asked that. The last taboo, more powerful than the kisses they had shared, the whispered intimacies. This, this was the big one. But she had to know. She took a deep, shuddering breath and waited. Would he? Did he? All he had to do was tell her he loved her and she would be in.
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Do I care about you? Yes. Desire you? Absolutely. Like your company? You know I do. Isn’t that enough?’
Flora shook her head. ‘I wish it was,’ she whispered. ‘But I want more. I want the whole crazy, passionate, all-consuming love. I want to be the centre of someone’s world and for my world to revolve around them.’
But he was shaking his head, a denial of her words, of her hopes and dreams. ‘That’s not real love, Flora. That’s a crush at best, obsession at worst,’ and with those calm words Flora felt something inside her crack clean in two.
‘Oxytocin, serotonin. Hormones telling you lies. Love? It’s unstable, it can’t be trusted. But you’re right. Marriage between us is a bad idea.’ He stepped back and picked up his jacket, shrugging himself into it. ‘I’m sorry I embarrassed you. If you’ll excuse me, then I am going to get a drink. I’ll see you later. Don’t wait up.’
* * *
The plane was buzzing with festive spirit. Bags stuffed into the overhead lockers filled with brightly wrapped presents, people chatting eagerly to their seatmates—even strangers—about their plans for the next few days. Even the pilot made some flying reindeer jokes as he prepared them for take-off.
But the buzz didn’t reach their two seats. They were ensconced in roomy first-class comfort. There were free drinks, legroom, food—but Alex and Flora sat stiffly as if they were crammed into the most cramped economy seat.
Flora was sleeping—or, Alex suspected, she was pretending to—and he was looking through documents as if the fate of Christmas depended on his memorising them by heart. If that had been the case then Christmas was in trouble; no matter how often he skimmed a sentence his brain could not make head or tail of it, his brain revolving round and round and round.
She’d said no. Even the person who knew him best, who he thought loved him best, didn’t want to risk her happiness on him.
And now he’d done exactly what he had sworn he would never do. He’d broken Flora’s heart, tainted their friendship, ruined his relationship with her family. Because how could he possibly turn up there tomorrow ready to bask in Christmas cheer when he couldn’t even look at Flora?
Especially as she couldn’t look at him either. Oh, she was trying. She made stilted conversation, her smile too bright, her voice too cheery, but her eyes slid away when they reached his face, her body leaning away from his whenever they were close. Luckily his monosyllabic replies hadn’t seemed too out of character when other people were around—most of the departing guests were similarly afflicted, suffering the effects of overindulgence the night before.
It wasn’t a hangover that affected him, although heaven only knew he’d tried his best. Sitting in the bar until three a.m., drinking alone at the end, trying to block out the voices from his head.
You taint everything.
I can’t marry you.
I want love.
What could he answer to that when he didn’t even know what love was? The twisted obsession his father had had for his mother, so jealous he didn’t even want to share her affection with their child? The grateful desperation he had shown towards his stepmother for deigning to notice him and the dark turning that had taken?
He didn’t want or need that selfish emotion. There was a time when that made him feel invincible, as if he had an invisible armour protecting him from the follies that befell so many of his friends.
Now he just felt lost. Stuck in a labyrinth he didn’t have the key for—only there was no princess holding a ball of string ready to guide him out. And there was no monster. He was the monster.
How could he return to Kent with her now? It was her home, not his. The only place he belonged to was the house he had designed in Primrose Hill. But he didn’t want to return there alone, to spend Christmas alone in a house without a heart.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to grab a last-minute flight and head out again. He looked around the plane at the bland décor, the packed seats filled with strangers, the almost soothing signs telling him to sit back, switch his phone off, keep his seat belt on. He could spend Christmas Day on a flight. It almost didn’t matter where to.
‘Do you have to pick up presents and things before you head back home?’ His throat scratched as he forced the words out, as if unaccustomed to speaking.
Flora’s eyes opened a fraction. ‘Yes, if that’s okay.’
‘I’ve ordered you a car. It’ll run you back to yours and wait for you, as long as you need, then take you home to Kent.’
She sat up at that, any pretence at sleep forgotten. ‘You’re not coming back with me?’
‘Not tonight, I have too much to do.’
‘Too much to do on Christmas Eve? Everything’s shut for the next few days. What on earth can’t wait? But you are driving down tomorrow?’
He couldn’t answer.
Her eyes flashed. ‘We promised, Alex, we promised that we wouldn’t let things change.’
Had she really believed they wouldn’t? Had he? He closed his eyes, exhausted. ‘We lied.’
There was no more to be said. Not for the last hour of the flight, not during the tedious business of disembarking, immigration and baggage collecting. Not as he saw the sign with his name on it and steered a mute Flora towards it.
‘Can you drop my bags and skis off at my house on your way out?’ he asked. ‘You have your key?’
She turned to look at him, her face paler than usual, the white accented by the deep shadows under her eyes. ‘You’re not even travelling with me? How are you getting home?’
He shrugged. ‘Train, Tube. My own two feet.’
‘You’re getting on the train? On Christmas Eve? It’ll be packed!’
He couldn’t explain it, the need to wander, to be anonymous in a vast sea of people where nobody knew him, judged him. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need some space.’
She stared at him sceptically and then turned away, the dismissive movement conveying everything. Hurting far more than he had expected. ‘Suit yourself. You always do.’
He stood and watched her walk away. ‘Merry Christmas, Flora.’ But she was too far away and his words fell unheard.
* * *
The
