that she could pick up his hand and hold it to her chest so that he might feel her heart telling him the same message.
‘I know it, because I’ve been with you Leo. I’ve spent nights filled with passion in your bed. I’ve spent days when you made me feel more alive than I have in my entire life. And I’ve seen the way you pulled my child from the sea when you saw him fall into the surf before I did. I know you would never harm him.’
She shook her head, amazed that she was about to confess something so very, very new; so very, very precious and tender, before she had even time to pull it out and examine it for all its flaws and weaknesses in private herself.
‘Don’t you see? I know it, Leo, because—’ She sucked in air, praying for strength in order to confess her foolishness. Because hadn’t he warned her not to get involved? Hadn’t he told her enough times nothing could come of their liaison? But how else could she reach him? How else could she make him understand? ‘Damn it, I know it because I love you.’
He looked down at her, his bleak eyes filled with some kind of terror before he shut them down, and she wondered what kind of hell she would see when he opened them again.
‘Don’t say that. You mustn’t say that.’ His words squeezed through his teeth, a cold, hard stiletto of pain that tore at her psyche, ripping into the fabric of her soul. But while it terrified her, at the same time she felt empowered. After all, what did she have left to lose? She’d already admitted the worst, she’d already laid her cards on the table. There was nothing left but to fight for this fledgling love, to defend it, and to defend her right to it.
‘Why can’t I say it, when it’s the truth? And I know it’s futile and pointless but it’s there. I love you, Leo. Get used to it.’
‘No! Saying I love you doesn’t make everything all right. Saying I love you doesn’t make it okay to beat someone.’
But he hadn’t—
And suddenly a rush of cold drenching fear flooded down her spine along with the realisation that he wasn’t talking about what had just taken place in this room. And whatever he had witnessed, it was violent and brutal and had scarred him deeply. ‘What happened to you to make you believe yourself capable of these things? What horrors were you subjected to that won’t let you rest at night?’
‘The nightmares are a warning,’ he said. ‘A warning not to let this happen, and I won’t. Not if it means hurting you and Sam.’
‘But Leo—’
‘Pack your things,’ he said simply, sounding defeated. ‘I’m taking you home.’
Melbourne was doing what it knew best, she thought as they touched down, offering up a bit of everything, the runway still damp from the latest shower, a bit of wind to tinker with the wings and liven up the landing and the sun peeping out behind a gilt edged cloud.
But it was so good to be home.
He insisted on driving her—or rather, having his driver drive them—and she wondered why he bothered coming along if he was going to be so glum and morose, unless it was so he could be sure she was gone.
And then they were there. At her house she had until now affectionately referred to as the hovel and never would again, because it was a home, a real home and it was hers and Sam’s and filled with love and she was proud of it.
‘Let me help you out,’ Leo said and she wanted to tell him there was no need, that the driver would help unload and that she could manage, but there were bags and bags and a child seat and a sleeping Sam to carry inside, and it would have been churlish to refuse, and so she let him help.
Except what was she supposed to do with a billionaire in her house?
She had Sam on her hip, heavy with sleep, head lolling and clearly needing his cot while Leo deposited the last of her bags and her car seat, looking around him, looking like the world had suddenly been shrink wrapped and was too small for him. What on earth would he think of her tiny house and eclectic furniture after his posh hotels and private jet?
‘Thank you,’ she said, her heart heavy, not wanting to say goodbye but not wanting to delay the inevitable as clearly he looked for an exit. ‘For everything.’
‘It wouldn’t work,’ he offered, with a thumb to the place he knew he’d hurt her. ‘It couldn’t.’
She leaned into his touch, trying to hold it for as long as she possibly could, trying to imprint this very last touch on her memory. ‘You don’t know that,’ she said. ‘And now you’ll never know.’
‘There are things—’ he started, before shaking his head, his eyes sad. ‘It doesn’t matter. I know there is no way…’
‘You know nothing,’ she said, pulling away, stronger now for simply being home, by being back in her own environment, with her own bookshelves and ancient sofa and even her own faded rugs. ‘But I do. I know how you’ll end up if you walk out that door, if you turn your back on me and my love.
‘You’ll be like that old man in the picture in your suite, the old man sitting hunched and all alone on the park bench, staring out over the river and wondering whether he should have taken a chance, whether he should have taken that risk rather than playing it safe, rather than ending up all alone.
‘You will be that man, Leo.’
He looked at her, his eyes bleak, his jaw set. He lifted a hand, put it one last time to Sam’s head.
‘Goodbye, Evelyn.’
EARLY summer wasn’t one whole lot more reliable than spring, Eve reflected, as she looked up at the patchy blue sky, determined to risk the clothes line rather than using the dryer. Any savings on the electricity bill would be welcome. She’d picked up a couple of new clients recently, but things were still tight if she didnt want to dip into her savings.
Although of course, there was always the ring…
She’d taken it off in the plane, meaning to give it back to Leo but she’d forgotten in those gut wrenching final moments and he’d always said it was hers. Every day since then she checked her emails to see if he’d sent her some small message. Every time she found a recorded message, she punched the play button hoping, always hoping.
And after two weeks when he’d made no contact, out of spite or frustration or grief, she’d taken the ring to a jewellery shop to have it valued, staggered when she found out how much it was worth.
She wouldn’t have to scrimp if she sold it.
But that had been nearly a month back and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.
Six weeks, she thought, as she pegged the first of her sheets to the line. Six weeks since that night in his suite, since that weekend in paradise. No wonder it seemed like a dream.
‘Nice day,’ called Mrs Willis, from over the fence. ‘Reckon it’ll rain later though.’
She glanced up at the sky, scowling at an approaching bank of cloud.
