The croissant was too rich for her stomach so she left the rest and picked at a few berries.
Alec, she noticed, drank lots of coffee.
It felt strange having breakfast with him in his hotel suite, wearing his shirt under a hotel robe. It felt—intimate. If housekeeping had walked in, they would have assumed they were lovers.
“How are we getting to your parents’ house? You have a car here?”
“I hire a car when I’m in London.”
“How long will it take us to get to your home?”
“Around two hours, depending on the weather.”
“You British are obsessed with your weather.”
“When you’ve seen the roads around Honeysuckle Cottage, you’ll understand why.”
He packed up his laptop while she dressed, then picked up the bags of gifts and the rest of his luggage and opened the door to their room.
“Honeysuckle Cottage? Such a cute name.” She walked past him, careful not to brush against him. “By the way, I’m not a drama queen.”
His eyes gleamed. “Fairy princess crossed with drama queen.”
“So what does that make me? A fairy queen or a drama princess?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know after we’ve spent a few days together.”
A few days.
Yesterday she’d been getting ready for her exhibition and now here she was with a bruised head and a bruised heart, going home with a man with whom she’d always had a difficult relationship.
Which all went to prove that whenever you were anticipating a happy ending, life was guaranteed to mess it up.
THEY CRAWLED OUT of London and gradually the congestion eased and the roads opened up. It was still snowing heavily and Alec knew the country lanes around his parents’ house would be difficult to navigate.
In the seat next to him Skylar slept, her hair a halo of silver-gold around a face almost as pale as the snow.
Concerned by the long silences from someone who usually talked enough for six people, Alec glanced at her from time to time. In daylight the bruising looked worse and her sleepiness worried him. He contemplated calling Michael again, but reassured himself with the knowledge that she’d had a disrupted sleep the night before and was probably just tired.
Maybe her pallor was the result of stress.
He didn’t know what had shocked him most, the absence of any evidence of concern on the part of Richard Everson or the cold, unemotional message from her mother.
He couldn’t help comparing it to those months after the breakdown of his own marriage when his family had been in constant contact. At the time he’d been exasperated by their refusal to leave him alone, but now he felt grateful that they’d cared enough to bother.
Skylar had close friends, but they were far away on Puffin Island.
Here, she was alone.
Alone, except for him, and he knew without her having pointed it out that he was the last person with whom she would have chosen to spend her lowest moment.
He turned off the main road, driving through untouched countryside, past woodland and fields coated in a thick layer of snow.
The closer he got to home, the more uneasy he felt.
What the hell had he done?
The only woman he’d ever brought home was his ex-wife and the memory of how that had played out was permanently embedded in his brain.
Sweat cooled his skin.
He didn’t want to be trapped with Sky. He didn’t want to be trapped with any woman who was emotionally vulnerable.
He wasn’t fooled by her constant quips and cheery humor.
She was hurting and he didn’t want to be within a million miles of a woman who was hurting.
He drove in silence, brooding on the weekend ahead.
Somehow he had to find a way of keeping his distance.
Finally, as he approached the market town near his parents’ house, she woke.
She stirred and turned her head, absorbing her surroundings.
Tiny lights glowed in shop windows, illuminating honey-colored stone. Glossy green wreaths studded with plump red berries decorated the doors and a large Christmas tree dominated the village square.
“It’s the prettiest place I’ve ever seen.” She stifled a yawn. “Where are we?”
“The Cotswolds. We’re about two hours from London. This is the village of Brockburn-on-the-Water. My parents live about five minutes from here, although it might as well be a million miles if they haven’t cleared the road.”
He waited for Skylar to flip down the mirror and start applying makeup but instead she shifted in her seat and gave him her full attention.
“Tell me about your family. What does your father do?”
“He’s a GP. A family doctor. He came over to England straight after medical school, met my mother and never went back. He’s senior partner in the village practice. My mother works in the renal unit in the hospital.”
“Are you an only child?”
“Two sisters. One older, married with twins, the other younger. Olivia is sixteen.”
“Sixteen? That’s a big age gap. I bet you freaked out when you discovered your mom was pregnant.”
“Why would you think that?”
He’d been completely freaked out.
Her insight was unnerving.
“Because when she was born you would have been—what? Sixteen? Seventeen? No teenager wants to be faced with tangible evidence that their parents still have sex. So you’re an uncle and a big brother. I have older brothers, too. They spend the whole time telling me what I should be doing. Are you like that?”
“There would be no point because Liv wouldn’t listen.” He drove down the lane toward his parents’ house, past trees laden with soft snow and fields dotted with animal footprints. The winter sun was low in the sky, sending light shimmering over fields of white.
“So both your parents are in medicine, but you didn’t want to be a doctor?”
“No.
