can you love me?’ Anger made his voice shake. ‘We barely know each other.’
‘I know you, Max,’ she said calmly, her voice rich with emotion.
‘You might think you do because I’ve told you a few personal things about myself recently, but that doesn’t mean you get who I am and what I want.’
‘Do you know what you want? Because it seems to me you’re stopping yourself from being happy on purpose. You enjoyed being with me yesterday, Max, I know it.’
‘I did enjoy it, but not in the way you think. It was good to get out of the house and have some fun, but that’s all it was, Cara, fun.’
She shook her head, her body visibly shaking now. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Fine. Don’t believe me. Keep living in your perfect little imaginary world where everything is jolly and works out for the best, but don’t expect me to show up.’
She reacted as if his words had physically hurt her, jolting back and hugging her arms around herself. ‘How can you say that to me?’
Guilt wrapped around him and squeezed hard. She was right; it was a low blow after what he’d already put her through, but he was being cruel to be kind. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he held up a pacifying hand. ‘You see, I’m messed up, Cara. It’s too soon for me. I’m not ready for another serious relationship. Maybe I’ll never be ready. And it’s not fair to ask you to wait for me.’
Her shoulders stiffened, as if she was fighting to keep them from slumping. ‘Okay. If that’s the way you feel,’ she clipped out.
‘It is, Cara. I’m sorry.’
The look she gave him was one of such disappointed disdain he recoiled a little.
‘Well, then, I guess it’s time for me to leave.’ She shuffled to the edge of the bed. ‘I’m not going to stick around here and let you treat me like I mean nothing to you. I’m worth more than that, Max, and if you can’t appreciate that, then that’s your loss.’ With the sheet still wrapped firmly around her, she stood up and faced him, her eyes dark with anger. ‘You can give me a lift to the nearest train station and I’ll make my own way back to London.’ Turning away from him, she walked over to where her overnight bag sat on the floor.
‘Cara, don’t be ridiculous—’ he started to say, his tone sounding so insincere he cringed inwardly.
Swivelling on the spot, she pointed a shaking finger at him. ‘Don’t you dare say I’m the one being ridiculous. I’m catching the train. Please go and get changed in your own room. I’ll meet you by the car in fifteen minutes.’
‘Cara—’ He tried to protest, moving towards her, but it was useless. He had nothing left to say.
There was no way to make this better.
‘Okay,’ he said quietly.
He watched her grab her wash kit from her bag, his gut twisting with unease.
Turning back, she gave him a jerky nod and then, staring resolutely ahead, went to stride past him to the bathroom.
Acting on pure impulse, he put out a hand to stop her, wrapping his fingers around her arm to prevent her from going any further. He could feel her shaking under his grip and he rubbed her arm gently, trying to imbue how sorry he was through the power of his touch.
She put her hand over his and for a second he thought she was going to squeeze his hand with understanding, but instead she pulled his fingers away from her arm and, without giving him another look, walked away.
* * *
Cara waited until Max’s car had pulled away from the train station before sinking onto the bench next to the ticket office and putting her head in her hands, finally letting the tears stream down her face.
She’d spent the whole car journey there—which had only taken about ten minutes but had felt like ten painful hours—holding her head high and fighting back the hot pressure in her throat and behind her eyes.
They hadn’t uttered one word to each other since he’d started the engine and she was grateful for that, because she knew if she’d had to speak there was no way she’d be able to hold it together.
It seemed they’d come full circle, with him withdrawing so far into himself he might as well have been a machine and her not wanting to show him any weakness.
What a mess.
And she’d told him she loved him.
Her chest cramped hard at the memory. When the words left her mouth, she hadn’t known what sort of reaction to expect; in fact she hadn’t even known she was going to say them until they’d rolled off her tongue, but she was still shocked by the flare of anger she’d seen in his eyes.
He’d thought she was trying to manipulate him, when that had been the last thing on her mind at the time. She’d wanted him to know he was loved and there could be a future for them if he wanted it.
Thinking about it now, though, she realised she had been trying to shock him into action. To reach something deep inside him that he’d been fiercely protecting ever since Jemima had died. It wasn’t surprising he’d reacted the way he had, though. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing a spouse, but she understood the pain of losing someone you loved in the blink of an eye or, in this case, in the time it took to say three small words.
Fury and frustration swirled in her gut, her empty stomach on the edge of nausea. How could she have let herself fall for a man who was still grieving for his wife and had no space left in his heart for her?
Clearly she was a glutton for punishment. And, because of that, she’d now not only lost her heart, she’d lost her home and her job, as well.
* * *
Back in London three hours later, she let herself wearily into Max’s house, her nerves prickling at the thought of him being there.
Part of her wanted to see him—some mad voice in the back of her head had been whispering about him changing his mind after having time to reflect on what she’d said—but the other, sane part told her she was being naïve.
Walking into the kitchen, she saw that a note had been left in the middle of the table with her name written on it in Max’s neat handwriting.
Picking it up with a trembling hand, she read the words, her stomach twisting with pain and her sight blurring with tears as she took in the news that he’d gone to Ireland a couple of days early for his meeting there, to give them a bit of space.
He wasn’t interested in giving them another chance.
It was over.
Slumping into the nearest chair, she willed herself not to cry again. There was no point; she wasn’t going to solve anything by sitting here feeling sorry for herself.
She had to look after herself now.
Her life had no foundations any more; it was listing at a dangerous angle and at some point in the near future it could
