years after she’d first broken his heart she’d done it to him all over again.
EMMA GOT OFF the plane in Bergerac, head-weary and heart-sore.
The very moment she saw her mother’s anxious face in the crowd of people waiting to pick up the new arrivals at the airport, the swell of emotion that she’d been keeping firmly tamped down throughout the journey finally broke through. Tears flowed freely down her face as she ran into her mother’s arms and held onto her tightly, burying her face in the soft wool of her jumper and breathing in her comforting scent.
‘Darling, darling! What’s wrong? I was so worried when I picked up your message. Is everything okay?’ her mother muttered into her hair.
It took the whole of the thirty-minute journey to her mother’s house in the tiny village of Sainte-Alvère for Emma to explain—in a halting monologue broken with tears—about the marriage and aborted elopement and all that had happened to her since Jack had made his shocking reappearance.
Her mother listened in silence. Only once Emma had finished did she reach out her hand to cover her daughter’s in a show of understanding and solidarity.
It was such a relief to finally talk to her mother about it all. She apologised profusely for keeping her in the dark for all this time, but, in a surprising show of self-awareness, her mother seemed more concerned with apologising to Emma for not being there to support her through such tough times.
A little while later they were ensconced on her mother’s plant-pot-filled terrace sitting under thick woollen blankets, looking out over the fields behind the house with steaming cups of coffee cradled in their hands.
Philippe, her stepfather, had taken one look at her tear-stained face and promptly left the house so that she and her mother could talk on their own.
‘Poor, Philippe, I hope he doesn’t feel like I’ve chased him out of his own home,’ Emma said, grimacing at her mother. ‘He must still be in pain with his leg.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ her mother said, flapping a hand. ‘It’s good for him to get out after being stuck here with just me for company for the last few days. He’ll be much happier at the bar with Jean.’
Emma stared into the distance, watching the birds wheel in dizzying circles over a copse of trees as dusk fell, bathing the autumnal landscape in a soft, hazy glow.
‘You know, I keep asking myself why Jack would want to be with a lowly waitress when he’s a billionaire earl,’ she said quietly, turning to flash her mother a crooked smile.
Her mother frowned and swatted her hand dismissively. ‘He won’t be with a waitress, he’ll be with you,’ she said fiercely. ‘What you do for a living has no bearing whatsoever on you as a person. I’m sure he’ll tell you the same.’
Emma sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around her. ‘Yeah, I know that really. It’s just—’ She paused, then said in a rush, ‘What if it all went wrong again?’
Her mother smiled sadly. ‘That’s the chance you take when you fall in love. It’s terrifying to make yourself vulnerable like that, but you know what? I was more afraid of what would happen to me if I didn’t allow myself to have a relationship with Philippe. It was a good instinct to trust in his love because he brought me alive again.’
She watched her mother smooth her hands over the blanket on her lap.
‘I still had to take a leap of faith when he asked me to marry him though,’ her mother said, glancing at her with a small frown.
Emma tried to smile, but the muscles around her mouth refused to work, so she stared down at her hands in her lap instead, trying to get herself under control.
‘Imagine the alternative, Emma,’ her mother said, obviously noticing her distress. ‘Imagine what you’ll lose if you turn him away because you’ve given in to your fear. Imagine how that will make you feel. It’ll eat away at you, darling—the “What if?”’
When she looked up she was surprised to see tears in her mother’s eyes.
‘This is all my fault. I should have been stronger for you when your father passed away, Emma. You were too young to take on all that responsibility by yourself—you were just a baby.’
Emma frowned. ‘You weren’t well, Mum. It wasn’t your fault.’
Her mother shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. Lifting a hand, she touched her fingers softly to Emma’s cheek. ‘You lost your youth and innocence too early and look what it’s done to you. You can’t even let yourself be loved by a man who’s perfect for you. You should. Give him a chance to prove himself to you, Emma. You owe him that much at least. You owe it to yourself to be happy.’
The memory of the hurt on Jack’s face suddenly flashed across her vision, causing the hollow ache in her chest to throb and intensify.
Poor Jack.
He’d opened his heart to her and she’d pushed him away.
Again.
It had to have been just as hard for him to let himself fall in love with her again after the way she’d let him down, but he’d trusted his heart to her anyway, making the ultimate sacrifice.
Could she really not do the same for him?
Taking a long, deep breath, she felt determination start to course through her veins.
After everything she’d been through, was she really going to deny herself the chance to carve out a happy and rewarding life for herself?
In that moment she knew deep down that she wanted to be with Jack, she loved him and it was worth risking her heart if it meant she got the chance to be with him again.
But would Jack still want her after all she’d put him through?
There was only one way to find out.
She was going to have to go home and ask him.
* * *
His house, which had come alive with the addition of Emma’s vibrant presence, felt still and vacant without her.
Lying awake until the early hours, tossing and turning in his empty bed, Jack relived the way Emma had rebuffed his affection with such vehement dismissal over and over again.
His stomach ached with misery as he finally gave up on sleep and made his way to his office at three in the morning.
He spent the rest of the early hours working on a project that had taken second place in his attention ever since Emma had reappeared in his life. Keeping busy had helped him the last time she’d left him, for a while at least, but it didn’t seem to hold the same restorative powers any more.
Where was his wife?
He pictured her sleeping on one of her friends’ sofas, getting on with her life without him. Going back to work for some idiot like Fitzherbert again. Keeping him well
