Dear Chloe
You have always been my best friend, and it has meant so much to me having you with me these last few months.
You are a wonderful person, with a kind, true heart, and I wish you only the best in life.
There are no words to express what it means to me, knowing that Emma will be with you when I am gone. There is no one in the world I would rather bring up my precious daughter, and I trust you completely to do what is right for her.
But Chloe, promise me that you will not give up on your own happiness. I know you have been hurt in the past, but don’t let that stop you taking a chance on love. I truly believe that it’s better to regret the things that don’t work out in the way you’d hoped, than regret not taking a chance on something that could be amazing.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for everything you have done for me, and will continue to do for me through Emma after I am gone. You have been the most loyal and wonderful friend anyone could ever ask for and I feel truly blessed to have had you in my life.
All my love, always.
Your best friend forever, Liz.
Chloe slipped the letter back into the envelope with a shaking hand. She didn’t realise she was weeping until she saw a tear splash onto the envelope, making the blue ink start to run. She missed Liz so much, although she knew she’d always be in her heart. And she’d always cherish the memories of her friendship.
But Liz’s words in the letter about taking a chance on love had been difficult to read. That was exactly what Chloe had done by staying with Lorenzo—but it was turning out so much more painful than Chloe could have imagined.
Lorenzo gripped the steering wheel, fury eating through him as fast as the powerful limousine ate up the miles to the village.
He could not believe that Chloe had taken the convertible. He hadn’t known she had it in her to show such defiance—to deliberately disobey a direct order from him. He’d only forbidden her to drive for her own safety. The roads were narrow and winding, with sudden bends that took drivers by surprise. And the convertible was an exceptionally powerful car—a steel deathtrap in inexperienced hands.
When he found Chloe he would demand an explanation. He would let her know that it was not acceptable for her to defy him—that he would not tolerate it.
Suddenly, as he approached a tight bend, a metallic shaft of light flashed in his eye. A car had driven off the road ahead of him—the driver failing to make the sharp turn in time.
‘Chloe!’ Her name burst from his lips and he felt his heart crash painfully against his ribs.
He slammed on the brakes, almost losing control of the limo, and pulled off the road into an entrance to a field. He was out of his seat in a second, sprinting back to where the other car had gone through the hedge.
He clambered through the broken gap in the hedgerow, oblivious to the brambles clawing at his legs, and realised that it was not the convertible. In fact it was not even the same colour or model car. He had been thinking so hard about Chloe that his mind had played a vicious trick on him.
Filled with a mixture of relief and edginess, he hurried to the vehicle, to check if anyone needed his help. The car was abandoned. The driver and any passengers had already left the scene. He laid his hand above the engine, and confirmed that the car was cold—the accident had happened some time ago.
He walked shakily back to the limo, realising he had broken out into a cold sweat. The thought of Chloe being in an accident had terrified him. He leant against the rusty five-bar gate into the field and took some deep steadying breaths.
The only other time he could remember having felt anything like it was the night of Emma’s ear infection. But this time his reaction had been even more acute. He told himself that it must be because there was a car crash involved. Car crashes were sudden and violent, and were potentially fatal.
He got back into the limo and headed onwards in the direction of the village—driving much more slowly. Then, when he reached the row of cottages and saw the convertible parked at the side of the street, he felt a second, even more intense wave of relief.
Chloe had given him a nasty fright. He would make sure she never did such a thing again.
He got out of the car angrily and walked to the cottage, glancing in through the front-room window as he approached the front door. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.
Chloe was weeping. She was sitting on the sofa, with her face buried in her hands and her whole body wracked with sobs.
A pain as sharp as a knife twisted in his stomach as he watched her.
He wanted to go in and comfort her. To wrap his arms tenderly around her and take her away from whatever was causing her such distress.
But she had not wanted him there. She had made that very clear. She had told him it was personal and that she wanted to be alone.
Suddenly, he knew that he could not disturb her. His presence would make her suffering even worse.
He turned silently away. Then he repositioned the limousine further along the street so she would not see it when she left, and sat quietly waiting for her to leave. From a distance he would check she was all right. And then he would follow her home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHLOE stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the bedroom, looking out over the pre-dawn landscape. It was not much past 4:00 a.m., but the dim, colourless light of dawn was creeping across the sky.
She couldn’t sleep. She was thinking of the time she’d told Lorenzo about the house of her dreams—the house which she thought had been the inspiration behind the purchase of this property they were currently living in.
It was about a year after she’d started working for him, and they had driven out of London for a business meeting with a man who’d refused to leave his home in Sussex to meet with Lorenzo in London. Chloe had loved the journey, sitting next to her gorgeous boss in the front of his sports car, chattering away about inconsequential things.
Then all of a sudden something about the countryside and the narrow, twisting roads had made her remember a house she’d visited once as a child. Her aunt had worked as a housekeeper, performing a very similar role to Mrs Guest, and one summer, when the owners of the house were away travelling, she had invited Chloe, her sister and mother to visit.
Chloe had been absolutely entranced by the place. She had never seen whole walls made out of glass before—except in high-street shops—and she’d thought they were magical. Her sister had been scared of heights, and wouldn’t go near the upstairs windows. But Chloe had leant spreadeagled against the glass and it felt as if she were flying over the fields.
Her mum and aunt had shooed her away, worrying about fingerprints on the window, and then Chloe had heard them talking, saying who’d want such a ridiculous amount of glass to keep clean? But Chloe hadn’t cared about that—she’d simply loved the feeling of flying, and had made a wish that one day she would live in a house like that.
It was amazing that Lorenzo had remembered. And that he had taken the trouble to find this house for her as a wedding gift.
Right from the start of their relationship he had always been attentive and thoughtful. It was all those gestures that had made her believe that he loved her, even though he had never told her.
Now she didn’t know what to think. How was it possible for him to pay so much attention to little things that he knew would make her happy—yet continually throw her love back in her face? Why did he act as if she were committing some terrible moral crime, simply by having feelings for him?
Chloe ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back off her face, and sighed. A pale hint of apricot tinged the eastern sky, and she realised the sunrise was coming. The giant window would give her an amazing view.
Suddenly it occurred to her that the birds should be singing. The dawn chorus would be underway by now, but she couldn’t hear a thing. The triple-glazed, reinforced glass cut out the sounds of the outside world as effectively as a sound-proofed room.
The thought upset her. At that moment it seemed like a terrible reflection of her marriage with Lorenzo. She had a perfect view—but she wasn’t really living it. All the birds out there were triumphantly singing to welcome in the dawn—but she couldn’t even hear the tiniest peep.
Without thinking what she was doing, she walked silently across the room to pick up her dressing gown, then went downstairs to let herself out into the garden.
But she couldn’t get out. The kitchen door was locked and she couldn’t remember where the key was kept.
She hurried through to the living room, to try the French windows, but when she got there she realised she had no idea how to open them. She knew they were motorised and she thought there was a remote control somewhere, or a panel on the wall, but she couldn’t find anything.
Tears started to flow down her face as she stared helplessly out through the massive glass doors.
Lorenzo lay awake in bed, aware that Chloe was not beside him. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well and often rose before dawn, to stand looking out at the view over the countryside. But now he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her moving around.
Suddenly he realised the room was extra-still. He could hear Emma snuffling in her sleep through the open door into the adjacent room. But he could not hear Chloe.
He sat up, and instantly saw she had gone.
His heart thudded and he lurched out of bed. She’d run away—walked out on their marriage again.
Then he forced himself to stay calm. He knew she would never leave Emma. She’d probably gone down to the kitchen to make herself a drink. He’d seen the half-drunk cups of chamomile tea beside her bed in the morning, and known they hadn’t been there when he went to bed at night.
But that morning he sensed something was different. She’d been so upset the previous day. What if she had realised she couldn’t stay in this marriage? What if she was planning to leave him?
The thought sent dread crashing through his veins once again. He pulled on his trousers and was out of the room, running down the staircase immediately.
Then he saw her. She was at the French windows, trying to find the way to open them.
‘What are you doing?’ he barked, his fear making his voice hard. ‘Where are you going at four-thirty in the morning?’
‘Nowhere.’ She turned to face him and he saw that she was weeping.
A vicious spear of agony stabbed through him. She was distraught once more—and he knew it was his fault. He was incapable of making her happy, and that knowledge was killing him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling her gently into his arms. He knew it wouldn’t make her feel better—how could it when she was so unhappy being with him? But he didn’t know what else to do.
‘I couldn’t open the doors.’ Her voice was muffled against his chest, but Lorenzo could hear the notes of agony in it.
‘If you want to leave, I won’t stop you—you deserve to be happy,’ he said. ‘But don’t run away from me again. Let me help you. Let me make sure you are all right.’
Chloe pulled away and looked up at him. His words had startled her. It sounded as if he cared about her. But at the same time it sounded as if he was offering to help her escape from their marriage.
‘I wasn’t leaving,’ she said, wiping the palm of her hand across her face. ‘I wanted to go outside to hear the birds singing—the dawn chorus.’
‘Thank God!’ Lorenzo exclaimed, crushing her against him. ‘I couldn’t stand it—I just couldn’t stand my life without you.’
Chloe drew in a shaky breath, having difficulty breathing—both from Lorenzo’s lung-crushing grip and from the words he had said. Did it mean he truly wanted her in his life? That he did have feelings for her?
‘No matter what—I’ll never leave you.’ Her voice was squeaky with breathlessness, but then he relaxed his grip slightly to look down at her.
‘But you are so unhappy with me,’ Lorenzo said, confusion showing on his face and in his voice.
‘I’ll never leave you, because I love you,’ she said simply. ‘I’ve always loved you, and it breaks my heart that you can’t love me back. But I can’t even imagine not being with you any more.’
A change came over Lorenzo’s expression. His eyes hardened and a muscle started throbbing in his jaw. He shook his head slightly, and even shrank back a little, as if he totally denied what she had told him.
A rush of despair rose up in Chloe. It was just like the first time she had opened her heart to him on their wedding day.
‘Why don’t you believe me?’ she cried. ‘What have I ever done to make you have no trust in what I say?’
She lifted her hand to her head, suddenly feeling dizzy from lack of sleep and stress, but she stared up into Lorenzo’s face. The expression of rejection she saw there cut her to the quick.
‘Why can’t you look into my eyes, and see that it’s true?’ she demanded. ‘I love you so much it hurts. But all you do is look at me like that—like I’m lying.’
Lorenzo stared down at Chloe, her distraught expression making it feel as if there were a blade twisting in his guts.
Overwhelming emotion surged through his body, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He looked down into her tortured face and saw how overwrought she was. He had done that. He was the reason she was so distressed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve messed everything up so badly. I don’t know how I can ever put it right.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, sounding utterly dejected. ‘It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same as I do. You can’t make yourself fall in love with someone.’
There was a terrible look of despair on her face, which intensified when Lorenzo didn’t say anything. But he didn’t know how to respond.
He had never meant to hurt Chloe, yet he had found himself doing it again and again. Why hadn’t it been possible for him to find some response—any response—that would not have torn her heart apart?
Why wasn’t he able to feel what she wanted him to feel?
‘All I want is your happiness,’ he said, reaching out to pull her into his arms. ‘I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me to make that happen. I know I’m breaking your heart—and it’s breaking my heart too.’
Chloe closed her eyes and leant against his strong body, feeling a rush of emotion rising through her as she took in Lorenzo’s anguish. She had never heard him express such strong feelings before—surely it had to mean something? That perhaps he wasn’t the cold, emotionally unavailable man he claimed to be?
‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped, letting go and holding her away from him. ‘I’m suffocating you.’
‘It’s all right,’ she wheezed. ‘I like being in your arms—it feels right.’
‘Yes, it does!’ he exploded, raking his hands violently through his short black hair. ‘It feels so right—it has always felt right. So why do I keep hurting you so badly?’
He cursed again, and Chloe could see his hands were shaking.
‘You need to get away from me—so that I can’t bring you any more pain.’ He took a step backwards, looking down at her with wild, anguished eyes.
She stared up at him—startled by his outburst and shaken by the intensity of it, but at the same time mesmerised by his words. Had he really begun to express something she had almost stopped hoping for—something of unbelievable wonder?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You deserve so much more than this—you deserve to be loved. You were right about why I brought you back here. I tried to do the right thing—to let you go before I brought you any more heartache. But I just wasn’t strong enough to do it. Even though I kept hurting you—I couldn’t bring myself to leave you.’
‘I don’t want you to leave me,’ Chloe said, tears sparkling in her eyes. But she held herself in check—she didn’t want to do anything to send Lorenzo off the wonderful road of understanding that she hoped and prayed he was finally travelling. ‘I never want you to leav
e me.’
‘But why?’ Lorenzo demanded, an agonised expression contorting his face. ‘Despite my attempts to make you happy—all I’ve ever done is bring you misery!’
‘You know why I don’t ever want to leave you.’ Chloe stepped forward and laid her hand gently on his cheek, and suddenly Lorenzo stilled—as if the fury and rage evaporated.
‘I don’t…I can’t believe…’ he stumbled, his blue eyes confused and troubled as he looked deep into hers.
‘Then tell me why you have tried to make me happy,’ Chloe said. She lifted her other hand and held his face, trying to give him the strength and confidence to accept what she believed to be unfolding in his heart.
‘Because…’ Lorenzo stared down at her with wide, glistening eyes. His emotion was so raw, so overwhelming to him that her soul ached for him.
Chloe moved her hands gently, smoothing the moisture from his cheeks. But she looked steadily into his eyes, as if she were holding his heart with her gaze.
‘Because…I love you.’
Lorenzo’s voice was so quiet that Chloe could barely hear him. But the heartfelt expression in his eyes told her what she had yearned to hear for so long. Her own eyes burned with joy and suddenly the tears started to fall. Her heart was overflowing with love for Lorenzo, and finally she knew that he felt the same way.
‘Are they tears of happiness?’ Lorenzo said gruffly, almost hesitantly, as he stared down into the face of the woman he loved—the woman he loved.
‘Yes.’ Chloe nodded, wiping her hands over her face and gazing up at him with luminous green eyes. ‘Of course they are.’
A smile broke out over Lorenzo’s face and he felt his heart swell to bursting.
He was in love.
In love with Chloe.
He gazed down at her, filled with the most amazing sensation of awe. How was it possible for him to feel this way?
The Blackmail Baby (HQR Presents) Page 12
