by Lizzie Shane
“Are you having fun?” she asked—too bright, too loud. “Everyone should have fun on the night before my wedding.”
Does that include the maid of honor with your groom? Aiden looked down into the glittering, manic blue eyes of his oldest sister. He knew he shouldn’t say anything, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Are you sure about this, Charlotte?” he asked gently.
Even drunk as she was, her expression closed off. “What do you mean?” she asked with badly feigned innocence.
“It’s not too late to change your mind. I just want you to be happy, not stuck marrying someone because you think it’s too late to get out of it without causing a scene.”
Her jaw thrust out belligerently. “Don’t be silly. We’re getting married tomorrow and I’ve never been happier. It’s going to be perfect. He’s perfect.”
Charlotte had always liked the appearance of things—making the world beautiful from the outside in—but now it was like she was trying to force Aiden not to see the cracks in her romantic façade. Like if she just put enough layers of glossy paint over it, no one would notice that the foundation was crumbling.
“It’s okay if it’s not perfect,” Aiden said softly. “You’re allowed to make mistakes and change your mind—”
“I haven’t made a mistake. And neither has Tug. I make his life better,” she boasted.
“But does he make your life better?” Aiden asked gently. “Charlotte. I’ve really tried to like him, but he’s a smug, selfish, entitled ass.”
“And you aren’t? And we all aren’t?” she snapped. “Mother told me you’re screwing your nanny. If that isn’t an entitled twat thing to do, I don’t know what is.”
“That is nothing like this—”
“Oh? Really? How many times have you thought about her feelings?”
“Plenty of times.”
“Really? It’s all about her? What she wants? What she needs? We’re all selfish bastards, Aiden. At least Tug and I acknowledge it. And I know he loves me. He’s the love of my life and we’re getting married tomorrow.” She thrust out her chin. “And if you have a problem with that, you don’t have to come.”
“Charlotte—”
But the bride was gone, stalking through the remainder of the crowd, moving surprisingly fast for someone who had seemed as tipsy as she had. Leaving him and all his doubts in her dust.
He started back toward the cottage, but the conversation stuck in his bran. How many times have you thought about her feelings?
He had. He knew he had… but he’d only listened when she was telling him she loved him. He’d brushed aside all of her reasons for wanting to push him away. Was he the smug, entitled ass Charlotte had accused him of being? Samira made him happy, she made his life better, but did he do the same for her? Or had he only made her life worse by wanting her?
For the first time—and far too late—he started thinking about what being with him would mean for Samira. He was a selfish ass—so full of his own principles, so certain he was right that he hadn’t heard her when she was telling him why she didn’t want him. All he’d heard was her saying she loved him and pushing him away, but did he make her life better? Had he ever?
When she’d worried about getting pregnant, he hadn’t taken it seriously because he wanted to have more kids. When she’d worried about what his family would think, he’d brushed it aside because the burden of it hadn’t fallen on him.
Had he been hurting her all this time because he was too selfish to let her go? And if he had, how did he change? Did he have to let her go to prove that he’d heard her? To prove that he cared?
He’d always thought the platitude if you love someone set them free was bullshit, but was that really what she needed?
His chest felt tight as he let himself into the silent cottage, more confused than ever about what to do.
*
A door closed downstairs and Samira froze, holding her breath. He was back.
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Three in the morning.
She’d spent the last several hours lying in bed, trying to sleep, but she couldn’t seem to stop imagining scenarios where he burst into her room, his face anguished, clutching his heart—though even the sappiest heroes in her romance novels weren’t prone to heart-clutching—and professed that he couldn’t live without her and she had to take him back.
That wasn’t what she wanted. No. She didn’t want him to lure her back in again. She wasn’t waiting for him to make some big romantic gesture that would change everything. There was no gesture. There was nothing he could say that would stop her from walking away.
But still her stupid brain fantasized. She lay in bed and listened for some trace of him, imagining she heard it, imagining his face, soft and tender as he pleaded with her—his arms forceful and unyielding as he pulled her against him—his kiss, persuasive and desperate—
And now he was downstairs. Those were his footsteps crossing the floor.
She jumped out of bed, stalked to the window and snapped it shut. She hadn’t been waiting for him to come home. She refused to be this person, spending her entire life waiting for him to somehow convince her to take him back. She was resolved. She’d made her choice. It was time to get on with it.
Something inside her stilled at that.
Time to get on with it.
What was she waiting for?
With sudden clarity she remembered how powerful it had felt when she’d finally packed her bags and left Trevor, how right. Her indecision had melted away.
She’d told him she would get him through the wedding, but why? The girls were surrounded by their family. There were other people who could take care of them—dozens of staff always around. If she stayed here, she would only torture herself more.
Saturday was her day off. It was in her contract.
She wasn’t even a little tired. And he was back now. If the girls woke up, they could go to him if they couldn’t find her.
Nothing was keeping her here. She could get away from this estate. Away from this fancy place with all its fancy people where she couldn’t stop feeling like she didn’t belong.
She moved quickly before she could second guess the decision, rushing out of her bedroom right as he reached the top of the steps.
“Samira.” She could see only his silhouette in the shadowy hallway, but his voice was hoarse and tired. “Did I wake you?”
“I have to go,” she blurted before she could change her mind. “I’m leaving now.”
She could only see the way he angled his head, but she knew he was eyeing her pajamas. “The morning isn’t soon enough?”
“It’s morning now.”
She saw him nod—and a stab of something cold lanced through her at his capitulation. “Of course,” he murmured. “Take the car, the girls and I will get a ride—”
“No, I’ll get an Uber. I won’t leave you without a car.”
He nodded again. “If that’s what you want.”
Why wasn’t he arguing? Why was his low, raspy voice so devoid of emotion? She was desperate to see his face, but the shadows obscured everything.
“I should pack,” she murmured, and retreated to her room. She listened, but didn’t hear any more footsteps as she pulled up an app on her phone to order a car. Twenty minutes. Not too long a wait considering the predawn hour.
She changed and packed swiftly. She hadn’t brought many things for herself—most of the luggage had been the insane quantity of detritus associated with the girls. Her own bag was small and she was dressed, her bag zipped and ready, within fifteen minutes. Five to spare.
She slipped down the stairs, half-expecting to find the main room empty, but even though only the vent light in the kitchen was on, Aiden sat at the breakfast table, his elbows braced on the table, head in hands.
A moment of indecision tried to snag her, but she swallowed it down. “All set.”
He looked up and she got her first look at his face. Set. Determined. A
nd so sad something panged inside her in sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he rasped.
She shook her head. “Aiden—”
“No. I should have listened to you. I should have thought about what all of this was doing to you. I only wanted to make you happy and if I can’t do that, you should go.”
“You did,” she whispered.
He grimaced and gave a slight shake of his head. “The girls will miss you.”
“I’ll say goodbye to them. At the townhouse when you get back on Sunday. I won’t leave without a word.” She could pack up her room—the room where she’d lived for years—while they were at the wedding. Be ready to cut all ties when they came home.
He nodded. “We’ll work out a severance package—”
“You don’t have to—”
“Samira. Take the money. I want to know you’ll be okay.”
“I will,” she promised. Her phone beeped, announcing the car was arriving. “That’s my ride.”
He didn’t speak as she grabbed her bag, walking to the door without looking back—because she didn’t know if she’d be able to keep walking if she saw his face. She kept moving, one foot in front of the other, telling herself it was the right thing, until she was out of the cottage, up the path that led around the main house—and out of Aiden’s life.
*
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Aiden dropped his head forward as the door shut behind Samira, repeating those words to himself as an unfamiliar prayer. He’d never felt so helpless, but he didn’t go for the liquor stashed above the fridge, didn’t even move from the table. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and shoved down the urge to go after her.
Candy had told him to follow his heart, but what was he supposed to do if the woman who held his heart didn’t want to be followed?
He’d lost the love of his life again. And just like last time, there was nothing he could do about it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“You just left?”
Samira groaned and hid her face behind her tea mug at Jackie’s question. Her best friend was still in her pajamas—unsurprising, since Samira had texted her at a quarter past seven on a Saturday morning and shown up at her door fifteen minutes later. She could hear Amal in the kitchen, making coffee, but from the alert look in Jackie’s eyes, she didn’t need the caffeine to wake up this morning. Samira’s news had been all the wake-up call she’d needed.
“I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stay when…” She trailed off, incapable of finishing the thought.
But Jackie was never one to let something go unsaid. “When what?”
“When I knew I would take him back if I did.” When she’d wanted to take him back.
She’d only made it a few miles in the car on the way to the townhouse when she’d started to have second thoughts. And third. She was a coward. Running away. Always running from the chance that something might hurt her, but also from anything good.
She’d been so wrong about her ex and being with him had broken down her idea of who she was. She wasn’t the same person she’d been before she married him and she didn’t want to lose herself again that way—so she’d shut out anyone who might make her vulnerable. She’d lived her life—quite happily—inside books and movies and television shows. She’d had the girls—whom she adored. She’d had a safe, stable work environment. She’d had a routine.
And then Aiden had crashed into the middle of it, making her want… more. Though she supposed she couldn’t say he’d crashed into her perfectly nice little life because he’d always been there. He was her anchor. Her stability. Her harbor. Her best friend. And the idea of really losing him, of really leaving, of starting all over again completely alone filled her with sorrow.
What had she done?
“You made the right choice,” Jackie said—with her usual certainty.
Jackie was always certain. But then, Jackie had had Amal at her back for the last decade. She’d never questioned whether she could trust her heart. She wasn’t riddled with self-doubt.
Samira had come here for that certainty. She’d needed to talk to someone and she’d wanted Jackie to tell her that she’d done the right thing, but now that she had, all Samira could say was, “Did I?”
“Of course you did! You can’t go through your life as some politician’s side piece.”
“That wasn’t what it was,” Samira argued. “Why does everyone insist on characterizing it that way? Neither of us were married. So I was his nanny. So what? People meet the love of their life in all sorts of crazy ways.”
“The love of his life? Is that what he told you?” Doubt saturated Jackie’s tone. “Men like that are used to things coming easily to them. They’ll say anything—”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know the type.”
“No, you don’t,” Samira snapped, then bit her lip when Amal stepped into the room.
He crossed to his wife and murmured, “Good morning,” to Samira as he handed Jackie a mug of coffee and paused just long enough to squeeze her shoulder and give her a warm look before heading back to the kitchen to give them privacy.
Samira swallowed down her irrational irritation. “You guys seem better,” she said, more softly.
Jackie smiled, the expression wry. “He wrote me a baby proposal, outlining the arguments for and against offspring at this time.”
Samira’s arched a brow. “Seriously? I thought you were teasing when you said you fought with memos.”
“I was, but apparently Amal hated that we were arguing and he felt he wasn’t being clear so he reverted back to nerd-speak. It was weirdly adorable.”
“And?”
“And I sent him a detailed rebuttal. We negotiated for a few days and he realized he was being an idiot, trying to cram a baby down my throat because it fit with his five-year plan.”
“So you aren’t trying to get pregnant anymore?”
Jackie blushed. “Actually, we are. I realized I was being an idiot too. I do want kids with him. I was just too busy being pissed at him for the way he went about it to admit that—even to myself. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I don’t see us as just the two of us, down the road. I want a big family. And this wasn’t part of his proposal, but I remembered how young his dad died and thought about how scared he must be that he won’t get to see his kids grow up if we wait too long. Of course, I fully expect him to live to be one-hundred-and-three with me, but you never know what the future is going to bring. So we’re trying. Life’s short. You can’t live your life planning for a tomorrow that may never come.”
Or being afraid of one.
The words shuddered through her. Had she made a huge mistake?
Jackie must have read something on her face, because she leaned over and put a hand over hers. “You made the right call. I know it’s hard to see that now, but you’ll bounce back. The cutest guy just joined Amal’s department—”
“Jackie, I can’t handle any more set-ups. I hate them. I’m never myself. I’m never comfortable. Every relationship I’ve ever been in I felt like I was trying to be what the man wanted me to be, like I wasn’t good enough to love if I was just me and I wasn’t playing some part—”
Except with Aiden.
She broke off, the gravity of what she’d just said sinking in. With Aiden, she’d just been herself—even when that meant arguing with him and pushing him away. He made her feel…strong. Like she was the Amazon he saw when he looked at her. Not because she had to be what he wanted, but because he believed in her.
For years, she’d let Trevor tell her who she was. Was she still doing that? Still letting him tell her, inside her head, that she was scared and small and shy?
“I stood up to my father,” she told Jackie and her friend blinked.
“Seriously?”
“I told him everything I’ve been hanging onto for years. How much it hurt when they took Trevor’s side. I did that because
…” She shook her head. “Because Aiden made me feel strong. He made me feel like there was nothing I couldn’t do. Even when I was pushing him away because I was scared to love anyone as much I love him.” She met her friend’s eyes, her own damp. “Do you still think I did the right thing?”
Jackie’s jaw hung open—for once her outspoken friend speechless. “I…I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t know how to let up. He pushes himself to always do more, to always be better. He beats himself up when he can’t be everywhere at all times and he worries about his family and about me. He takes care of people—and he’s pushy and he always thinks he’s right—even when he’s being so stupid. And I am so, so in love with him. He’s the only person I want to grow to be one-hundred-and-three with. And I walked away from him because I was scared. Because it was easy to listen to the voices telling me it won’t work and hard to believe he could really mean it when he said he loved me.” Samira looked into Jackie’s eyes. “Did I make the right choice?”
Jackie shook her head helplessly—and Samira knew she wasn’t saying no, just that she was at a complete loss. She’d told herself she was strong enough to leave him… but was she strong enough to stay?
Jackie couldn’t make this call for her. But Samira already knew the answer.
She stood abruptly, setting her tea on the coffee table with a thud. “I have to go.”
“Where are you going?” Jackie set aside her coffee and stood, but Samira was already shoving her feet into her shoes, purse in hand.
“Back.” Life was too short. And love didn’t come along all that often. If it ever did. She refused to let her fears keep her from trying. If he would take her back.
She called hurried goodbyes and thank yous to Jackie and Amal and darted out the door. The idea of starting over again without him made her feet move faster as she jogged toward the townhouse—passing other Saturday morning joggers, though a few of them gave her funny looks since she was wearing ballet flats and jeans and clutching her oversized purse to her chest as she ran.
