TWENTY-TWO
Gigi
Ten months later
My mother would tell you there’s no better way to spend spring than in Paris. I’d tell you it’s getting damn boring listening to the same bollocks every year.
While securing a job in the city means I earn more money, it also means I spend significantly more – especially at the damn pub. After reevaluating my life choices and receiving a kick up the ass from my parents, I stepped into the big wide world of business, and now I work for a marketing company in London. Which does mean I’m back to living with dear old Mum and Dad.
My colleagues and I opted for the local boozer in Surrey this evening. While it’s only supposed to be a casual affair, the women insisted we dress ridiculously fancy as if it would be hilarious. I’ve opted for a black bodycon dress with a feather trim and a pair of stiletto heels. I hate heels. But I love the dress. The longest part reaches my shin, and the shortest part stops at my upper thigh. There’s a decent turnout: my boss Wendy, her husband, the women on my desk, a few people from the social department, and Jamie.
Jamie is my boyfriend. Well, so he tells everyone. We work at different companies in the city, but our lunch breaks collided one afternoon at the local coffee shop. He just popped into my life one day, like he was conveniently placed, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. I’m not ready to put a label on it yet, but after confirming we weren’t seeing other people, he thought we should declare we were seeing each other. So I let him.
He’s a good friend, and company when I need him to be. It was Mia’s idea initially – she knew I hadn’t recovered from what happened with Harry. Jamie’s tall, dark, and handsome. Everything I should want in a man. But he’s not … him.
Get under someone to get over someone else, she told me.
As talk of the latest scandal with the Beckhams steals my attention, I turn to the women gossiping beside me. Jamie checks his watch and stands, dusting himself off to rid the crumbs that aren’t there.
I turn to him briefly and ask, “Is everything okay?”
“I have to head home. I’ve got work tomorrow.” He shrugs on his jacket and leans down to kiss my forehead. “I love you.”
I smile.
There’s silence until he leaves. And like a ticking time bomb, the group explodes into chaos.
“Gurrrl …” one woman, Abigail, slams her hand on the table. She looks like nothing short of a disco ball in her sequin dress. Her glass rattles with her eagerness to speak. “I don’t know how much longer you can go on without saying it back.”
Everyone around our table nods in unison.
I sigh, knowing they’re right.
I’ve only told one man I love him in my entire life. And I still do. I’ll always love Greg in a brotherly kind of way. Not that I can remember the last time the pair of us spoke. My distance from St. James men clearly stretched further than just Harry. Since it’s been months. Several months. I don’t want to throw those three words around to just anyone. You can’t take back that raw part of yourself once you’ve shared your heart with someone. And God knows I’ve had enough trust issues in my lifetime.
Disliking the topic of conversation, I accuse Abigail of flirting with Jeremy in the mailroom. She blushes red like a tomato and raises her hands in surrender when people start overloading her with questions.
She drunkenly spills her adoration for him. “It’s the bow tie.”
After a few more colleague romance confessions, the pub starts clearing out as the night draws in, and we’re all ready to leave. A shiver coats my body the moment I step outside, an unwelcome breeze covering my cheeks. No matter how much the sun shines in England, the nights will always be freezing.
Shrugging on my coat, I feel the tip of my nose going pink in colour, and I hug my arms close to my chest. Abigail comes close to my side, linking arms with me.
She teases, “I’m going to get you back for embarrassing me like that, you little bitch.”
I laugh.
I’m the designated driver this evening for Abi and a couple of others. As we make our way towards the car park we huddle together like a girl group for warmth. Head bowed, I blow hot air onto my ice-cold fingertips.
With my attention elsewhere, I walk into something hard. The sudden impact causes me to stumble over my clumsy feet. My arm slips from Abigail’s, and I instinctively reach out, catching myself on the figure in front of me.
“I’m so sorry,” the person says.
That voice …
“It’s okay.” I shake my head. “I wasn’t looking.”
When I raise my eyes it feels like the world ceases to spin. It’s like a movie scene, with both of us standing in silence, staring.
The man who plagues my dreams with memories and possibilities stands directly before me. As he steadies me back on my feet the feel of his hands sends a shockwave through me, encouraging my limbs to work again .
“Harry,” I say, winded.
“Gigi, are you going to introduce us?” a girl asks from behind me.
Her statement comes through muffled as I’m busy taking in Harry’s appearance. I know my lips are parted since I can see the breath leaving my mouth and dancing in the cold breeze.
He looks so beautiful.
His stubble has at least a few days’ worth of growth, and his eyes are as piercing as ever. His hair is concealed by a dark beanie, hidden from the wind.
He clears his throat. “I’m Harry.”
Abigail asks, “And how do you two know each other?”
Harry tilts his chin, looking down into my eyes. I know he’s saving me the embarrassment of answering the question.
“Old friends,” I respond with a genuine smile. “He’s Greg’s brother.”
Multiple shocked expressions pass throughout the group, and one person echoes a, “Really!”
“Never liked him. You could have done better,” Abigail says.
I whip my head towards her, and she smirks like a Cheshire cat.
Harry chuckles under his breath, and I’m thankful he doesn’t see the moment the blush creeps onto my cheeks.
Every promise that I’d stay away from this man burns to ash at the mere sight of him. I suddenly can’t remember why I chose to distance myself. But an inkling of doubt must linger … because I step away.
While it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do, I straighten my spine, smile, and then say, “I hope you’re doing okay. It was great to see you.”
No matter how much he tries to mask it, an expression spreads across his features that impales me right in the gut. His grin is convincing, but I see straight through it to the twinge of regret that I might have chosen not to walk away.
“Have a lovely evening, ladies,” he says, his eyes lingering on me. “It’s great to see you, Gigi.”
My name rolls off his lips effortlessly. I envy how easy it is for him to speak it without faltering. How he manages to say my name without any breathlessness. Do I really mean nothing to him anymore?
He’s moved on, the voice in my head says. It’s been months.
“See you around.”
Forcing my feet, I walk away from him. But the minute I feel the tightness in my chest, the physical distance I’ve put between us, I know instantly I’ve made the wrong decision.
If I let him go now, I fear I’ll never get the fulfilment of having the answers I’ve always craved. Maybe I can entertain the idea. Just once. And then work on my recovery for good.
With my mind fixated elsewhere, Abi hangs back a few paces from the others. Gesturing over her shoulder, she whispers, “Go back to him. We’ll get a cab home.”
“Are you sure?”
She hugs me. “Of course. Text me when you get home.”
“I will,” I say, returning her embrace. “Do me a favour … don’t tell Jamie.”
“My lips are sealed, Missy.”
She catches up to the girls, explaining they’re getting a taxi home. Thankfully, they’re too drunk to ask questions.
I wait a moment, inhaling a deep breath before I exhale and head back in the opposite direction.
“Harry!” I call out. “Wait up.”
If he didn’t hear me calling his name, he most definitely hears the clatter of my heels against the pavement as I catch up to him. He slows to a stop, chancing a look over his shoulder like he’s convinced I have company.
“Can I walk with you?” I ask. “Where are you heading? ”
“To my car.”
“How convenient … So was I.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t pick apart the lie. God, I want to smother him with questions, but I don’t know where to start. How is he? What’s he been up to? Has he felt the loss as significantly as I have? I worry that if I start my onslaught of questions I’ll never stop.
“What were you doing out this evening?” he asks curiously.
“Just out with some friends from work,” I say, purposely ignoring any mention of Jamie. “What about you?”
He references the Canon strapped around his neck. “Just taking some photos.”
“Ah …” I say, gnawing at the inside of my cheek. “You still do all that stuff?”
My question is overloaded with meaning. Photography was always a fa?ade to cover up his life within the criminal underworld – I haven’t forgotten that. And by the stiffness of his body, he hasn’t forgotten telling me about it either.
He clears his throat audibly. “It pays the bills.”
So he is still involved …
During the silence I linger over the idea, and I’m strangely relieved he’s still the same person as before. Nothing’s changed. The thought should scare me away … but I’ve always been intrigued by the danger he exudes.
Pain plagues the quiet, the balls of my feet scorching with fire as my cheap and flimsy heels blister my skin.
“Just hold on a second,” I say, grasping onto Harry’s forearm to steady myself. “I can’t last another second in these.”
I slip the heel off my foot, sighing with satisfaction as I meet the cold pavement.
“You’re not having my shoes, if that’s the real reason you’re over here.”
“And to think you said you were never a gentleman.”
He pauses before I triumphantly pull off the second.
“I didn’t kill Jack, y’know. ”
Struck for air, I stare at him in silence, meeting his eye, strappy heels swinging off my forefinger. I teeter on both feet, wondering if I misheard him.
I’ve thought about this possibility countless times through the endless months away from him. It’s the only thing I know for certain through the cloudy haze of lies and secrets he keeps hidden. I’m not sure what happened to my brother, but something in my bones says Harry didn’t murder him.
“I know …” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I think I always knew.”
He holds my gaze again. I beg myself to turn away, to tear my eyes from his without the fear it’ll be the last time I see them. I was always naturally pulled to Harry, and it seems that particularly haunting emotion still hasn’t changed.
My grip holds his arm hostage, and his eyes flicker down to my hand. Apologising quickly, I remove it and stabilise myself on the ground.
When we finally reach his G-Wagon the silence turns awkward. We stand there quietly as we wait for the other to speak, the only sound from Harry’s keys as he passes them between his palms.
“Do you like my dress?” I ask randomly, unprepared to say goodbye.
He chuckles, the sound far from sweet. “You don’t want to know what I think.”
“Why?”
“Because that last gentlemanly instinct you think I have will vanish after you hear the stuff I want to do to you.”
Holy fuck. Where did this side of Harry come from?
His gaze is dark, and the look in his eyes is pure hunger.
“Why are you really here?” he asks, cutting to the chase like he didn’t just set my world afloat. His eyes return to their normal hue at an impressive speed.
Taking a second to collect my thoughts, I steady myself. My mind is screwed, yet the words come out with surprising ease. I’ve awaited this confrontation for months.
“You never called. You never even tried to reach out. You left me. Right when I needed you the most. I knew you’d have it in you to let me come to peace with it all, but when I reached out … you never answered.” My voice wavers. “Why?”
His hands flex at his sides and he wipes a palm down his face, stopping at the stubble on his jaw. “I didn’t deserve you.”
I step forwards. “That was not your decision to make.”
Voice strained, he says, “Don’t come any closer. Don’t make me beg.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t fucking resist you when you’re around.” His gaze clashes with mine. “Even now, after all this time, I can’t think straight. You send all my morals to ash, and I’m trying to give you a better life … I tried for months to keep this from you, no matter whether you thought my intentions were good. I thought if I stayed away—”
“But the guy said—”
“I know what he said.” He looks to the ground and shakes his head. “I don’t understand any of it, and it fucking terrifies me. I can only pray he’s changed his mind.”
This is the first time Harry has admitted to me how he feels. The first time my sanity should be cured that the feelings aren’t one-sided. But the protruding thought through it all is fear. Fear that I won’t see him again. Fear that he’s pushing me away. Again .
“You deserve a good man. A gentleman. Christ, what would your mother say if you brought me home, told her what I do for a living? You deserve a man … You deserve a man like Greg.”
He’s not wrong about the gentlemen part. My parents worship the ground Jamie walks on. My stomach sinks momentarily at the thought of him. He’s sweet and no doubt a gentleman. But I don’t burn for him.
He would give me the world if I asked for it, but I don’t want the world.
I want the moon and the stars .
Shaking my head, I say, “I don’t want Greg.”
I want you.
Harry turns his face away.
“You left me. That was a really fucked-up thing to do, and I didn’t deserve it.”
“You asked me to let you go.”
“When have you ever been one to follow the rules?” I throw back. “Don’t make excuses because you were too scared to admit your true feelings.”
“Trust me, princess, I am many things. Scared is not one of them when it comes to my feelings for you.”
“Then tell me … I dare you.”
His eyes flare with surprise, but his tongue runs over his lower lip at the prospect. “Why don’t I show you?”
I step forwards, surprising myself with my own confidence. “You’re not man enough.”
Harry huffs a laugh as if I’ll regret pushing his buttons.
“I’d pin you to this car.” He grips my hips, spins me around, and presses my front flat against the metal of the G-Wagon. “I’d run my hands up these delicious thighs,” he says, following through on his threat, stopping dangerously close to my underwear. “Then I’d devour you like a man starved.”
Ho. Ly. Shit.
“Then do it,” I say, far too short-winded for someone trying to remain composed.
The thought of Harry going down on me in public makes my insides burn with a fire I will never admit to out loud. But internally I know I’m prepared to screw every bit of feminism within me and let this man bury himself between my legs as if he lives there.
Just when I think it might be a possibility, he leans forwards, pressing his lips dangerously close to my ear. “But I’m not going to. Because as soon as I get a taste of you, I won’t be able to let you go. You got away from me once and I’m not letting it happen again.”