Chapter Twenty-Nine Max #2
“Hilarious.” She snatches her wine glass and makes her way back out to the sofa. “So.” She settles into the cushions, crossing her legs. She looks small. Fragile. The total opposite of who she presents outside the comfort of an apartment.
I throw an arm over the back, cradling the wine glass on my knee.
I don’t say anything. I don’t want to. I’m curious to see what she wants to talk about, what version of Gemma emerges when she’s stripped bare.
I can tell this isn’t her usual routine—staying after sex.
Maybe if I let her settle in without any pressure on conversation, she’ll open up more.
Finally let her guard down to show me something real.
“What was it like, moving around so much for your father’s work?” she asks, taking a sip.
I consider my response carefully. “It had its moments. The constant change became normal. New cities, new languages, new homes. That carried excitement.” I lean forward.
“There’s a freedom to it. If you’re experiencing new places, nothing is too precious to leave behind.
It’s the people you’re surrounded by that matters.
” I take a drink. “But my early schooling years were… difficult. Unlike Anna, who had those formative earlier years in London, I was enrolled in new schools, new curriculums, every year. My parents created stability wherever they could, but friendships…” I pause, surprised at how willing I am to share this part of my life with her.
“Those were always temporary. I learned not to invest too deeply because I knew I’d be leaving. ”
Her brows crease slightly. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been difficult. You were just a kid. Friendships are everything.”
“I know it was a privileged upbringing—I saw more of the world before ten than most see in a lifetime. But I’ve come to learn that privilege doesn’t necessarily equate to connection.” I meet her eyes. “Children need stability. Constancy.” I shrug. “I had adventure instead.”
“So why did you move to New York?”
I point to my jumper she’s wearing with my glass.
“I did my MBA at NYU, which is where I met Grayson.” I smile.
“He’s my best mate. His life was always going to be in New York…
” I pause briefly before continuing. “I met Casey. She was from London. It felt like fate, if there is such a thing. I guess we found each other, fell in love, and she always planned on returning to London. So, I decided to follow her and plant roots… try something more permanent.”
She nods. “You got married.”
My jaw ticks. Her tone has a finality to it. I hate talking about Casey. Not because I’m ashamed, and not because I have regrets—but because the failure sits with me still. Like a reminder of my inability to sustain the one thing I’d tried to make permanent.
“I did.” The wine tastes bitter on my tongue. “It didn’t work.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says.
Her face is sincere. I don’t usually reveal too much of myself to people.
Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism ingrained from my childhood.
I’ve only ever allowed myself to open up to a handful of people in my life—my family, Grayson, Noah…
and Casey. But something about Gemma, maybe that she expects nothing from me beyond our arrangement, makes talking to her much easier than I’d predicted.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “It’s part of my life. Regardless of how it turned out, it played a part in shaping who I am today, and I like where I am.”
She frowns slightly. I can’t decide whether it’s out of sympathy, curiosity, or something else entirely.
“To answer your question,” I continue, shifting back to a safer conversation.
“I moved to New York because Grayson needed help when he took over his grandparents’ company with his brothers.
After everything with Casey ended, leaving London behind was…
convenient. Staying here wasn’t good for either of us. ”
She takes another sip, and I can tell she’s resisting the urge to press me for more details, but she doesn’t. Which I appreciate.
For a second, I wonder if she can relate to the appeal of leaving something behind and reinventing yourself, your life.
“I was excited for a fresh start in New York with my best mate,” I finish.
“Do you miss it? London?”
I think of my parents. I think of Anna and what she’s going through with Mason. I think of Noah and how quickly his kids are growing up.
“Yeah… I do,” I admit. That’s the first time I’ve voiced it out loud since being back.
I track the movement of her delicate throat as she swallows.
“And what about Nicole?” she presses.
“There really isn’t anything to tell. We were young, it was short-lived. We weren’t right for each other. I hope she can see that now we’re older. It’s a shame her reaction ruined things with Anna, but that was her choice.”
She seems to accept that answer, nodding.
“And what about you? What’s your story?” I ask.
She considers me over the lip of her wine glass. “Ha. Believe me. It’s not very interesting.”
“I doubt that,” I counter. “Someone like you doesn’t develop that sharp edge without a reason.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”
“Brilliant. Ambitious. Independent.” As I rattle off all her amazing qualities, I realize she meets the criteria I promised myself I’d look for if I were ever to date again. I swore to myself, the next woman I would commit to would have to have these qualities… and Gemma does.
She yawns. “You forgot to mention ridiculously good-looking.”
I smile. “I was getting to that.”
“Sure you were,” she says, stretching. My jumper rides up slightly, revealing the smooth, creamy skin of her thighs.
“You’re deflecting,” I say.
Her jaw tenses before she releases a heavy breath. “Fine. I suppose it’s only fair since you shared.” She places her near-empty glass on the side table, hugging both legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “His name was Todd.”
I frown, becoming irrationally jealous of a total stranger. “What happened?”
“The usual. We fell madly in love as teenagers, dated through uni, moved in together, had the rest of our lives planned.” She pauses, sucking her lower lip in while she contemplates her next words.
I don’t rush her; instead, I study the curve of her button nose, the perfect arch of her eyebrows, the full lines of her lips.
“I just couldn’t do it anymore,” she says finally, her voice quieter than usual.
“Couldn’t do what?” I ask, my tone soft.
“The sex.”
Not what I was expecting. “It wasn’t good?”
She shakes her head. “It was always the same. Monotonous. Like we were just going through the motions till it was over. We lost our spark. I never got excited to see him. I never felt the urge to tear off his clothes… when our friends started getting engaged and married, I realized I couldn’t do the boring marriage with the boring sex.
” She shrugs. “It was never going to be my life.”
I get it. Sex plays a huge part in a romantic relationship. Sometimes, in life’s emptiest moments, passion is the only thing we have left to get us through.
“So, you left,” I finish for her.
She nods, her fingers tracing patterns on her knee. “So, I left.”
“And now?”
She looks at me, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t do relationships. I can’t endure years of boring sex again.”
“I don’t think being in a relationship means you’ll exclusively have boring sex,” I say, surprised by my own words. For some reason, the thought that this young, beautiful woman has closed herself off to love doesn’t sit well with me. “Some couples manage a happy relationship with great sex.”
“I don’t see you jumping at the opportunity to fall in love.”
“Fair point,” I concede, smirking. “No, I’m not jumping at the opportunity to fall in love.”
“But you fuck,” she says bluntly.
I meet her eyes. “Yes, Gemma. I fuck.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Then we understand each other perfectly.”
I laugh, shaking my head. We lapse into a comfortable silence as I finish off my wine. Gemma stifles another yawn, trying to hide it behind her hand.
“Tired?” I ask.
“No,” she says too quickly, yawning again.
“Liar.”
She closes her eyes. “I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Of course,” I say, watching as she settles deeper into the sofa.
When her breathing deepens and her body relaxes, I stand.
For a moment, I debate waking her, calling her a cab or an Uber, but I don’t know where she lives.
And I can’t message Anna without giving us away.
The Max Browne of mere weeks ago wouldn’t have hesitated.
But something stops me as I take in the sight of her.
Instead, I gather her in my arms, surprised by how much I love the scent of her shampoo and how perfectly she fits against my chest. She stirs slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, and I freeze, holding my breath.
The last thing I want is for her to wake and accuse me of overstepping.
I realize we didn’t agree on overnight stays, but it’s nearly midnight and the thought of putting her in a cab, half asleep and vulnerable, doesn’t sit right.
This isn’t for my own benefit; it’s for hers. At least here, I know she’s safe.
When she settles again, I continue to my bedroom and lay her down gently on the bed, pulling the duvet over her.
Her hair fans across my pillow and her long lashes kiss the top of her cheekbones. She looks so unguarded.
I’m half-tempted to slip in beside her. But having already pushed her further than she’s comfortable with this evening, I grab a thick blanket from the end of the bed and make my way back to the sofa.
There’s a strange comfort in knowing she’s here, sleeping in my bed, even if I’m not beside her.
And it’s when I realize, I think I care for Gemma more than I’m willing to admit.