Chapter 38
Nora
‘Jonathan!’
Holy crap. Jonathan is standing on my—Elle’s—doorstep, a bottle of wine in his hand. His fair hair is neatly combed back off that high, patrician forehead of his, and he has a pale pink shirt on that I haven’t seen before. He looks handsome, and golden, and annoyingly healthy.
I stare at him, the shock of being confronted with him kicking my stomach into a nauseating jig that may or may not end in my dashing to the loo. This is my dream, right? To open the door and find the love of my life standing there, come to save the day. To save me. To take me home.
So why I’m not throwing myself at him, I don’t know.
And why the mere sight of his dear, long-loved face doesn’t have me swooning, I’m not sure.
‘Hi, Nor.’
‘Er. What are you doing here?’
‘You’ve been ignoring my messages,’ he says with a sigh, and bends to scoop up Olive, who’s maniacally circling his legs. At least one of us is happy to see him. ‘And I really need to speak to you. So I thought I’d drop by. Can I come in?’
‘Yeah. Sure. Of course.’ I stand back and let him and Olive in, taking the wine bottle he holds out so he can deal with his wriggly little fan with two hands. He’s brought my favourite Puligny Montrachet. Our favourite. And it’s perfectly chilled.
‘Who’s this?’ he asks, craning his face away from Olive so she can’t full-on snog him.
‘That’s Olive. She’s Elle’s.’
‘Huh. She’s lovely. You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?’ He strokes her head, and I wait for my ovaries to do the dance they do when Theo cuddles her, but… nothing. Weird.
I lead Jonathan down to the basement kitchen. He makes appreciative noises behind me.
‘Hell of a place.’
‘How did you know Elle’s address?’
‘It’s your forwarding address,’ he says patiently, like I’m an obtuse toddler.
‘Oh. Yeah.’
I put the bottle on the island. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘That would be lovely.’
He stands stiffly with Olive while I hunt out some glasses and open the bottle. Why is this so excruciating?
I avoid his eyes until I’ve poured out the wine and pulled out a bar stool at the island. ‘Have a seat.’
He sits.
‘Nora.’
I look up at him.
‘I have something important I need to talk to you about.’
He raises his eyebrows to underscore what he’s just said, and the oddest, freakiest sense of dread creeps over me like a damp fog.
I’m paralysed.
It’s as if I’m watching someone run out into the road, and a car’s approaching, and I know what’s going to happen, but I’m powerless to stop it.
Because I know what’s happening here—or what’s about to happen—and it’s the culmination of everything I’ve wanted for months and months.
Jonathan has tracked me down. He’s pursued me, and he’s about to tell me he made a mistake, and he’s broken up with Lucy, and he wants me back, and fuck.
I don’t want it.
I don’t want him.
And it’s taken me way too long to work that out.
In fact, it’s taken seeing him in the flesh to realise. But compared to the excitement and desire that the merest thought of Theo ignites in my bloodstream, being here with Jonathan makes me feel… flat.
Indifferent.
At some point, the security Jonathan represents has become sameness, and what appeared to be danger has become dynamism. Potential—endless potential. Theo keeps me on my feet. He shows me what’s possible. His enthusiasm for life is infectious, and it’s got under my skin.
He’s got under my skin.
I stare at Jonathan as the horror mounts relentlessly in my body, scratching across my skin.
My mouth goes dry, and not in a good way.
Not in the way it goes dry when Theo gets out of the shower.
Or comes up behind me and brushes my neck with his lips.
Or smiles his you’re going to get it, baby smile at me.
Not like that.
Nothing like that.
I take a swig of wine, swallowing it without appreciating the perfectly complex Chardonnay notes, and stick my thumb in my mouth so I can maniacally chew at a hangnail.
I’m about to break up a relationship for someone I don’t want anymore. I’ve had this picture in my head this whole time, and it’s the wrong fucking picture. I snort air in through my nostrils.
Jonathan’s staring at me, concern in his big blue eyes.
‘You okay, Nor?’
‘I don’t think I’m ready for this conversation,’ I breathe out.
‘Tough. You need to hear it.’ His voice is school-teacher-y. He looks surprised by his own tone.
I take an enormous glug of wine. God knows, I need it. The alcohol burns my throat as I swallow it in one.
‘I had a chat with Theo.’ He pauses. ‘It was… enlightening.’
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. I can’t avert my eyes from this car crash.
Jonathan plows on, awkwardness leeching from his very pores. ‘He told me he thought you still had feelings for me—that maybe you still, you know. Loved me.’
He did what? Theo told Jonathan this? When? My jaw drops open. My head spins, Theo’s words on my brain.
I’ll help you get him. The look in his eyes when he said that to me. But I didn’t expect him to advocate directly with Jonathan on my behalf.
Jonathan’s face is utterly serious. ‘Is that true?’ he asks quietly.
Kill.
Me.
Now.
I’ve fucked up so badly. I can’t begin to pretend here. Can’t bear it. I have to set things straight.
‘No.’ I shake my head vehemently. ‘No, I don’t love you anymore, Jonathan. I’m sorry—I thought I did, maybe, but I don’t. Not in the slightest. Sorry.’
He slumps forward, his head in his hands.
‘Thank God.’
Thank—what? ‘What?’ I huff out a sigh of disbelief. My hands are shaking. Did he just thank God that I don’t love him anymore?
‘Nor. The guy’s totally in love with you.
He threw himself under the bus for you. Told me he thought I had another chance with you, if I wanted it.
’ He raises his head. Leans forward. ‘But he was in fucking pieces. He was crying, Nor. When he said it. He was an absolute mess—said he wasn’t good enough for you.
Couldn’t give you what you wanted, so if I thought I could, I should go back to you and beg you for another shot.
Because you deserved to have everything you wanted.
And I’d left you that stupid, drunken message, telling you he was bad news, basically.
I wanted to come and tell you how wrong I was.
He may have been a bit of a dick when we were at uni, but as far as you’re concerned, he’d do anything for you. ’
Theo. Going to Jonathan, whom he despises. Telling him to give us another shot. And crying over it? Crying over me? Could it be possible his feelings for me go beyond physical attraction?
‘But I—he’s going to New York. And he didn’t say anything.’
I look at Jonathan as if he’s the grown up in the room. As if he can miraculously supply me with answers. But he just shrugs awkwardly. Clearly, playing agony aunt to his ex is a bridge too far.
‘I mean, I’m sure if you two are in love, you’ll figure it out.’
Evelyn said something similar about her and Angus. I’m sure of it.
‘But you don’t understand, Jonathan—Theo talks about all this stuff. He says whatever comes into his head. He doesn’t hold back. If he’d had feelings for me, he would’ve said something.’
‘Look.’ He takes a weary sip of wine. ‘You know him better than I do. But maybe it’s easy for him to talk about things when the stakes are low, and less easy when the stakes are high.’
Could he be right? I cast my mind back to all my conversations with Theo.
His relaxed, take-it-or-leave-it attitude to sex in the early days.
I was so envious of that attitude. But the last few days we were together, something shifted.
He closed up verbally, but latched on physically.
I questioned him about it, I did, and he assured me everything was fine.
And I took him at face value.
Ignored my instincts.
‘Did he not say anything to you?’ Jonathan persists. This is seriously odd, having a conversation with my ex about my love life.
He did say something.
Answer me one question, no messing around, and I’ll shut up.
Do you still love him?
And I said yes. I told Theo I still loved Jonathan. Jesus Christ. How could I have been so dim? Was that when he bowed out? Approached Jonathan and told him to go for it with me?
‘He may have said a couple of things,’ I mumbled. ‘But I shut him down. I was so stupid.’
The tears are flowing freely now, and Jonathan puts a hand on my arm and pats it paternally. Jesus. It hurts so much I’m practically breathless. Theo has feelings for me—feelings that made him fall on his sword for me—and I’ve been totally oblivious to them and to my own emotions.
‘For what it’s worth,’ Jonathan continues, ‘he gave me a massive bollocking. Really laid into me. Told me I should be ashamed of how I’d treated you, that I’d shown you far too little respect after being with you for such a long time, and that he’d punch me in the face if I ever fucked up again.
He said I didn’t know how lucky I was. That he’d give anything to have you feel that way about him. ’
I ball my fist and press it to my mouth so hard my teeth hurt. My body’s shaking with the unsuccessful effort of stemming the flow of my tears.
‘I can’t believe he said that,’ I whisper. The Theo Montague I thought I knew didn’t have the humility to open up like that to someone he disliked.
To so openly concede defeat to another guy.
To rip open his heart and risk another man crowing his victory.
‘Look. He was right. I behaved in a shitty way. I didn’t handle things well at all, and I really regret it, for what it’s worth.’
Second only to a declaration of undying love, I’ve longed for an apology from this man. And here it is, and it’s quite satisfying to get it, but that’s all. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. Because he and I are history.
‘You were a total nob.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. I wish I’d behaved better, but you and I are better off apart, Nor. Things weren’t great at the end. I was restless, and I think you could sense it, because you got seriously twitchy. And bossy, while you tried to hold things together between us.’
I flinch. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make it easier to hear.
‘But you’re not like that with him,’ he continues. ‘Not as far as I’ve seen, I mean. You seem more… carefree. He’s good for you, I think. Just like Lucy’s good for me. We’ve both found people we fit better with.’
My body’s still shuddering. I run my fingers up the stem of my wineglass. ‘He’s really good for me. He’s—God, he’s amazing. He makes me really, really happy.’
‘Yeah.’
We’re silent for a bit.
‘I love him,’ I blurt out, and start sobbing again, because it’s true.
I’m head over heels in love with the guy I was warned about, who I was determined to stay the hell away from.
I didn’t see him coming, and I didn’t recognise the feelings I had for him, because they were—are—unlike anything I’ve felt before.
And maybe, if Jonathan’s correct, I’ve hurt Theo even more than I’ve let him hurt me.
As soon as I’ve kicked Jonathan out, I call Theo. Once. Twice.
Nothing.
I have to speak to him. Have to hear his voice.
I feel like banging my head against the wall.
What the hell was wrong with me? How the fuck did I not see what’s been staring me in the face?
I thought I was so empowered, having casual sex with a hot guy.
Compartmentalising my feelings. When in reality, being with Theo Montague has been the least casual, and most meaningful, experience of my life.
A few minutes later, I get a WhatsApp from him.
Sorry can’t talk—at dinner with Saoirse’s family. It’s rowdy! See you tomorrow, gorgeous xxx
I tell myself it’s a good thing. This isn’t something I should do on the phone.
It needs to be face to face. I need to look him in his beautiful eyes while I attempt to express to him how strongly I feel.
Tomorrow evening is the rehearsal dinner.
Theo and I will be sharing a room. Putting on a cosy display at dinner for the benefit of his family.
I have to get to him first.
Because if he feels the same about me, we’ll find a way to be together. I’ll pack up my business. Decline Evelyn’s amazing, career-changing offer. I’ll follow him to New York, if he’ll have me.
None of it’s in the plan. But Theo’s more important than a stupid plan.