Chapter Twenty-Four
Finn insists they stop in the nearest town to buy celebratory fizz. Mel lets him drive, lets him talk, congratulating her, telling her he knew it, that his family is going to be so excited. All the while, her head is pounding while she thinks.
She gets a text from Amanda as darkness sets in around the car.
You did it!!! Congratulations! So does this mean you’re back heading up the design team too?? What Lillian Hart wants, Lillian Hart gets, right? What does this mean for the Jan interviews—should I cancel them?
Mel stares at the message for a moment. What does it mean? She has no idea. She hasn’t replied to the agent yet—which she figures she will get away with, given it is Christmas Eve. Which prompts the reply she sends Amanda.
You should switch your email off, is what you should do. It’s Christmas Eve!! Go drink mulled wine or eat a mince pie. We will talk about this on the 2nd, not before. Xxx
She wishes she could tell her brain to stop thinking about it until then too.
Instead, all she’s doing is going around in loops.
On the surface of it, this is just three pieces a year—she could surely fit that into her schedule, on top of the meetings, managing the advertising, taking journalists out for lunch, checking the accounts, managing her team—and the million other things that she does.
But, even as she thinks it, she knows it’s not as simple as that.
It won’t just be three designs—it’ll be a portfolio to discuss with Lillian, to develop and tweak, to find the right materials, to actually make.
And that’s if she only wants three. If it goes well, the social-media posts could lead to more pieces being needed, and there’s a chance, isn’t there, that this will lead to further brand partnerships, that celebrity friends of Lillian’s might want Mel to design their jewelry too.
Her heart skips—part excitement, part utter terror—at that thought.
Then there’s the spin-off designs. Because even if Lillian wants bespoke pieces—which of course she bloody does—Mel will be able to create jewelry that mimics those for general sale. And all of this is definitely not doable while she also tries to run the business.
“Mel?”
She looks over at Finn. He has definitely been talking to her. He smiles a little. “Thinking about your business?”
She blows out a breath. “Yeah.”
He shoots her a look. “My Mel-reading skills may be a little off, but you don’t actually sound that thrilled.”
“No, I am.” She bites her lip. “I mean, I think I am. It’s just…complicated.” Out of the window, moonlight illuminates snow-capped hills against a dark sky. “Finn? Can you pull over a sec?”
His brow furrows, but he does as she asks, pulling over on the side of the deserted road, leaving the headlights on, but switching the engine off so that quiet descends around them.
Mel opens the door, steps out into the cold, and takes a breath.
This is what she needs. She just needs to breathe, for a second.
She looks up. The stars are unbelievable here—you never get this in London. She hears Finn close the car door and come to stand behind her, though he doesn’t speak.
“God,” she murmurs. “This is glorious.” She wraps her arms around herself, pulling her coat tight to her, but doesn’t move to get back in the car. She can feel Finn’s gaze on her and shifts slightly to meet it. The way he is looking at her makes her feel just a tiny bit self-conscious.
“What?” she asks.
He smiles. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” She wants to shove at him, to tell him to stop it, but with the way he’s looking at her she can’t quite make herself. Instead, she lets herself meet those eyes, moonlight reflected in them.
His gaze searches her face, as if he’s looking for something more than she has right now. “You said if Lillian Hart came on board, you’d be happy.”
She nods. “I am happy.” She is. Isn’t she? She definitely should be. And she can’t deny that the idea of creating something bespoke sends a thrill of excitement through her, the way she used to feel, back before everything exploded.
“Okay. Good.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why do you sound like it’s not good?”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Do you not want me to be happy?”
He lets out an impatient huff. “Of course I do, Mel. That’s the whole point. It means I was right, doesn’t it?”
She frowns. “Right? Right about…” Something sharp stabs through her. “Wait, are you talking about breaking up with me?”
“I just…if you’re happier now, without me, then—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Finn.” She moves back so she can glare up at him in full force. “You’re using this to make yourself feel better? Really?”
He grimaces. “I didn’t mean—”
“Why did you think I was unhappy?”
“What?”
“With you. Why did you think I was unhappy with you? I never said that, did I? You made it up, Finn. So I will say it again, and I want you to actually listen to me this time.” She’s biting out the words and tries to take a breath, to steady her voice.
“You may be happier without me, but I am not.” She feels a twist as she says it—the full vulnerability of saying the words out loud.
She closes her eyes briefly, knowing that, now it’s out, she can’t take it back.
She opens her eyes to see him watching her.
“I’m happier outside of London,” he says slowly. He takes a step toward her, and she tilts her head up to meet his gaze. “But I’m not happier without you, Mel.” She swallows a lump in her throat. It doesn’t make sense for it to be there, but it is.
“I saw this house recently,” Finn continues, voice almost conversational.
“In Norfolk, gorgeous countryside. Not too far from Norwich, so still a good city nearby, but amazing beaches around too. I went to visit it. It needs doing up, of course—but I saw it and I…” His gaze flickers back to her.
“I thought of you. I thought of us, living together there. I don’t know why it was this house in particular—maybe it would have been any house.
But I could imagine us being there, together.
” His mouth lifts into a crooked smile. “Like, I could see you in the bedroom, could imagine how we’d decorate it.
I could imagine what the kitchen would look like, and how we’d cook terrible meals together—or maybe not so terrible, after the other night. Spinach excluded, of course.”
Her heart is beating hard against her ribs as she watches him talk. He’s talking about a life—a life with her. He’s been imagining a life with her, even after he left her. He still hurt her, he still abandoned her, broke her heart. But he didn’t forget about her.
“Maybe that’s what you had with the flat,” Finn continues. “Maybe you saw a life for us there, together—and then I let you down. But I didn’t think that’s what I was doing. I thought I was, I don’t know…” He huffs out a frustrated breath, waving a hand in the air as he tries to find the words.
“If you say ‘setting me free,’ then I’m going to kick you, Finn.”
He laughs, just a little, then gives her a guilty look.
She shakes her head. “Why didn’t you just ask me if I was unhappy?” Because is this really it? All of this, because he’d convinced himself she didn’t want to be with him?
“I did.” He scrapes a hand through his hair. “Well, I tried. But you always said it was work.”
“It was work.”
“Right, but you never talked about it, specifically. You seemed to be drawing more and more away from me, into your business and—”
“Because it’s my business, Finn.” She can’t help her voice from coming out short. “I need to put time into it, to make it work.”
“I know.”
“I’m allowed to be stressed about it,” she says, impatient.
“Of course you are. But you didn’t want to talk to me about it, so how was I to know it was just work stressing you out and not me?”
She stares at him. It feels obvious to her, because of course he should have known it wasn’t him.
But, then again, she hadn’t wanted to talk to him about it, had she?
Because she hadn’t wanted to make out that she wasn’t capable, that she might fail at doing this thing that everyone was so proud of her for.
“You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong,” he continues quietly.
“I knew you were upset about something, in the months before we…before I ended it. It was gradual, but I could see it creeping up on you, could see how much you were trying to pretend you were fine. It was my mum all over again, pretending she was fine when we all knew, what Dad was doing to her—or what he was doing without her, more to the point.”
“I’m not—”
“I know. I know,” he says again, more gently. “You’re not my mum. And I’m not my dad. But, still, I could see it happening and when you wouldn’t talk to me all I could do was assume it was me making you feel like that.”
“That’s…” Ridiculous, she wants to say. But she manages to stop herself, because he’s being honest, isn’t he? And, whether or not she thinks it’s ridiculous, it’s what he felt.
He seems to hear her unsaid word, though.
“I always knew where I stood with you,” he says on a sigh.
“Always, pretty much from the moment we met. And then it was like suddenly I didn’t and I couldn’t figure out why.
You were always so direct, always said what was on your mind.
Then you stopped doing it and I didn’t know how to figure it out.
So I assumed that, if you weren’t telling me, it must be because you didn’t want to hurt me. ”
“Well,” she says, “you were wrong. I wasn’t trying not to hurt you. I was trying not to let you down.”
We should at least be honest with each other.
He frowns. “Let me down?”
She closes her eyes, presses a hand briefly to her forehead. “You always used to say you loved how ambitious I was, how driven, how I’d accomplished so much with my business.”
“I did. I do.”