Chapter 75
Gen
Iknew it.
I knew I shouldn’t get involved with a man like Anton because the crash would hurt like nothing else. His very presence is so overwhelming that his absence is the worst form of cruelty.
I miss his size.
His warmth.
The sheer force of his personality.
And, most cruelly of all, I miss his touch. Its absence is once again by my own choice, but it’s far, far worse this time.
Because when Anton Wolff spends every second of his time with you putting his hands on you, kissing you, holding you, you feel completely bereft without those gifts.
That’s without even considering the orgasm gifts he loves so much to bestow on me.
We haven’t spoken since I went to his office three days ago.
I’m flying to France with the boys and their girlfriends at lunchtime, and we’re staying at the Martinez in Cannes.
I was supposed to be travelling on Anton’s jet, and staying with him, obviously, but I bottled it the morning after I went to give him a piece of my mind.
When no apology had been forthcoming overnight, I asked Rafe if I could join him and the others on the jet he’s chartered for the occasion. He’s taken care of everything.
‘I’m glad I have you guys,’ I tell them wearily from the front seat of the people-carrier that’s taking us all to Biggin Hill airfield. ‘This is going to be hideous—I need my people around me.’
Maddy leans forward from her seat behind mine and puts her hands on my shoulders. ‘We’ve got you, babes. Okay?’
I pat her hand weakly. ‘Thanks, hon.’
Maddy’s been furious about the whole situation.
She gets it—she gets what a gross betrayal Anton’s interference in Alchemy’s business has been for me.
The boys have been quieter on the subject.
I suspect they’re conflicted between loyalty to me and relief that Anton has metaphorically burnt Rapture to the ground.
‘Any word from him this morning?’ Belle asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say sadly.
We’ve shared a few text messages. He’s been in pretty regular contact, the past couple of days, most of the messages along a similar vein.
I want to see you, but I understand you feel you need space.
We should talk it out before France.
I care for you very deeply, Gen. Everything I do is to make you happy.
And the last one, as I was getting into bed last night:
Sweet dreams, my love.
He kills me.
He fucking kills me, and I resent the fact that I have to stay strong. That I have to stand up for my principles and my self-respect, because I’m exhausted, and all I want to do is crawl into that man’s bed with him and have him shatter me into a million pieces and put me back together again.
But I cannot.
Because until the words I’m and sorry cross his lips, I need to uphold my boundaries. If I cave this time, I’ll be giving him tacit permission to walk all over me again and again.
It feels like the first night of puppy training.
I have to be resolute, no matter how adorable he is.
No matter how much he whines. I just hope I can teach this old dog some new tricks, because if he continues to be a stubborn arsehole, I simply don’t know what I’ll do.
I’ll feel compelled to give up the perfect man because he can’t respect my wishes.
It’s so ironic. I held him off for so long. I gave him such firm boundaries and he upheld them (even if he danced around them like only Anton can). He didn’t touch me until I granted him permission.
So why the fuck can’t he stay out of my business? He’s won over my body, my heart, and my soul. I’ve given them freely to him. They’re his.
But he can’t have Alchemy.
We arrive at Biggin Hill and tumble out of the people carrier.
The boys go to help our driver unload our bags from the back.
It’s no surprise to anyone that Belle, Maddy and I have about five times more luggage than the guys.
We trail through the front doors into the main departures lounge when Cal puts down his bag and stands in front of me, his hands going to my upper arms.
‘Darling,’ he says, ‘this is where we say goodbye to you. We’ll see you tomorrow night at the party.’
I blink. ‘What the hell?’
Rafe steps up beside him, Zach coming to his other side. ‘You’re going with Anton,’ Rafe says kindly, as if I’m a small and confused child.
‘No I’m fucking not,’ I say. I let go of my suitcase handle and put my hands on my hips.
‘Yes you are,’ Zach says. ‘We’ve sorted it with him. I promise you, he has a lot of things he wants to say to you and you’ll like them all. He gets it.’
‘Yeah,’ Cal chips in. ‘We talked sense into him. He knows he’s done badly.’
I give the three of them my most withering glare. ‘What the fuck? You met up with him behind my back?’
Cal flinches. ‘He begged us. He’s a mess. He absolutely adores you. I know I thought he was a bit of a twat at first, but he has my blessing now. He really, really wants to make this right. Honestly, we wouldn’t let you walk into the lion’s den if we didn’t think it was the right thing.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ I grit out. ‘Just what I need. More men patronising me and thinking they know what’s best for me.’
I feel a bit faint. I don’t—I’m not ready. I’ve been obsessing about him and fuming at him and missing him so fucking much this week, but the idea of him being here, of being alone with him and having it all out with him, makes me feel nauseous.
And I do not like my so-called friends colluding with him behind my back. It makes me feel small, and foolish, and vulnerable.
‘It’s not like that,’ Zach insists. He’s gone pale. ‘Seriously, Gen, we’d never presume to tell you what’s best for you. We laid into him—I promise you. There were no concessions. But we also can’t stand by and let you lose your shot at happiness. Life’s too short, believe me.’
I narrow my eyes at him. That’s a low shot, coming from the widower, and he knows it.
But he may also have a minuscule point.
‘Did you know about this?’ I ask Belle and Maddy, who are hovering. Their bashful smiles tell me everything I need to know.
‘It’s so romantic,’ Maddy hisses. ‘Zach just told me this morning ‘cause he knew I’d never be able to keep it a secret. He really is sorry, apparently.’ She jerks her head in the direction of the gates. ‘Go on, babes. Go make up with your man.’
‘I’m not happy about any of this,’ I hiss as I grab the handle of my suitcase and swivel in the direction of check-in. I’m pissed off with Anton for going to them behind my back. I’m pissed off with them for rolling over.
But they’re right on one count.
I really should have it out with him properly before we get to France.