Before You Say I Do

Chapter 22 Dinner

When Ari walked into Whyte’s that evening, Tom’s mouth ran dry, all the fluid in his body immediately decamping into clammy hands and an inexplicably sweating back. He felt his heart speed up and a rush of adrenaline flow through him, which was ridiculous, because Ari had told him quite firmly that they had no future together, and Tom had always been respectful of that decision. Even if Ari looked amazing in her dress, which showed off the creamy tone to her skin and the ash blonde shimmer of her hair, Tom knew he had no reason to hope. He’d given up on hope over the last year, pushing it down, again and again, until the emotion was nothing more than a fine rubble under his feet.

“Wow, Mummy looks so pretty,” he heard Reine exclaim next to him, and he looked down at his daughter, giving her a warm smile.

“Yeah, she does,” he agreed, before giving Reine’s cheek a small pinch. “Make sure you tell her that, okay?”

“You should too,” Reine returned, sipping at her apple juice innocently. “She only puts on that lipstick when she knows you’re going to be there, but you never say anything about it.”

There it was again, that small twinge of hope. Tom gave Reine another smile, then looked back to Ari, wondering if she knew just how much information about her life their daughter inadvertently provided.

Reine, Tom quickly learned, was an exceptionally observant child who watched and listened to the adults around her. Unlike those adults, however, Reine had yet to develop any sort of social filters, and so shared the information she gleaned without a drop of restraint or awareness.

“Tío Luis bought a new Barbie doll for four thousand pounds and Uncle Sebastian was so mad he opened her box and then Tío Luis got mad and scratched Uncle Sebastian’s leather satchel and then they didn’t talk to each other for the whole weekend I was there,” she told him once, her eyes wide with innocence. Another time, she was sitting in a restaurant with Tom and Marnie, colouring in the paper children’s menu, when she noticed Marnie’s wine. “When we went for dinner at Stella’s house last week Uncle Corentin got out a bottle of wine for her and Mummy and Mummy said she was cutting back and then Stella said that the only person who should be cutting back is you, Grandma, because you always have a glass in your hands these days,” Reine remarked easily, switching from a blue crayon to a red one. “She said you’d end up a fermented old prune if you weren’t careful.” She then turned to Tom, looking at him curiously while Marnie seethed beside them. “Daddy, what’s a prune?”

It was the information Reine unknowingly dropped about Ari though, that Tom was really interested in. Through Reine’s innocently made comments, he learned that Ari had been dating again, though none of the men had lasted more than three or four dates, for which Tom thanked all of the gods he’d ever heard of as well as Corentin’s goddess, just to be on the safe side. It was through Reine he’d learned that Ari was painting again, working on a few pieces in the time she’d gained since he’d become a responsible parent, and it was through Reine that he learned Ari made an effort when he was going to be around, tidying her house, straightening her hair and putting on the perfume he had grown to love. These days, that light floral scent made him think of Ari’s dewy skin and warm smile, as well as the curve of her neck and the delicate tapering of her wrists.

Now he smiled at this newest addition to his hidden treasure trove of facts about her, and went to stand when she walked across the restaurant to their private table.

It happened before he could stop it or even knew what had gone so horribly wrong. Still jet lagged and tired, he’d rushed Reine home from her violin lesson earlier that afternoon and then attempted to get her into the tulle dress Luis had packed for tonight’s dinner. Tulle was a mystery to Tom, because how many fucking layers of fabric did a little girl really need? Luis clearly thought eight million, or at least that’s how it seemed to Tom, as he fought to get Reine into the frothy and yet somehow completely inflexible number. Still learning about how to be a father to a young girl, he’d then spent an hour and fifteen minutes with YouTube open while negotiating Reine’s seemingly unending layers of hair, unsuccessfully trying to do something called a ‘waterfall’ braid before taking a private moment to swear and then settling on a simple ponytail. Thinking they were late, he’d rushed Reine into an Uber to Whyte’s, tucking her into her chair at the table and making sure the tablecloth was tucked firmly over her clothes, because no way in hell was he laundering all that tulle when she inevitably spilled something oily and tomato based all over herself.

So, when he stood to welcome Ari, gobsmacked as he was by her utterly glorious beauty, he’d forgotten about Reine and the tablecloth, which, pulled tight across him to cover her, got caught in the bulk of his arms and hands when he stood. The tablecloth went with him, and Tom watched in horror as all the glassware and crockery came crashing down before him, as well as the two delicate but overly long tapered dinner candles, which spilled hot wax onto the shattered remnants of what had been a beautifully set table.

“Daddy!” Reine yelped, just as Sebastian demanded, “What the hell was that?” But Tom could only stand and stare at Ari, his mouth open.

“Jawline, if that was your attempt at some sort of pre-dinner magician’s trick, it’s gone horribly wrong,” Stella intoned drily.

“Yeah,” Luis added, shaking his head at the sight. “You know you’re supposed to pull the tablecloth off while everything else stays standing, right?”

“Right,” Tom muttered, bending down to check on Reine, who was thankfully fine. He picked the little girl up so she was nowhere near the broken glass.

“Reine, cómo va todo ese tul, cielo ?” Luis asked, opening his arms to take Reine from him.

Once Reine had been handed over, Tom turned to Stella.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident, I had the tablecloth over Reine and—”

He was surprised to see Stella give a shrug.

“An awkward jaw and oafish hands,” she said easily. “I’m not surprised, to be honest. Never mind. It’s all right. Whyte’s will set us another table in the main restaurant, I’m sure.” She gave him a pat on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask them for some plastic plates for you too. I’m sure they’ll have them somewhere. You clearly can’t be trusted with fine china.”

“I really am sorry,” he said again, his cheeks red, but Stella waved him aside, turning to find a nearby waiter and walking with him into the main restaurant. Luis, with Reine in his arms and Sebastian by his side, followed, leaving just him and Ari standing in the private room. He met her gaze and sighed.

“That wasn’t how I wanted that to go,” he explained, and Ari nodded.

“I know.”

“I’ll offer to pay for all the broken glass,” he added, and Ari was still looking at him, so he offered a wry smile. “If that had been a magic trick, and it had actually worked, it would have been amazing, right?”

His joke seemed to work, because Ari laughed. “I guess so, though I knew it was an accident, and not a magic trick.”

“How?” Tom asked, leaning back against the wall and gazing at her. “Maybe I’ve been practising at home. You don’t know what I do in my spare time.”

Ari smiled again, moving across the room to lean against the wall next to him. He could feel her bare shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he felt a shiver run through him.

“I knew,” she said gently, turning her head and gazing up at him softly, “because I’ve seen you do better magic tricks before.”

An image came into Tom’s mind of a lonely airport and a cold floor beneath him. Before him stood a young woman, her long hair falling over her shoulders, holding the queen of spades in her hands. Her eyes were warm and laughing, and Tom could still feel — even over the distance of many years — how his own smile had formed in return.

Tom took a long and deep inhalation of breath, followed by a wistful sigh. He knew Ari was thinking the same thing, knew that she felt the same way, and his eyes locked with hers. It was a shared moment over a shared memory. Momentarily losing himself in the blue depths of Ari’s eyes, all his sighs and deep inhalations were gone, his breath now caught tight in his chest.

It was just for a moment though. Ari seemed to shake herself together, then she straightened, one hand going to check that her hair was still in place.

“You look beautiful,” Tom told her softly, his voice more intense than he meant, and he watched as her cheeks tinged pink.

“Thank you,” she returned. “Now come on, magician man, they’ll be waiting for us.”

* * *

Dinner was as awkward as Tom imagined it was going to be. Stella was her usual imperious and elegant self, monopolising the conversation over ice-cold aperitifs and white wine, while Corentin gazed up at her with a smitten smile, his beard trimmed and neat. Marnie, unused to anything other than Corentin’s undivided attention, sat in the corner with a glass of sparkling water in her hand, her eyes narrowed, while Luis and Sebastian sat next to Reine, chatting amicably with her about the newest release of Rainbow High dolls.

Rainbow High had been a hard parenting lesson for Tom. Trying to make up for lost time, he’d rushed out when Reine had first come into his life by buying her all the My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic toys he could find. Ari had told him not to, that Reine didn’t need it all, but Tom had been adamant.

“I’ve never bought her a birthday present,” he said firmly. “Let me do this.”

A lot of research, some stressful eBay bidding, and a cool four-hundred and fifty pounds later, and Tom’s shopping was complete. He’d invested in a full set of ponies and a stable, as well as a castle so big it didn’t fit in any of his cupboards and so had to sit, pride-of-place, in the living room. He showed it all to Reine with the pride of a lion, and the little girl played with it for about two weekends before turning up the next time with a garishly bright and — in Tom’s eyes — skimpily dressed doll clutched tight in her hands.

“This is Misty,” she told him excitedly. “She’s the sky blue doll.”

With Misty in her life, Reine never looked at the My Little Pony toys again.

“I tried to warn you,” Ari said, not unkindly, when Tom bemoaned the crates of pink and purple plastic horses he now had sitting in his London flat. “Children go through phases. For Reine, My Little Pony is out and Rainbow High in.”

The only person happy about this change in Reine’s affections seemed to be Luis, who’d started his own collection of Rainbow High dolls, to keep Reine company.

“I mean, they aren’t Barbie,” Luis remarked to Tom when he picked up Reine one afternoon. “But I like the changeable legs on them. Barbie could do with changeable legs.” He’d leaned closer to Tom, as though about to admit a terrible secret. “You know, I always feel a little odd popping kitten heels onto my Florence Nightingale Inspiring Women Barbie. It feels a little wrong, if you know what I mean.”

Tonight, Luis was in his element, dressed smartly in a button-down shirt and tailored slacks, talking dolls with Reine, and his good mood seemed to infect his husband, who stared at him with an adoration Tom had never seen before. Sebastian and Luis were good together, Tom thought, before his gaze drifted back to Stella and Corentin, who also seemed content and happy.

He and Ari, Tom suddenly realised, were the only people at the table who’d yet to find that kind of contentment in life.

That’s a lie, Tom abruptly lectured himself, you found it. You had it. But you let it slip away. You let her get away.

His eyes fell back on Ari, who glanced up, meeting his gaze. For a moment they stared at one another, and Tom felt his own cheeks grow hot.

Don’t kid yourself, he quickly reminded himself. She told you herself, there’s no chance for you.

Pulling his eyes from Ari’s, Tom looked down, scowling at his plate of Lyonnaise quenelles, the cream sauce suddenly looking congealed and sickly.

“I say, Jawline,” Stella suddenly piped up, her voice grating, “do you know who I heard from recently? That old disaster of a fiancée of yours. Sasha whatever her name was.”

Tom’s eyes went back to Ari’s, but this time she didn’t meet his gaze. She was looking down, her hands clasped in her lap, her lips pressed together.

She would never forget about Sasha, Tom knew. She would never forget that betrayal, just as she would never forgive his lying to her so consistently and for such a long time. Tom Miller would always be the ghost sitting between them — the elephant in the room they both pretended not to see. Tom sighed, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes for a moment.

“Getting married, she told me,” Stella carried on, seemingly unaware of the torment Sasha’s name inflicted upon Ari. “Wanted me to take her pictures.”

At those words Tom opened his eyes again, watching as Ari sat taller, her eyes at once falling upon Luis, who was shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Luis . . .” Ari began, her voice sharp.

Luis gave a sheepish shrug. “So... Miss Teen Rhode Island might have called me too.”

“Might?”

Luis shrugged again. “Okay, so she did call me.”

Ari gave a disbelieving shake of her head. “She wants you to design her wedding dress again, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Luis admitted.

“I suppose,” Marnie suddenly said, “Sasha had a plan she liked for her wedding with Tom. I don’t care for that woman, and I never will, but credit where credit is due, her recycling skills are top notch. So, getting married, is she? Did you know about this, Tom?”

Tom looked to his mother, trying to comprehend what she was asking him and why. It was hard to care about Sasha when Ari was there and hurting.

“No,” he answered shortly. “I didn’t know, and I don’t care.”

“Did she call you?” Ari suddenly turned to Sebastian, who spluttered on his wine. “Did she want you to plan her wedding?”

Sebastian gave a shrug, though non-committal. “A couple of weeks ago I chose to decline her call. She left a message — quite a snotty one, in fact. She and her new man, Harold , he’s called, of all the names... Well, they were hoping I could be persuaded to plan their wedding.”

“With me?” Ari asked icily.

Sebastian laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling, of course not. She can’t bear you. Hates your guts, in fact.” Sebastian gave Tom a look, before turning back to Ari. “Don’t take it personally. Look at you. Tonight, you’re blowing Rhode Island right out of the water. I mean, call the BBC and get the meteorologist on the phone, London is hot tonight because of you, Ari.”

Ari blushed, an adorable pink from her neck to her cheeks, and something inside of Tom ached.

“I turned her down,” Stella cut in, and Tom hid a grimace as he watched his brother fold an arm over her shoulders in affection. “Sasha. She’s all sharp edges. Doesn’t photograph well. In that respect, at least, you were perfectly matched, Jawline.”

“ Stella ,” Corentin said, his voice a playful warning, and Stella shrugged.

“I turned her down too,” Luis added, reaching over to rub Ari’s arm. “I’m too busy with this one’s constant demands anyway.” He gestured to Stella.

“Oh, that reminds me. Small’s flower girl dress. You need to add to it again.”

Luis stiffened, one hand wrapped around a fine bone china cup of coffee.

“Add to it... again?” he asked, utterly indignant. “Why? It’s finally perfect.”

“We decided the gold silk in Iceland might be a little, well, cool ,” Stella explained airily.

“And given that Stella and I will be wearing matching robes, we thought it was a good idea if Reine had one too.”

“You want me to make a robe for Reine? Te pasas , we fly tomorrow, Stella!”

“So, plenty of time then,” Stella returned easily. “I don’t understand why you’re looking at me like that.”

“Well, for starters I don’t have a design ready, or any fabric—”

“Actually, we were hoping you could use the rest of the Koigu Kersti cashmere our robes are made from,” Corentin interrupted.

Tom watched as Luis’s face changed, going from consternation to thoughtfulness in under a second. Across the table from him, Ari caught his eye and shook her head.

“ Wait for it ,” she mouthed to him.

“Koigu Kersti cashmere, hey?” Luis sipped his coffee. “It’s a beautiful fabric. Rare, too. Well, I suppose if I make it a basic shape with some sophisticated French darts and maybe some channel stitching on the pockets, it will work. I could line it with the same silk from her dress, too.”

“You’re going to be up all night sewing now,” Sebastian complained. “Don’t let them play you like this.”

“For Koigu Kersti cashmere they can play me anytime they like,” Luis replied. “Hell, for Koigu Kersti cashmere they can play you too, just like a violin.” Luis turned to Stella and Corentin. “All right. I’ll make the robe, but I’m sleeping the moment we hit the hotel in Reykjavík. No more alterations after this.”

“Speaking of alterations,” Marnie broke in, clearing her voice, “won’t you need Reine tonight then too? So you can make this cashmere robe thing?”

“I have her measurements,” Luis replied, before a worried look crossed his face. “Actually, it would be nice to have her close by, just so I can get the fit perfect before we leave tomorrow.”

He turned towards Ari, who at once shook her head.

“Don’t look at me,” she told him. “It’s Tom’s weekend, not mine.”

Luis turned to Tom with puppy-like eyes, and Tom sighed.

He’d developed a kind of grudging relationship with Luis and Sebastian over the past year, one born out of necessity and shared love for a small child. It wasn’t strong enough to be called friendship, but nor was it merely an acquaintanceship either.

Luis and Sebastian, dedicated to Ari and Reine, and fiercely defensive of both, had watched Tom warily as he tried to build a relationship with his daughter. They’d been in the background, respectfully giving Tom the space he needed with Reine, while ready to jump in at a moment’s notice to offer help and advice. This support had surprised Tom, who’d expected nothing more than criticism and hard words from them. Instead, they’d been kindness and understanding personified, particularly Luis, and it hadn’t taken long for Tom to acknowledge that Sebastian and Luis were good people with good intentions.

“I know it’s your weekend,” Luis was saying now, “and I’m aware you’ve travelled a long way for it. But if Sebastian and I could just take Reine for tonight...”

Tom held up a hand, aware of Stella and Corentin’s eyes upon his back. “Don’t worry about me, I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way when there’s a wedding emergency. So long as Reine is okay with it, I’m okay with it.”

“We should get going then,” Luis replied, standing. “Reine, mi cielo, estás bien si te quedas conmigo y el Uncle Sebastian esta noche? Voy a hacerte una capa tan suave y hermosa que será como usar algodón de azúcar .”

Reine looked to her mother, and Ari nodded.

“I’m picking her up at 8a.m. sharp,” she warned Luis, leaning over to plant a kiss on Reine’s head. “We need to be at the airport on time.”

“Please,” Sebastian broke in, waving his hand, “You know how much we love Heathrow. An hour in the lounge sipping champagne before a flight and a good rummage through Harrods always makes the travel experience less trying on my nerves.”

“That’s great,” Ari said. “Except we’re flying from City this time.”

Sebastian’s face fell. “You’re kidding, right?”

Ari shook her head.

“But... but there’s nothing at London City Airport. One post box, a sad little WH Smith selling wine gums and one poky overpriced bar filled with city banker types does not an airport make, Ari. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Ari mused. “I just thought the convenience of getting to City outweighed the lounge experience at Heathrow and—”

“Urgh, stop.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll see you at City. But next time I’m booking the flights. And the airport lounge.”

“I’m coming with you,” Marnie suddenly announced, standing quickly.

“That’s fine,” Sebastian replied. “The airport lounge is members only, but I’m sure I could rustle up a guest pass—”

“Not to the airport,” Marnie bristled. “I meant to your house, now. I want to spend some time with Reine before the madness of the wedding begins tomorrow.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Fine by me. Given that Luis’s going to be up sewing all night now, I could do with some company after Reine’s gone to bed. I’ll make tea. We can watch Bridgerton .”

“What’s that?”

Sebastian and Luis exchanged a look.

“You don’t know Bridgerton , Marnie?” Luis asked.

“No. Will I like it?”

“Mom—” Tom began, but Sebastian had already begun speaking.

“Tell me, Marnie, how do you feel about shirtless and attractive men?”

Tom watched as his mother grinned.

“I’d say I was on the positive side,” she replied. “Honestly, if you’d seen Tom’s father back in the day, in his tight trousers and V-neck shirts—”

“Mom!” Tom exploded, covering Reine’s ears. “Too much information.”

“Tom,” Marnie replied calmly, “don’t be such a prude. Women of my age have sex, you know.”

“Ooh,” Sebastian grinned. “You’re going to love Bridgerton . Come on, then, let’s go so Luis can get this cape started. You ready, Reine?”

“I’ll have a bike drop the cashmere to you ASAP, Luis,” Stella said, also standing. “See you all in Iceland.”

“You’re leaving too?” Ari asked, frowning. “You don’t want a glass of red wine or anything?”

“Oh, I’m allergic to tannins,” Stella explained, giving Ari a smile as her fiancé helped her into her coat. “So, no red wine for me.”

“That’s right, and I’ve developed an empathy allergy to them too, in support of my wife-to-be,” Corentin added.

Tom saw Ari staring at his brother and Stella.

“I’ve never, um, heard of an empathy allergy.”

“Oh, it’s the newest thing,” Stella explained. “I get headaches when I’m exposed to tannins, and strangely, as soon as Corentin and I moved in together, he started getting headaches too. A large coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not really,” Tom muttered, and Ari give him a look.

“Okay, Stella, well—”

“See you in Iceland,” Stella cut in, kissing Ari on the cheek, which Corentin did likewise. Stella then turned to Tom, winking and giving him the finger guns.

“You can go home now, Jawline,” she told him. “Your familial duty is complete, and there are no more plates in here for you to break anyway. See you at the wedding.”

“Right, I—”

“See you, bro,” Corentin offered, and Tom gave a small wave, watching his brother disappear into the London night with Stella on his arm.

“Well,” Ari cleared her throat, looking at Tom awkwardly. “I, um, maybe I should—”

“I’d like a glass of red wine,” Tom interrupted her. “I’m not allergic to tannins.”

Ari smiled. “You want a glass of red wine? With me?”

Tom tried to fight back a blush. “Yeah. But not here. This place is creeping me out with all of the white walls, white floors and pale food.”

“I know a place across town,” Ari offered. “Shall we get a black cab?”

Tom nodded. “That’d be great.”

* * *

Ari took him to a small pub across the road from a large train station that Tom didn’t recognise. The pub was old and set by itself on a corner, like a slab of cake sharply cut at the sides, or a triangle of cheese taken cleanly from its wheel. The inside was cosy though, and he and Ari found a table in a nook by the bar, a small corner where they had a degree of intimacy.

“This is a Victorian pub,” Ari explained. “It’s one of my favourites. It was built on the site of an old Dominican friary. Catherine of Aragon fled here when Henry VIII was trying to divorce her.”

“Oh,” Tom replied, but no other words would come. Sitting here with Ari, their thighs just inches apart, in a cosy corner of a noisy bar, he was acutely reminded of their European travel days, and he was certain she felt likewise.

For a few moments they sat in silence, sipping at their red wines, when Tom decided to throw caution to the wind.

“I didn’t say earlier,” he began, “but you look beautiful tonight. Absolutely stunning.”

Ari blushed, her hand immediately going to the halter of her dress, adjusting it slightly.

“You, um, did say it earlier,” she told him. “Not that you needed to.”

“Oh, but I did,” Tom argued. “You’re beautiful, and I should tell you all the time and—”

“No,” Ari smiled, putting her hand on his arm, as though to steady him. “I mean, you didn’t need to say it, because I knew you were thinking it. You turned the table upside down when I walked into the room.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to blush. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

“Did you pay the restaurant for the crockery?”

“Yeah.” Tom shrugged. “Who knew plain white plates could be so expensive?”

“Sorry.”

“No.” Tom turned to her, moving her hand from his arm so that it was nestled within his own palm. “No. Don’t ever apologise for being beautiful in my presence. Don’t apologise for that at all. It’s not your fault that I’m awkward around you when you look beautiful.”

Ari gave him a gentle smile. “Tom, to be honest with you, you always seem a little awkward around me.”

“That’s because,” Tom spoke softly, “you’re always beautiful to me. You’ve always been beautiful to me. And so I’ll always be a little awkward around you. That’s my curse.” He looked at her, sighing a little and longing to run his hand down her arm. “A curse I’m happy with.”

Ari stared at him for a moment, her eyes as blue as the sea on a clear summer’s day.

“Are you really okay with it?” she asked him.

He stared back at her. Her palm was warm and soft within his.

“Okay with what?”

“Sasha getting married.”

Tom swallowed. “Of course I’m okay with it. I was never in love with Sasha, you know. Never.”

Ari sat back, her eyes drifting to the glass of wine before her, though she kept her hand within his.

“I think back to last year, sometimes,” she admitted. “I go over everything Sasha said about you. The things she told us about your relationship, so we could plan your wedding.”

“Sasha was never anything more than a Band Aid.” Tom sat back too, squeezing Ari’s hand. “Not having you... it was like a gaping wound, like being torn in two, and Sasha was something I used to piece myself back together. That was all. I’m not proud of myself for it . . . I’m ashamed of myself for so many of the things I did.”

“I don’t want to talk about Tom Miller tonight.” Ari squeezed his hand back. “There’s nothing more to say there.”

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Tom replied with a sigh. “If only I’d known... Well, I didn’t. And I can only keep going forward from here.”

“Yes,” Ari agreed. “Going forward is good.”

Tom licked his lips. “Reine told me you’re painting again.”

Ari blinked in surprise. “She did?”

“Yeah. I’m glad. I love your work. I was crushed to hear you’d stopped because of me.”

“I didn’t stop because of you — well, not directly. I just... I didn’t have time. Or the inclination, perhaps. But now, with you here, and helping with Reine... I have both again.”

“How’s it going?”

“The painting? Slowly. I’m out of practice.”

“Just keep going. I believe in you.”

“I know,” Ari replied. “You were always my biggest fan.”

“I want first dibs on your newest work if you decide to sell it,” Tom joked.

“What? You want to make your collection a neat thirty-eight?”

Tom felt himself go red.

Ari squeezed his hand again. “I’m glad you bought them. You inspired so many of them. It’s fitting that they belong to you.”

There it was again, that ocean blue in her eyes.

Tom cleared his throat, looking down quickly. “So, my mom’s seen your newest work?”

“And Luis. And Sebastian. And Stella and Corentin. Oh, and Brandon too. We had coffee last month.”

“Everyone but me, then.”

“Not everyone. I don’t think the Prime Minister has seen it yet. But then, he’s a little busy trashing the economy,” Ari joked.

“Can I see it?” Tom asked abruptly. “I mean, would that be okay? I know it’s a work in progress, and I wouldn’t want to intrude, but...” He trailed off, suddenly worried he’d overstepped.

Ari was looking at him thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Okay.” She nodded slowly. “Why not?”

* * *

Tom loved Ari’s house. It was small but perfect, and it smelled like her and Reine. He remembered the first time he’d visited, the house unnaturally pristine, with Ari looking both absurdly ashamed and proud of her home at the same time.

“It’s just a typical two-up, two-down,” she’d explained. “But it was all I could afford, and I had the kitchen re-done, and the bathroom too.”

Tom hadn’t seen the flaws Ari was fixated on. He didn’t see the slightly worn carpets, or the faded curtains, or the crack in one of the kitchen tiles. Instead, he saw a warm, colourful and pleasant home with Reine’s drawings on the fridge and boots by the door and flowers in a vase and realised, with an overwhelming feeling of pride, that Ari had accomplished it all by herself. She was amazing — Ari — and her home helped prove it.

When Ari unlocked the door and led him in, switching on the lights, she slipped her heels off by the door and motioned for him to follow her.

“Do you, um, want a cup of tea or anything?” she asked him. “Or I have wine. I have all the wine,” she added, giving a self-effacing laugh. “Red, white and pink.”

“Tea would be great,” Tom replied, even though he hated tea, which tasted bitter, earthy and almost soap-like to him. He couldn’t understand why the British were wedded to the stuff, the whole nation seemingly coming to a stop at four o’clock so they could drink the vile brown brew. He knew Ari loved tea though, and Reine likewise drank it, though hers was always served weak and milky, with a chocolate biscuit on the side.

Ari stopped, turning back to look at him.

“You hate tea,” she said, her voice flat. “You used to drink coffee whenever I had my tea.”

“Yeah.” Tom ran his hand through his hair. “But you offered tea.”

Ari smiled at him. “I was being English. Offering tea is just a way of making people feel welcome, and you are welcome here, Tom. I also offered you wine, you know.”

Tom paused. “I didn’t want to say yes, just in case that you, I don’t know, thought I drank too much,” he replied, somewhat sheepishly.

Ari looked at him for a long moment. “Tom,” she finally said, “I know you’re a good father to Reine. I’m not going to take her away from you. Please stop thinking you’re on probation with me or something, okay? I’m going to have a glass of wine, and it would be lovely if you would have one with me.”

Tom smiled at how easily Ari had read him, feeling his shoulders relax a little. “Okay, thanks. Another red would be lovely.”

Ari nodded, pouring out two glasses and handing one to Tom.

“Come on,” she told him, “I’ll show you the painting. It isn’t finished, obviously, so please don’t judge it.”

“I won’t judge it, I promise,” Tom replied as Ari began leading him up the stairs. “Are you happy with how it’s coming along?”

Ari nodded. “I think so. You know me, sometimes I get hours into a painting and then inspiration deserts me. This time, though, I’m happy. It’s good to have a brush in my hand again.”

She waved him into her bedroom, and Tom swallowed. He’d never been in this room before.

He’d seen Reine’s room, obviously, with its white-framed single bed, fairy lights along one wall and books covering nearly every surface. Ari’s room, though, was different. It was small, not much bigger than Reine’s room, with light green walls and natural wood furniture. It was neat and tidy, although clothes were strewn across the bed, and pot plants covered her windowsill, a flood of vibrant green that smelled clean and fresh. On her bedside table was a pile of books, mostly poetry and cosy mysteries, with a half-finished mug of tea balanced precariously beside them.

Being here, in Ari’s personal space, was intimate and revealing, and it suddenly occurred to Tom that he’d never been in any of her bedrooms before. She was the love of his life and had borne his child, but their history had taken place in sparse hotel rooms, rental cars and the occasional tent or caravan. They’d travelled across Europe together, sharing beds, bathrooms and cupboard space, but they’d never lived together. Not really. Tom recalled the little knick-knacks and mementos Ari had bought as they’d journeyed from country to country, each item a small hint into her mind and world. They’d only been hints though — Tom hadn’t been with Ari long enough to learn that she preferred earthy colours to bright ones, that she read cosy mysteries before she slept, or that she was so frightened of small spaces her window was nearly always kept open.

He still had so much to learn about her. There was still so much he didn’t know.

“What do you think then?” Ari asked, gesturing to the corner of her room. Her easel swallowed up an enormous portion of the little bedroom, and paint splatters were clear on the nearby wall. An old, large piece of fabric protected the carpet, and Tom stepped on it gingerly, not wanting to disturb the space she’d reserved for the thing that, after Reine, he knew she loved best.

“It’s amazing,” he breathed out, as his eyes swept across the canvas before him.

It was a woodland scene set at dusk. The trees were captured perfectly, so textured and real that Tom could nearly feel the rough bark beneath his fingertips. The scene was dark, with only a little autumnal light filtering through the heavy canopy of bronze, red and orange leaves above. The work was sweeping and painstakingly rendered, and Tom knew Ari had put her heart and soul into this piece.

“It’s wonderful,” he added, shaking his head in admiration for her talent. “Honestly, Ari, you’ve outdone yourself. It’s a work of art.”

Ari leaned against her bedroom door and smiled. “That was kind of the point. But thank you all the same.”

“It’s almost too good. I don’t know if I’m going to have enough money to buy it,” Tom lamented. “Maybe you can offer me a pay-by-instalment package?”

Ari shook her head. “Sorry, this one’s not for sale.”

“It’s not?”

“No. It’s a gift for someone.”

“A gift?” Tom asked with a frown, instantly wondering who the recipient would be and whether they would accept an offer from him.

“Look at the painting more carefully,” Ari told him. “Does it seem at all familiar?”

Tom’s eyes at once snapped back to the canvas. He took in the shadowy trees, the leaf-lined forest floor, the way the orange and red hues of light ebbed through the trunks and branches. He took in the curve of the land, the way the ground seemed to tilt to one side, as though this was a clearing before a stream or pond—

“This is the forest near my mom’s house,” Tom suddenly announced, recognition hitting him hard. “The clearing in the woods. My mom and dad were married there, you know.”

“I know,” Ari replied, and Tom turned to her, acutely aware that he’d also meant to get married there.

To Sasha.

“This is a gift for my mom, isn’t it?” he asked, swallowing down his shame.

Ari nodded. “She’s been so good with Reine. And me. It’s a small repayment, but...”

“She’ll love it. She loved The Ends of the Earth , even before she ever knew you painted it.”

“Mm,” Ari made a non-committal sound of reply. “She’s been great. One thing, though — I could do without all the knitted goods.” She laughed. “She made me a cardigan. It was awful. She made a matching one for Reine, and it was worse.”

Tom laughed too. “It’s a shame Corentin went into Druidry and not Dark Age Catholicism. Mom would have made him some great horsehair shirts. I admit, I’m not looking forward to our trip home from Iceland on Wednesday. Her needles clacking all the way over the Atlantic.” Tom shuddered. “How they haven’t been banned as a dangerous weapon on flights, I don’t know.”

“Knitting needles aren’t a weapon,” Ari chided him, but she smiled all the same.

“No? Try wearing one of Mom’s homemade jumpers for more than four hours and we’ll talk again.”

Ari laughed, taking another sip of wine. “Thank you for being so complimentary about my painting,” she said, changing the subject. “I want to get it right, and your words... they’re encouraging. I’d forgotten how much I was encouraged by you.”

By me or Tom Miller? Tom couldn’t help but think, before another thought struck him. It was me, it was always me.

He took a deep breath. “I used to love sitting next to you while you painted,” he admitted. “When we were... when we were together. I used to love it. You would paint and paint, and I would just sit and watch you and wonder how I’d ever gotten so lucky as to meet you. I’d been unhappy for so long, and then you were suddenly there, and my world was just... better. Everything was better. For years, I’d been unable to sit still. I was like a bird, ready to jump at the slightest disturbance. With you,” Tom’s eyes drifted lovingly over Ari’s face, “I felt like I could be still. I felt like I could rest. I would sit by your side while you painted and just feel... easy.”

Ari licked her lips, nodding slowly. “I liked painting with you next to me.”

“You mean Tom Miller—”

“You,” Ari cut him off, and then she blushed. “I like having you next to me. You ,” she added quickly, reaching out to take Tom’s hand. “You,” she said again, her eyes bright. “You, Tom.”

It occurred to Tom that he should kiss Ari. It occurred to him that this was a moment, and one that he should seize. Ari was here, and she was beautiful and sweet and loving and Ari , and he was here, and he was in love with her and wanted her and adored her with his whole heart. Kissing her was the most natural thing in the world to him, and he was made brave by the wine in his blood and the love in his heart and the bright, blazing look in Ari’s eyes that told him a kiss would be more than welcome to her in this moment. It occurred to Tom that he should pull her into his arms and run his thumbs down her cheeks. It occurred to Tom that he should smile before lowering his mouth to hers. All of this occurred to Tom, but he didn’t have time to act, for Ari stepped forward, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling his face gently towards hers. She brushed her lips softly over his own, a caress more than a kiss, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

“Hi,” she whispered, and it was that , that small sound of welcome on her lips, that broke him and made him pull her to him hungrily, seizing her lips with a ferocity that surprised them both. Ari gasped a little in his arms as he kissed her, and he stopped, pulling himself back enough so he could check she was okay.

“Ari, is this—” he began, but the words were cut off by her lips on his, and now she was kissing him, and he was kissing her back, and they were stumbling and unbalanced as he pushed her up against her wall, his hands in her hair and against her face and tracing her neck and anywhere else he could put them. He moved his mouth from her lips to her cheeks, before trailing down to her neck and shoulders, and Ari was making breathy sounds that were driving him crazy, and the only way to stop them and regain control was to kiss her again, swallowing her small noises of pleasure with his lips and tongue.

Ari’s hands were around his waist, but he felt them move up the curve of his back to his neck. His body tingled with the contact, and he pressed against her more firmly, wanting more of that, wanting more of this and wanting more of her . Just her.

Her hands continued moving though, pulling away from his body and moving to her own. Tom stopped kissing her briefly, his mind doing a double take when he realised she was slowly unknotting the tie in her halter dress, the straps falling loose and the bodice falling to her waist. Half-naked in his arms, she kissed him again, encouraging him with little words of nonsense to kiss her back, to move his hands from her waist to her breasts.

“Please,” she murmured between fervent kisses, and Tom nodded, lifting her gently and moving them both towards her bed. She settled against her pillows, her hands moving up to cup his face, and he smiled at her before kissing her on both cheeks, once on the lips, and then lowering his head to mouth at her breasts and nipples.

There was a familiarity to their movements that made him want to weep with joy, a familiarity to the feel of her in his arms as he stripped her of what little clothing remained, just as there was a familiarity in the press of her hands against him as she divested him of his shirt and trousers. It was a feeling of home, a feeling of happiness, a feeling of belonging. He knew how to make her smile and make her sigh and make her body arch with pleasure. He knew how to draw forth from her lips quiet gasps, just as he knew how to make Ari bite down on her lip and quell them. Everything about this was wonderfully, achingly familiar, except for one thing. One thing felt different. One thing felt new.

“ Tom ,” Ari uttered when he slid inside of her, and it was that, Tom realised as pleasure ran through him, hot and fast like a molten wave. It was the sound of his name — his true name, without the guise of another between them — on her lips, that made this whole experience so achingly familiar and also so blindingly new. Ari was making love with him, and the ghost of Tom Miller was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found.

It was just him and her. As magical as it ever was — more magical than it had ever been. Him and her, together once more, without any secrets or lies between them.

Underneath the waves of pleasure, something like gratitude rose inside him, and he took a moment to stop, to slow things down and just look at her. Her eyes met his and she gave him a small, tremulous smile.

“Say it again,” he asked quietly, running one hand over her hair. “Please.”

“Tom,” she replied, still smiling. “Tom.”

He smiled back, before lowering his mouth once more to hers.

“I love you,” he whispered into her. “I love you.”

“Tom,” she whispered back, “I love you too.”