Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Zara
L ondon is beautiful at this time of year. The sun emerges after what seems like months of dull grey, the river sparkling. Trees are acid-green with new leaves, blossom in the gardens drifting petals like a bride’s confetti.
Perhaps it seems even more beautiful because I’m leaving.
Despite Eloise’s repeated pleas I’m going, the day after tomorrow.
My new job, working as a personal assistant for the owner of a garden centre, starts in two weeks, so I want to give myself time to get settled.
My mortgage came through and the studio apartment, the top floor of an old Victorian mansion, is mine.
I should be excited.
But I’m not. I lie on my bed, my neighbour’s cat curled up next to me, my hand on her soft fur.
I think about Myles again, just as I do every day.
He hasn’t messaged for a few days, and I wonder if he’s given up.
Perhaps that’s for the best. But once again I’m back on the terrace with him, swaying to the sounds of the Moroccan orchestra, feeling safe and warm in his arms.
The music gets louder, and it’s almost as if I’m there. I close my eyes, tears leaking down my cheeks. Maybe leaving is a huge mistake. I imagine another scenario, one where I tell Big Red to get fucked and get out of the bed, and I stay with Myles.
Then I hear shouting. I open my eyes, the fantasy drifting apart like smoke. But I can still hear the Moroccan orchestra. Am I going mad?
I sit up, realising the music seems to be coming from outside. Perhaps there’s a festival or something on I hadn’t realised, London’s multicultural heart beating. I go to my window and pull up the sash, leaning out.
And my heart seems to stop.
A seven-piece Moroccan orchestra, who seem vaguely familiar, are set up in the front garden below, playing music.
My landlady is on the steps, shouting something, and a couple of the other tenants are also at their windows.
But all my focus goes to the lone figure standing next to the orchestra, staring up at me.
Myles.
He looks thinner, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones seeming more pronounced. But his shoulders under the sharp tailored suit are still broad, his raven hair still tousled. My heart calls to him, my whole body seeming to scream his name.
I have been a fool.
I step back from the window, my hands to my mouth. Ilook a fright. All my clothes are packed away apart from some leggings and T-shirts, which is what I’m wearing now.
Then I realise it doesn’t matter. He’s waiting for me, and I need to go to him. I leave my room and run down the stairs two at a time, pulling the elastic band from my hair. I push past my landlady on the steps, almost stumbling as I run towards Myles.
I crash into him. His arms come around me, his cheek resting on my hair.
It’s just like when he saved me from the surf, except now he’s saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life.
I feel safe, as though nothing can ever hurt me when I’m with him.
I feel complete. I feel as though I’m coming home.
Myles
Thank fuck for Eloise.
I’d been angry at first, when she spoke to me like that. But I realised almost right away that I was angry with myself. I’d given Zara space because it was the right thing to do. But I also hadn’t ever explained about why I’d let her go that morning, and the mess with Katya.
It was time to take another risk and hope it paid off.
The orchestra, when Eloise contacted the hotel in Marrakech, were very happy to be flown out for a special performance. I swore Eloise to secrecy, even though I knew it was killing her, and we put all the arrangements in place.
All I need now is for Zara to accept my love offering.
When she comes to the window it feels as though my heart stops for a moment. She seems thinner, her hair still in that damn ponytail. Seeing her is like seeing the sun rise, light coming back into my world. I don’t say anything because I can’t. But also because I want her to choose freely.
When she draws back from the window almost immediately my hopes fall. The orchestra keep playing, and I wonder what to do next.
Then there’s a flurry of motion at the front door.
Zara appears, her hair loose and shimmering, her slender curves outlined in dark leggings.
She runs straight into my arms like an incoming wave crashing over me, into my heart.
Relief washes through me as I wrap my arms around her, feeling complete again.
She buries her face against my chest, clinging to me.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobs. “I’ve been such an idiot.”
“Zara.” I put my fingers under her chin, lifting her head. I smooth the tears from her cheeks, run my hand over her soft hair. Then I do the thing I’ve been dreaming of doing ever since I lost her, and kiss her.
She kisses me back, soft at first then with more passion, her hands in my hair. It’s even better than I remember, a feeling of coming home. Eventually, only because I don’t think I’ll be able to stop if I don’t, I lift my head.
“I love you,” I say. “Completely. With all my heart. And I’m the one who should be sorry. About everything. Will you let me explain?”
“There’s nothing to explain.” She’s laughing and crying at the same time. “I love you too, so much.” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me again, pressing against me so I lift her up, her legs bending. When I put her down, we’re both breathing fast.
“Christ,” I murmur. I’m getting hard already, the feel of her body against mine stirring memories. I tuck a strand of her shimmering hair behind her ear. “Zara, my love, before I take you back to my place and fuck you until neither of us can stand, I need to know something.”
She waits, a smile curving those gorgeous lips, a promise in her eyes.
“Will you be mine? I don’t mean just for now. I mean for ever. Will you have me?”
“I’m already yours,” she replies. “Now and for ever.”
I kiss her again, and she laughs against my mouth. I lift my head, gazing at her.
Mischief sparks in her brown gaze. “If we are going back to yours, there are a couple of trading positions I wanted to discuss with you. Rather specific ones. From all the stock-market reading I’ve been doing, you know? Maybe we can even start in the car.”
I laugh. “I think we can arrange that. I’m happy to try any position you want.” I kiss her again, because it’s difficult not to, my cock straining against my trousers.
She’s the one who breaks the kiss, pulling back to stare at me, serious once more. Her hand comes to my cheek. “Is this real?” she asks, her voice soft.
I’m taken back to a candlelit terrace, to the promise of what was to come. I brush her lips with mine. “More real than anything.”