Chapter Thirteen
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Annie frantically grabbed another handful of Ivy outfits strewn all over her bed and threw them into her suitcase.
She had to leave. Now.
There was no other choice. She’d realised that during her scalding shower, when she’d tried to work out a way to fix this.
But there was no fixing it, only escape.
She’d come back into her thankfully empty room and dressed as quickly as possible in a black skin-tight dress, bypassing the rainbow of colours she’d worn the last couple of weeks, clothes she’d rarely worn in years, and never in front of anyone, yet had been all too easy to don with Ethan.
A tear leaked out and she rubbed it away.
That was in the past. Just like the time they’d spent working through plans for the charity, sorting through Ruby’s things, and hours in this very room, in this very bed, in his arms, talking, laughing, loving.
She bent over and wrapped her arms around herself, the memories stabbing at her cruelly.
Turning back to her wardrobe for one last handful of clothes, she spotted her yellow scarf. Lifting it carefully out of its plastic, she hugged it to her face, convinced she could still smell her mum, hear her soothing voice and receive her wise counsel.
Please help me, Mum, even though I don’t deserve it.
Tell me how to leave Ethan and still retain my soul.
She pressed her hand to her mouth to cover her sob.
Give me the strength to always keep my pact, because it’s the only way I can truly honour you and Dad.
‘I brought you some soup and painkillers.’ Ethan’s voice carried from the hallway.
She swung around. He wasn’t meant to come back upstairs and certainly not see her like this.
He stalled at the doorway. ‘What’s going on?’ His knowing eyes went from her to the scarf, then over to her messy bed.
Terror gripped hold of her.
‘I’m leaving for London tonight, alone,’ she said with an obvious hateful desperation she couldn’t hide. She had to get away from him, before she threw herself into his arms and told him all the things she had no right to confess.
‘Tonight? Alone?’ he repeated, as if his usual sharpness had deserted him, stepped into the room and put down the tray.
‘Yes. Now. This was…’ Everything. Her mouth dropped open, fearing she’d said the word out loud. Because it had been everything and more. But he couldn’t know that. She swallowed and tried again.
Dropping her scarf, which she had no right to take, on top of the pile of clothes, she grabbed her half-packed case and slammed it shut, with no idea what was in it.
‘This was okay,’ she croaked, waving a hand between them. ‘But I’ve had enough now.’
‘Okay? Enough?’ He pulled on his earlobe like he was having trouble hearing.
Her eyes smarted and temptation pummelled her.
Tell him everything.
Your feelings for him.
What you’ve done.
Find a way to make it work.
The day she’d stood at her parents’ graveside, she’d thought nothing could ever again hurt her as much, but she’d been wrong. Now it was like she’d glimpsed paradise and the door had been slammed shut, never to reopen.
Hardening her resolve, she forced herself to look directly at him and twisted the knife further into her own heart, calling on every skill she’d learnt through years of acting.
‘Our time is over, effective now. I’ve no interest in seeing you again, except in relation to WillowGlen. Am I being clear enough?’
He stiffened and every drop of colour leached from his face.
‘Crystal,’ he growled, like the word had been wrenched from the pits of hell, his chest heaving like he’d just outrun a firing squad.
Bile charged up her throat. She hadn’t thought she could feel any worse than this, yet seeing the sweat beading on his forehead, the look in his tormented eyes, she did. And she didn’t know how she’d ever forgive herself for doing this to him.
She knew then, there’d be no going back. They were done, for good.
* * *
Time skidded to a screeching halt, and blood pounded in Ethan’s ears as shock short-circuited his brain.
Annie didn’t want him.
Annie was leaving him.
His stomach heaved, even though it shouldn’t matter she was going—because that’s what he’d wanted, too, wasn’t it? What he always did himself.
Except…
The pounding got louder, drowning out the frantic beat of his heart.
He loved her.
His body shook. That wasn’t possible, he didn’t do love.
Yet a collection of memories hit him like an anvil: Annie dressed like a rainbow as they did laps around the Virtues, showing him her failproof way to flick a pancake, twirling her pencil as she thought an idea through, laughing in his arms, moaning his name.
His anguish when she’d revealed why she’d become Ivy in the wake of her parents’ deaths.
He loved her.
The room swayed and for a horror-filled moment he was sure he’d fall over until he dug his feet into the carpet.
She wouldn’t bring him to his knees; he refused to allow it.
Even if she could breeze out of here, two days before their agreement ended, like it was the easiest thing to do. Like he meant nothing to her.
Had it all been acting on her part, despite her earlier denials? His stomach heaved again as he fought for control.
Too late for that, Suerte!
He’d lowered his barriers, disclosed all the things he’d never shared with anyone else, not even Cam and Luc.
Now she was walking out on him, abandoning him, when only a few hours earlier she’d been in his arms?
Laughing and teasing, before telling him about her family and comforting him when he’d told her about his.
He’d been with Annie, not Ivy, a woman he couldn’t get enough of.
Yet she obviously didn’t feel the same way about him.
Disgust crawled along his skin. He’d known better than to let his guard down, let her slip between his defences. Hadn’t he spent his whole life determined to never let anyone do that to him again?
Never fall in love.
Never give anyone that power over him.
And he’d done it.
He’d come upstairs, wanting to make sure she was okay, because something hot and tight had lodged in his gut, knowing something had changed while they’d been in bed talking.
Every instinct warned him that whatever it was, it wasn’t good, and it had hurt more than he’d thought possible to see her in pain and then shut down like she had while pushing him away.
Still, he hadn’t expected to find her packing, shaky and teary, making him want to unsheathe his sword and strike down whatever had put the stricken look on her face that no amount of Ivy makeup could hide.
But there was no monster to fight, only the sickening truth that she was leaving him just like his mother.
He recalled all the times he’d seen the staff carry down her monogramed cases, always his first indication she was leaving, and now Annie was doing the exact same thing.
He rubbed a hand down his face, trying to push back the past and vowing that Annie would never know how he felt about her.
Never.
No one could have that hold over him again, he’d promised himself that.
‘You’re getting ahead of yourself. This was never permanent,’ he snapped, self-protection rallying. Yet he got no satisfaction when she recoiled.
‘Exactly.’ Annie lifted her chin and brushed past him.
Unable to stop himself, he followed her down the sweeping staircase because there was something off he couldn’t put his finger on. He’d felt it when they’d been talking in bed when everything about her had suddenly changed.
Felt it? He almost groaned because he always dealt in facts, things that could be counted on.
Stop stalling, Suerte, and head back upstairs.
There’s no hidden meaning here. She just doesn’t want you.
That’s why you recognise this feeling that your insides are being ripped out. You’ve been here before. You know this.
Still, he kept pace with her as she rushed along the wide hallway, a body-width gap between them, their feet muffled by the thick carpet, their ragged breathing the only sound until she stumbled and bumped into one of the large watercolours lining the walls and cried out.
He grabbed her and she gasped as he gripped her bare arm, her soft skin beneath his fingers.
The air pulsated between them, her eyes turning almost green, and the scent of her freshly washed hair, still wet and slicked off her face, wafted over him. He wanted to stamp her every feature, nuance, scent into his memory.
A fleeting expression crossed her face so fast he couldn’t name it, but it was enough to have hope roaring through him once more.
‘What’s going on here, Annie? What aren’t you telling me?’ His voice broke, telling her everything he wanted to hide, how confused, powerless, and bereft he was at her walking away.
Her eyes welled with tears and his grip tightened, his declaration of love battering against his defences and yearning to break free.
‘Please, Annie,’ he implored.
Her lips trembled, she opened her mouth, and he barely dared to breath, before her whole demeanour stiffened.
‘Nothing. I’m leaving. Don’t touch me,’ she snarled, swatting his hand away.
He staggered and clutched the wall for support. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say to me?’ he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head like he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
Her mouth crumpled before throwing him a horror-filled look and she took off at speed.
Realisation dawned; he’d never touch her again, hear her laugh. Be with her, because she didn’t want him. He pressed a fist against his chest, trying to stem the pain, like his heart had been ripped out and only a bleeding, empty hole remained.
She doesn’t want you. Horrified at the pressure building behind his eyes, he blinked and blinked again.
Don’t let her see you like this, protect yourself, head upstairs.
Haven’t you learnt anything from the past?
Yet he couldn’t get his feet to obey his command.
Rather he pushed himself off the wall and followed her, because just like all those years ago with his mother, he had to see her leave himself.
He caught up with her as she crossed the foyer, her heels beating a frantic tempo before she yanked open the front door to a rush of freezing air.
She swung around, backdropped by the late afternoon sunshine, the cold wind whipping the sleeveless black dress against her slender form.
‘It was never meant to last,’ she choked out, and she bit her lip.
He reached out a hand, instinctively wanting to comfort her, but it hovered in the space between them until he remembered she didn’t want him to touch her, didn’t want anything from him, didn’t want him…full stop. He let it drop.
‘Goodbye, Annie,’ he said, his tone as glacial as the weather as he struggled to hold on to his crumbling control.
‘Bye, Ethan,’ she said on a strangled sob, before turning and fleeing into the lengthening shadows, making for her car.
He remained where he was until it hit him all over again. He was standing at the front door, just like all those years ago, as the past and present combined in a vicious, toxic cocktail and then combusted.
Abandoned.
Never enough.
Unwanted.
He lurched sideways, bumping against the door and wondered how he’d ever pull himself together after the deepest cut of all.
Annie didn’t love him.