Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Amy
“I’ll see you this evening,” I say. “I’ll meet you there.”
The silence on the other end of the line stretches just enough to tell me he hates the idea. He wants to pick me up. He wants control of the moment, of the tone, of what happens next.
But if I go to our rendezvous under my own steam, then I can run if I need to. I can walk away before he has the chance to put my heart in a blender.
“I’ll meet you there,” I repeat, firmer. “Goodbye, Ivan.”
He mutters something incomprehensible, and I hang up.
As I stare at the phone in my hand, a stupid smile plays on my lips—round one to me―even if my heart is beating like it’s afraid I’ve made a mistake.
When my phone buzzed on the kitchen worktop, my heartrate increased from nought to sixty in one beat. I told him to call me, and he did. I didn’t expect him to.
After not having heard from him for months, part of me thought he wouldn’t call, that he’d written me off as not worth the trouble. That last night had been a chance coincidence.
But knowing Ivan, he doesn’t leave much to luck, especially not when something matters to him. He is used to making the world bend to his will.
I didn’t dare hope there was an ulterior motive for him being there. But there could have been. And the intention in his eyes was the writing on the wall.
It’s a rainy November afternoon, and the festive spirit of Christmas hasn’t quite graced the city yet.
Everything is tinged gray―the sky, the buildings, the roads, and the people.
Rain falls as I emerge from the underground station.
I quickly raise my umbrella and stalk off in search of my destination.
We’ve agreed to meet at a small coffee shop for a drink.
I still haven’t decided how to play it with him. All I know is I’m not just going to roll over and let him back into my life. Amy Corrigan doesn’t give out free passes to her heart. Not anymore. Not when I’ve become an expert at stitching myself back together, and I don’t plan to do it again.
As appealing as having him nestled between my legs again is, I need to have more respect for myself. Yes, in hindsight, I overreacted to the news that he’d bought my gym, but he still kept it from me. He hurt me. And he doesn’t get to walk back in just because he looks like sin wrapped in cashmere.
He’s sitting in the corner, facing the door, his nose in his phone, working, no doubt.
Today, he looks dressed for the weekend with a simple black sweater and jeans paired with trainers.
Normal, almost. It’s comforting in a way.
The distance between us is immediately reduced.
His hair is messy in that deliberate, ‘this is how I woke up’ style, then he looks up…
Hell. Those eyes, that smile, send me into free fall. My knees are making it difficult to stay on my feet. The butterflies that disappeared months ago return to my stomach with a vengeance.
Traitorous whore. We’re making this difficult for him, remember. You’re not getting any action today. The rabbit will have to do.
He stands, and pulls out my chair for me, but doesn’t touch me―he keeps his distance and sits back down. His thick fingers flex on the edge of the table. The restraint is almost my undoing. I clamp my fingers around my thighs to stop myself reaching across.
“Thank you for coming,” he says. “It’s so good to see you again, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. The word glides over my skin like a memory I shouldn’t crave. He’s the only person who’s ever called me that. I love how it sounds on his tongue.
He signals for the waitress. “What do you want to drink?”
“Just a coffee, please. I can’t stay long. I have plans later.” I don’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. It’s better if he thinks I’m a wanted woman with a social calendar busier than a Real Housewife. The lie slips out easier than I expect.
His face falls, but he quickly rearranges his features to feign calm. He runs his hand through his dark hair then squares his shoulders a fraction.
The waitress appears, and he orders our drinks. As she retreats to her counter, he turns and fixes me with a stare. The kind that always makes me feel seen, noticed above every other person in the room.
The way a deer trapped in headlights freezes with nowhere to run, I’m here until he releases me.
“Amy,” he begins, voice unsteady in a way I’ve never heard. “I’m sorry.”
He inhales as though bracing himself.
“I’m sorry for being an insensitive asshole. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I bought the gym. I should have. That man is one I’m not proud of.”
His voice fractures on the last words, his fingers tightening on the handle of his mug, as if holding himself together.
I swallow, and something deep inside me trembles.
“I can’t change the past. The last thing I wanted to do is hurt you. My actions were those of a man who was spoiled, used to getting what he wanted by any means necessary. I’m ashamed of that man.”
The waitress returns and places our steaming hot drinks in front of us. Each saucer has a small ginger biscuit snuggled next to the cup. He lifts his mug to his lips, takes a sip, and closes his eyes. I snap my gaze away, taking advantage of the reprieve from his attention.
“These past twelve months have changed me unrecognizably. I feel like a completely different person,” he says softly.
I pop a biscuit in my mouth, devouring it in a single serving. His eyes drop to my lips, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I raise my eyebrows, daring him to say something. He doesn’t, returning to the serious conversation we’re having.
“You’ve shown me another way to live. A way where someone else is my priority. That night you told me to leave, I was furious at your rejection. Furious that you wouldn’t see the situation from my perspective. Furious you dismissed me.”
My heart thumps so loud, I’m sure he can hear it. His honesty slams against the walls I’ve built, threatening to flatten them to the ground.
“I was hurt, Ivan,” I whisper. “Disillusioned. Betrayed.”
“I know, and now, I understand why.” His expression twists with regret. “Amy, being without you is torture. I know it will take time for us to build what we had again, but I want to know if you’re willing to try. I love you.”
He reaches for my hand, but hesitates.
I close the distance, linking our fingers. The strain on his features relaxes instantly, his shoulders dropping from his ears.
“I’m willing to try.” I say softly. Hope blooms in my chest, fragile but real. “You made me happy. And I’m tired of being afraid of that. Life’s short. I don’t want to risk missing out on something spectacular by being short-sighted.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, a different kind of silence. It’s settled, healing, one that feels like the beginning of something good.
“This is real,” he whispers, like we’re something sacred. “You and me.”
The warm coffee slides down my throat, heat radiating through my body. It soothes the knot of tension I’ve been carrying since I agreed to come today.
“And whatever you need from me,” he says, his voice wavering, still unsure. “I’ll do whatever you need for you to feel secure with me. I can’t believe I risked us.”
When we leave, he kisses my cheek. And for the first time in months, I feel something close to peace.
***
Ivan invited me to his family’s Christmas Eve dinner again this year. In the past few weeks, we’ve met up a handful of times for dinners, long conversations, and kisses that linger enough for me to crave more.
Each time, the atmosphere becomes a little more comfortable, my defenses beginning to fall. Every time I walk away, it gets harder. I love him. There’s no question of that. He makes me happy. All I need to do now is be brave and embrace him.
Tonight is pivotal.
This year, I’m appropriately dressed in my jeans and a Christmas jumper, complete with a flashing Rudolph nose. Ivan picked me up ten minutes ago, and we’re cruising through the streets lit with twinkling fairy lights.
“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” I say. “Time passes so quickly.”
He squeezes my hand. “That I can agree with. Blink again, and it’ll be next Christmas.” His thumb strokes over my knuckles, a simple gesture that sends warmth spiraling up my arm. “Time is precious, and it’s a shame when it’s wasted.”
My chest strains slightly. We’ve both wasted time this year being stubborn and not talking things through. If I could claw those months back, I would.
“My sister told me once,” I say, “that time is infinite, but life is finite. With every year, the saying becomes more relevant.”
He doesn’t respond, just lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles softly. Today feels like the first day of us again. The past weeks have been the dress rehearsal.
Auntie Meryl sits in the same chair with her family surrounding her. Everything as chaotic and heartwarming as the year before. She holds court; everyone hangs on her every word as she dishes out opinions on life, love, and hygiene like a ninety-nine-year-old oracle.
People distribute gifts to each other and plant kisses on rosy cheeks. Ivan stays by my side, either reintroducing me to people with his hand on the small of my back or whispering in my ear. Every touch feels like he’s relearning me, embracing us.
“What are you two lovebirds whispering about?” Auntie Meryl snaps. “Tell an old lady and make my night. Things are a bit dry now. I could do with some stories to live vicariously through.”
My hand searches my chin to ensure my jaw is still attached.
“I was a young woman once,” she says with a wink. “Ninety-nine. I never thought I’d see eighty, never mind this obscene number. I’m an antique.”
“I’m not exactly young,” I mutter.
“You’re younger than me, dear. That makes you young in my eyes. Youth is a state of mind. Some people let life slip by, growing old with each day that passes. Don’t be one of them. Grab your chances while they’re there.”
Her knowing eyes hold mine, then she glances at the man beside me.
“You make a lovely couple. Enjoy each other. Don’t let another moment pass you by.”
Her words land hard, like a truth I’ve been avoiding. I can’t look away or ignore it. Now is the time to grasp what I’m afraid of—letting myself be happy. Trusting another person with my heart again.
Ivan and I sit on the sofa, side by side, his arm wrapped around my shoulders as he pulls me a bit closer. My body melds to his, perfectly sliding home.
The evening continues with games of charades and mountains of chocolate. The clock hits eleven, and Auntie Meryl makes her excuses for everyone to leave. We wish them all a Merry Christmas and walk out, hand in hand. He opens my car door like the gentleman he is, then takes his place beside me.
“What are your plans tomorrow?” he asks as we pull up outside my apartment. I found it strange he never asked me this before, but I know he spends the day by himself every year. Perhaps it never crossed his mind.
“I’m going to my brother-in-law’s,” I tell him. “The kids are growing up fast.”
“You’re lucky to have them,” he says, staring straight ahead out of the windshield. He looks lost in thought. “I wish my brother had had the chance to start a family. It’s something neither of us was blessed with.”
I place my hand on his thigh in silent companionship, a sign that I’m right here with him, I understand the pain.
“Bex got the family, eventually,” I say, and he looks at me, “but she hasn’t had the chance to see her son grow up or enjoy her husband. I figured it’s my responsibility to know as much as possible so that when I see her again…”
The tears come fast like they always do when the moment hurts.
“So, when I see her, I can bore her for millennia with tales and stories. Every tedious damn detail.”
He chuckles, pushing a stray lock of hair from my eyes. “I’m sure she’ll love that.”
“Come with me tomorrow,” I add, before I overthink it.
He cups my cheek then places warm lips on mine. His kiss is soft but consuming; it sends shivers through my body.
“On one condition,” he whispers.
“What’s that?”
“You come back to Thailand with me. To the house.”
I pull back just enough to study him. “The house? As in the one we stayed in when you won the holiday at auction?”
He hesitates. “It’s mine, Amy. Always was. I bought it years ago.”
My laugh is soft, but there’s an edge. “And you didn’t think to mention that? Even while we were there? You absolute—”
He kisses the words away, rough and desperate, stealing them before I can say more. “I wasn’t hiding it to hurt you. I just didn’t want the house to be about me. I wanted our time there to be about us.”
The protest forming in my mouth dies on my tongue. His lips find mine again, slower, more coaxing.
“Ivan…” My voice breaks on his name. “So, you’ll come tomorrow?”
“I’d love to,” he murmurs against my mouth, his thumb stroking my cheek. “Is this it, Amy? Are we doing this? You and me. Together?”
“I want to.” My hands go to his hair, pulling him toward me, and our kiss deepens. “I want you. I need you.”
“Sweetheart, you have me. I’m at your mercy.” His lips trail down my jawline. “I love you in ways I didn’t think were humanly possible.” He kisses away a stray tear sliding down my cheek. “I love you. For the first time in years, my future excites me. And that is all you.”
And the remaining worries that he doesn’t want this fly away. He means it, and I trust him. I believe Ivan is my happily ever after. We are exactly where we are meant to be.
Our kisses become urgent, the air charged.
“Take me to bed,” I tell him, tugging him closer. “Show me how much you love me.”