Chapter Twenty-Six
Rowan
The drive is only half an hour, but it feels far longer. Angus’ hand keeps wandering from the wheel, brushing over my shoulder, the back of my hand, my thigh. Everywhere he touches, warmth glows.
Now that I’ve had him once, I can’t imagine not having him again.
I wish we’d had the morning, another night, another week. Time to taste every inch of him, to explore every nook and cranny, time to fuck so much we grow hungry and bored, and then fuck again.
Now we’re on the way to the wedding, back to our real lives: as soon as we arrive, we’ll be swallowed up by our respective responsibilities, our families, and I don’t know when we’ll next get the chance to be alone.
I hope it’s soon.
We speed through winding country lanes, the roads growing narrower as we drive further from Fort William, until at last Angus turns into a rutted driveaway. Ahead, a gate and a weathered sign: Hollyroot Farm.
A few cars are lined up on the side of the first field. I guess this is where the guests will be asked to park, but Angus drives straight across, up a slight hill and through an avenue of trees, eventually turning into a stone courtyard covered in blue-flowering plants.
A small group is already gathered in front of what I presume is the main house.
I recognise my mother’s silver hair, and my sister’s willowy frame.
Sophie is dressed impeccably as always: high-waisted loose slacks, wide, taupe belt, and a neatly pressed shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms. She’s holding hands with Henry, her fiancé.
One of the other figures looks up as we approach.
I still.
Angus puts the car into park. I want to grab him, tell him not to open the door, but it’s too late. The others are heaving themselves out.
And Ethan has me.
My brain stutters to a halt. I exit the car on auto-pilot. A part of me is aware of other things: a spectacled man greeting Angus; my sister’s cold, angry stare; and my mother, approaching with the force of an incoming cruise ship.
“Rowan, honey! Look who’s come, after all!
” Mum waves, her hand wrapped around Ethan’s arm, tugging him after her.
“Isn’t this a lovely surprise? I know you said he was going to have to work, but after you disappeared, I called him to check up on you, and he said he’d managed to get out of it.
It’s marvellous, isn’t it!” Her approach slows as she clocks the look on my face. “Isn’t it?”
But I only have eyes for one person: Ethan.
The man who betrayed me. Who broke my trust.
He looks the same: shaggy hair and soulful, green eyes. Smart shirt buttoned all the way to the collar. Slim pointed nose I like to kiss. It’s been easy to convince myself I feel nothing when he isn’t there.
There are no fireworks. My body doesn’t long for his. I have no urge to throw myself into his arms.
But it isn’t nothing. There’s love there, like an old, familiar cardigan, a little weathered at the elbows. A soft candle in the dark. The love of shared time together, of familiarity, of a hundred nights sat on the sofa holding hands, and a hundred mornings waking in the others’ arms.
Seeing him hurts.
“Ro? Hey, baby. Can we talk?”
“I—”
“London.” Angus has shaken off the spectacled man. I can feel him behind me, the broad bulk of him, hovering protectively. “Is this man bothering you?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Ethan’s gaze flicks between us, taking in how close Angus is standing to me, our hiking clothes. “What’s going on, Ro?”
“What are you doing here, Ethan?” The words come out in a whisper.
His eyes catch mine. “You weren’t answering your phone.” Ethan takes my hand, ignoring Angus, who bristles at the touch.
My brave, foolish ex.
“Ro, I’m so sorry. Please. Can we go somewhere private?”
“Sorry? Rowan, what’s he sorry for? What happened?” Mum interjects.
It’s all coming to a head. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want Sophie to know. The shame of it crushes me. Failure, it whispers. I don’t want to be here, in this moment, having this conversation.
“Yes, Rowan.” My sister’s voice, cool and cutting. “Perhaps you could finally explain what’s going on?”
“Okay.” I can’t bear to look at anyone else, so I focus on Ethan.
“Really?”
I turn to Angus, trying to convey everything I can’t say: that this doesn’t mean anything; that I’m sorry; that I don’t want Ethan, not the way I want him. “Is there anywhere we can talk in private?”
His expression is unreadable. “Aye,” he says quietly. “I’ll show you the way.”
* * *
The room he leads us to has the faded, comfortable feeling of somewhere well loved – and well used.
Ceramic knickknacks line wooden shelves opposite the door, and an old TV perches on a console in the middle, surrounded by two giant sofas that take up most of the floor.
The paint on the walls is cracked in places, but the carpet underfoot is thick and lush.
A few family photos are propped on a small console table behind the sofa.
I can’t help but glance at them. Angus is instantly recognisable, scowling between two adults who must be his parents, his brothers play-fighting beside him, ignoring the camera.
He and his Da share the same nose, the same thick, unruly hair.
But his dark, flashing eyes are all his mum’s.
In one photo, she’s wearing a long, flowery dress, standing by a sun-lit window, hair half up, half down, elbow deep in a bowl of flour. She’s laughing. She looks happy.
I wonder when it was taken.
I draw my attention back to the room. Now isn’t the time.
Angus hovers in the doorway. The frown line is back between his brows.
“Angus…” I trail off. I don’t know what to say.
This morning I woke in his arms. Safe. Content. At peace with the world. Now I feel as if he is on the other side of a stormy sea.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he says at last.
The door shuts before I have a chance to reply.
“Who is that?”
I raise my brows. “Like you’re one to ask?”
“Fuck.” Ethan collapses onto the closest sofa and buries his head in his hands. “You’re right. Ro. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so unbelievably sorry. I can’t even come close to expressing how fucking sorry I am.”
I sit down next to him. I expected rage. I thought I’d deliver a speech on how he wronged me, on what a catch I am and what an idiot he’s been to let me go. I thought I’d shout or wring my hands.
Instead, I feel empty. Sad.
“What happened?”
“I don’t… I…” Ethan stares into the distance.
“I don’t understand.” My voice shakes. “I thought things were good. You asked me to move in with you.”
“I know.”
“I gave up my flat for you.”
“I know.”
“You cheated on me.”
“I know, Ro. Fuck. I know.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for a while. And when you moved in, I thought the loneliness would get better, but somehow it got worse.”
“How could you be lonely? We were together all the time!”
“Were we?”
I don’t know how to answer that. I think of all the nights we spent together, all the sofa dinners, and TV show binges, the popcorn and the movies, always arm to arm, thigh to thigh.
Ethan shifts to face me. “Physically, yes. We were together. But emotionally? You weren’t there.
I’d try to kiss you, and you’d offer me your cheek.
I’d try to hold your hand, and you’d pass me the remote.
You didn’t want to go out. You wouldn’t come see my friends.
” He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to make excuses—”
“Well, it bloody sounds like it!” There. A spark. Hot and fuming. “You fucked someone else. In our flat. In our bed. How could you do that to me?”
“You asked me what happened! This is what happened!” Ethan takes my hand and presses my palm with his fingers.
“Do you love me? Do you really love me? Because this whole journey, I’ve been wracking my brains trying to figure it out.
I am so sorry for what I did. I was lonely and she was there, and I was weak, and I hate myself for it.
But Rowan… Sometimes I’d be standing there, right in front of you, and it felt like you didn’t even see me.
I love you. I’ve loved you since I saw you literally dance with joy when you found that red dress – you know, the one with the flamingos – in that charity shop, and I thought how can anyone be so fucking enthusiastic about clothes?
That was the Ro I fell for. But you don’t dance with joy around me.
You don’t look at me the way you looked at that dress.
And sometimes I wonder if you want to be with me at all. Or if I’m just there. Taking up space.”
“So why are you with me? If I make you feel that bad?” My eyes prickles with tears. “Why are you here?”
Ethan sighs. “I was hoping that you’d say I was wrong. That you do love me. And that we can find some way to move past this. You can find some way to forgive me.” He laughs sadly. “But now that I’m here… I don’t think you’re going to say any of that. Are you?”
I stare at him. The words won’t come.
Ethan is right. I don’t love him. Not the way he wants me to. And while I might be able to forgive him, I will never be able to trust him again. Not the way I need to.
My heart breaks for him a little. Until last week, Ethan was a good boyfriend. Great, even. Steady. Dependable. Even.
It’s me. I’m the problem. I stayed with him when I should have walked away. Moved in with him when I should have said no. I was so wrapped up in what I wanted, in staying safe, in my careful cocoon, that I never wondered whether it was right for him.
Ethan waits a little longer, hope fading from his green eyes.
He lets go of my hand. “That’s what I thought.”
“Ethan… I’m sorry.”
“Me too, Ro.” He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and a tear slips down my face. “I should go.” The sofa creaks as he stands. “I hope he takes care of you.”
And then Ethan is gone.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m alone.