‘You were plenty clear,’ she murmurs, side-stepping me, moving directly into the rain. ‘I should have left it as a one-night stand. I’ll always wish I’d done just that.’
And the warmth in my heart turns to ice as disbelief fires through me at her statement. ‘I’ll never be sorry,’ I say urgently, moving through the rain and pulling her into my arms. Her tears fall and my self-directed anger grows. ‘I will never be sorry for a second we spent together except for one thing—that you were hurt by me.’
She nods, and lets out a small sound of agreement. Her tears mingle with the rain. I drop my face to hers, kissing her again, slowly, but I taste the salt in her mouth and it stirs something up inside me. I have to let her go. This is so selfish of me. She’s told me how she feels and what she wants and I can’t stand here toying with her emotions when I have no intention of offering it to her.
‘I will always remember you as one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.’ I force myself to smile, to make it sound relatively upbeat and simple.
We stare at each other for several seconds, the rain lashing us, and I ache to do something, some small thing to make this better. ‘My car’s around the corner. Let me drive you.’
‘No.’ A whisper, but loaded with strength. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’
She’s not. Fuck. ‘Asha...’
She shakes her head. ‘Don’t. There’s nothing more to say.’ She swallows hard and looks away. ‘Just... I don’t know. Take care of yourself.’
She says it like her life depends on mine. Is that what love is? How the fuck would I know?
She turns and walks away and I ache to go after her, to run behind her until she stops walking and listens some more. But what do I say? What do I offer?
Nothing. I can offer her nothing and so I let her go. My father’s legacy is one of pain. He hurt everyone who was ever foolish enough to care for him, and the memory of Asha’s tear-stained face makes me realise I’m just the same. No matter how hard I tried to fight that, I’ve picked up the mantle and run with it. Out of nowhere I think of that geranium in Paris, crushed by our passion, and the symbolism is impossible to ignore. I have destroyed something special and rare inside of Asha and the only answer is to let her go now, and hope she forgets all about me.
I watch her walk away and know I will not chase her. I’ll never see her again, and the only gladness I can wring from that certainty is that I am doing what’s right for her—finally.
* * *
Two months after that night in the rain, I shoot a look of sheer disbelief at Holden. His grin makes me want to punch him. ‘Turn it off.’
‘What? I thought she didn’t mean anything to you?’
I clench my jaw, looking back to the TV. I feel Jagger and Grace watching me and want to storm out, but I don’t because they’re waiting for me to say or do something and I have no interest in cluing them in on how much I fucked up with Asha.
So I look at the TV even as it feels like a line is being sawed down my middle and my organs wrenched out. Christ, she looks so beautiful. Her hair is styled in braids, wrapped around her head like a crown, and she’s wearing a sand-coloured jacket, tailored so it shows off her curves in a way that makes my insides pound, with an oversized scarf that’s a shade of green perfectly complementary to her eyes.
‘The bump in share price is gratifying, naturally.’ She smiles in a way that makes my heart turn over in my chest. The reporter, sitting across from her in one of those TV sets that’s mocked up to look like a lounge room, nods encouragingly. I note the way he looks at her and feel a rush of possessive heat. It’s completely inappropriate. It’s been eight weeks since I last saw her. I sent her a few texts for the first week or so, tried to call to make sure she was okay, but she didn’t answer, didn’t respond. Eventually I got the message: leave me alone.
‘But, more exciting than that, Cliff, is the market response we’re seeing to the launch of this range. Angel Pie has sold out in four of the seven countries we launched into. Our mailing list and social media accounts for this brand alone have seen tremendous growth.’
‘Is it too early to talk us through the P&L for the launch?’
It’s one of those business programmes that straddles a chatty news breakfast format, hence the emphasis on the business side of the range.
I lean a little closer without realising it.
Asha’s smile is pure charm. My hand forms a fist at my side.
‘Way too early.’ She laughs. ‘But, as you know, launches come at a cost. We have R&D to cover, but I expect at this rate we’ll be in the black for Angel Pie within six to eight months. It’s tracking incredibly well amongst our expected demographic but we’ve found an unexpected lift in a market we hadn’t expected—those with skin issues or recovering from aggressive medical treatments like chemotherapy. The products are all so gentle and naturally formulated that...’
‘She talks the talk.’ Jagger speaks over her so I don’t catch the rest.
I turn to face him, my face feeling all tight and hot. ‘She believes it. This is her passion, man. She really cares about this.’
Just like she really cares about me. Guilt incinerates me.
Grace nods. ‘It’s true. We talked about it at my hens’. I think she’s amazing.’
I turn back to the TV. She’s laughing at something the interviewer has said and her life is such a fragment of my soul that for a second I feel like I’ve come home again. But I haven’t; I’m not. Asha is a thousand miles away, or might as well be. I spin away from the television, stalking towards the bar.
‘I mean it, Theo. She’s really amazing. Are you sure it’s over for the two of yo