‘You think that’s al
l it is?’ EJ arched a brow over her coffee cup, taking a sip as she watched her, concern softening her penetrative blues. It wasn’t as if Zara looked a mess, but there was only so much make-up could do to hide the bags under her eyes, the reddened rims, not to mention the fact that she was sporting an ice-cream-fuelled swell.
‘Of course it is.’
‘I don’t know,’ EJ said, looking back to the flowers and letting out a contemplative breath. ‘Seems to me the whole reason the press are on it so bad is because he’s so quiet, not a story in sight, not since he decked Shit-Bag and, let’s face it, the man had that coming.’
A bittersweet smile touched Zara’s lips, the memory of Daniel’s defence of her warming her through, and then the tide of pain hit, as it always did.
It doesn’t mean he loves you, no matter what he says to the contrary.
‘Sorry,’ EJ said, pulling her out of the abyss she spent far too much time in these days. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, I just—I don’t know, maybe there’s more to how he feels for you too. Maybe you should, you know, just talk to him.’
Zara took up her mug and sipped at it. It was the same conversation they’d had every day this past week, and every day she said the same. She couldn’t trust herself to speak to him and not cave, dive in wholeheartedly and come out broken when he eventually decided he’d had enough.
It was better to have ended it now, before she fooled herself into believing they had a future, before she got so wrapped up in their life together... She didn’t think she could survive that level of heartache.
‘He’s coming in today.’
‘What?’ Zara’s eyes snapped to hers. ‘When?’
‘In about an hour,’ EJ said, a hesitant smile curving her lips, her brow raised in hope.
Zara’s heart hit her throat, tension throbbing through every muscle. ‘Why?’
‘He’s collecting the keys for the Mayfair place.’
‘That was quick.’
EJ shrugged. ‘What can I say? When you have a dedicated legal team and you’re working with us, what’s to delay it?’
‘Still, you could have warned me, like yesterday, this morning even?’
She sighed. ‘I was tempted not to tell you at all.’
‘EJ...’
‘What?’ she blurted, a hand waving dismissively around her. ‘Honestly, Zara, when Shit-Bag did his thing, it was hell watching you suffer, but that? That was nothing compared to what you’re going through now.’
That was an understatement. But it didn’t mean she should risk more pain, more heartache.
‘He should’ve sent one of his assistants.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure he would’ve done in any normal situation, but this at least gives him a chance at seeing you,’ she stated the obvious. ‘I mean, the man has spent the last three weeks trying to reach you, flowers every other day, phone calls, I bet he’s even been emailing, texting...’
EJ looked at her pointedly for confirmation and Zara gave a small nod. Not that his emails or texts ever gave much away. His apology dominating heavily and signing off with his desire to talk. The last one, arriving seven days ago, had simply said, You know where I am when you’re ready, and then he’d gone quiet. Save for the flowers. They still came and, although they saddened her, she couldn’t quite tell him to stop sending them. Even though she split them among her team, even though the happiness at seeing them was bittersweet, they were a reminder that he was still thinking of her, as she was him. And that, in some way, he suffered too.
Hell, maybe EJ was right: maybe she owed him a chance to talk, to explain.
And then what? You crumble at his protestations of ‘possible’ love and it all kicks off again, only to end up back here a few weeks down the line.
No, she just couldn’t do it. She’d gone three weeks without any contact, without even a glimpse of him in the paper—and, boy, had she looked. Anticipating him to go on the rebound, to hook up with the next exquisite model, actress, figurehead, you name it. Anyone to confirm her suspicions that he was still a billionaire playboy regardless of his actions towards her.
But nothing.
And she wondered, really wondered, had she been different for him too?
That small spark of hope lit anew and fear rose to swamp it, coffee sticking in her closed-up throat, and she forced it down. She needed to get out of there.