I push last night into the back of my mind and tell myself I need to step away for a few days before calling Lainey. Space will be good for everyone. Right now, instead of wallowing, I want to concentrate on the man in my kitchen, the amazing breakfast he’s made, and how he got on last night. There’s the beginnings of a painting downstairs and I’m wildly curious as to what it will become. I step out of the bathroom, towel pressed against my crown and freeze.
He’s gone.
In his place: John.
Both our brows twitch in something like confusion as he looks down at the dozen red roses in his hand. He’s dressed down in slacks and a sweater with a T-shirt underneath. It’s probably the most casual I’ve ever seen him since the day we met. My blood runs cold.
Not because I’m scared of him, but because, if I thought last night was bad, then I suspect it’s about to get a whole lot worse.
‘Katie,’ he says.
‘Katharine,’ I correct him.
‘Katharine,’ he repeats. ‘Can we talk?’
‘Where’s Christopher?’ I ask, starting across my flat in a panic. ‘Is he downstairs?’
‘Oh, he’s—’
I hold a hand up as a stop sign. As much as I hope to find Christopher sitting by his easel in the front window, wearing that barely there smile, I know the answer before I make it to the bottom of the stairs. He’s gone, as is every trace of him being here yesterday and last night. I check every room before I throw open the back door and stick my head out into the car park, there’s nothing there but gravel, weeds and rubbish bins.
‘What did you say to him?’ I blaze past John, pick up my phone and try to dial Christopher.
It doesn’t ring out; he rejects the call. When I try again, his phone is switched off.
‘Only what he needed to know,’ he says. ‘I didn’t think it was—’
‘Which was?’
‘That we had unfinished business.’
‘Oh, you are kidding me?’ I shove my hands on my hips. ‘John, we broke up. I get that the gallery is a public space and that it’s the easiest thing in the world to find, but this is one hell of a Sunday drive.’
‘Katharine, I want you back.’
My face crumbles and I let out a tired, stressed sob as I sit at my dining table. Yep, this is bad.
‘I screwed up. I know I did,’ he continues. ‘And I’m sorry.’
I grab aimlessly for the elastic around my wrist, pulling my hair up into a ponytail just for something to do, something to make this moment feel real. ‘You’re sorry?’
‘Letting you get on the train that night was the worst thing I have ever done, and God knows I’ve done some shady shit at work,’ he says, peering at me from under his eyelashes, desperately hoping his joke lands. It doesn’t. Not quite. ‘I behaved like a complete twat. I know I was. I was awful and selfish.’
My brain is television static, too much happening to make sense of anything. ‘I worked around you for months. I tried desperately to be okay with what little you could offer me, but it was abundantly clear you had no interest in changing.’
‘I want to do better, Katharine. I want to do better by you and by us. And I know things aren’t going to change if I keep doing things the same way,’ he says. ‘So maybe we should try things your way.’
He places the bouquet on the kitchen counter and reaches into his pocket, retrieving a … oh shit, shit, shit, bloody hell no. He’s come prepared with a ring. The lid of the Tiffany blue box cracks open quietly, exposing a rock so big it looks like pulling it from the ground would collapse an entire Botswana diamond mine.
I’m speechless.
‘I want you to know that I heard you.’ His voice trembles. ‘Loud and clear. I want a future with you. I want to make you happy. I do. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll pull out all the stops. Pimlico will be on the market and we can find a nice family home to make our own. I don’t know what you would want to do with this place, but we can work something out that suits you.’
‘What I’m hearing is you think that giving me everything I ask for will make everything okay?’ I ask, astounded. ‘What about Christopher? Or are you just going to ignore him?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’ He shakes his head slowly. ‘I know this will take work to fix, a lot of work, and I’m prepared to overlook him because I love you. I do, and I want to give you the life you want.’
How very noble. All these promises, these things he’s saying, it’s everything I desperately wanted to hear before I left London, before that disastrous work function. I’m not sure it hits the mark.
‘And what happens in six months when we slide back into old habits?’ I ask. ‘When I wake up and you’re gone? Or you don’t come home from work? Or you get cold feet? Again? It’s happened before.’
‘We had some fun though, didn’t we?’
I sigh. ‘We did, yes, but—’
‘And we can get back to that, I’m sure of it.’ He looks around the room. ‘You’re opening in a week or so, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’
‘What do you say? Get through that and we can maybe go away and start working things out?’
‘Are you in town long?’ I ask.
‘I’m here for the week, with Adam. We’ve been sent to scout for an office location.’
Does that mean he’d be open to moving north? Surely, if he’s volunteered for the mission, then surely that’s a possibility.
‘I’m going to leave this here.’ He taps the ring case against the counter, interrupting my thoughts. ‘I’ve put forward my case. Have a think about what you want. I don’t want to crowd or pressure you. Let’s meet for dinner later this week.’
His words niggle. After everything, he still thinks he’s in a bloody law court and can argue his way to a decision. I want to throw the box back at him, to lock the door behind him and scream at the sky. But something in the back of my mind stops me, and I hate myself for it.
It makes my stomach roil because, as angry as I am with him right now, he’s not too far back in the rear-view mirror that I’ve completely forgotten just how good we could be together. We did have fun, and we lived carefree lives with weekends away and expensive dinners in plush surroundings. I wanted for nothing, at least superficially, while he was part of my life, and he’s just offered me everything I’ve ever wanted from him. And, right now, with a bank account that’s thinner than tracing paper, giving in to temptation doesn’t seem like the worst idea ever.
Chapter 29
I wonder if this is how an orange feels as it’s being juiced, breathless from being squeezed at every possible angle, but still heavy in a way that drags down heads and buckles shoulders. John hasn’t even closed the door behind himself and, already, I know my answer.
There’s no way I could possibly say yes to the dress, not with what I know now, with what I’ve experienced this past month of my life. It would be ludicrous, and it would be nothing short of rescinding everything I stand for, and everything I’ve achieved since I made the decision to leave London.