He shook his head. “Don’t be too hasty and decide something you might regret. Whatever happened, they were still your parents.”
She snorted and just pulled the bottle closer so she could top up her glass. “Do not talk to me about what I should or should not do. My father died to me a long time ago. My mother with him. I’m over mourning their loss.”
“But, there must be other family? Won’t they need you there?”
“No.” She stared blankly ahead, feeling the cold sweep of history hollow her out inside. It was always there, the barren hole lurking below the papered surface of her existence. Only now she could feel its yawning presence like the aching legacy that it was. “There’s nobody.”
“Oh, Ava.”
She looked up at him, and the compassion in his eyes nearly brought her undone. Compassion she neither wanted nor needed, and making her want to lash out.
She didn’t want anyone’s pity. “I’m happy your family has given you more reason to mourn their loss than embrace it, but don’t expect my family to be the same. Now, please go.”
He stood and she felt a tide of relief flow over her. “I’ll go,” he said. “Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Why? You’ll see me at the show.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of going?”
“I made a commitment. I’ll be there. And now, do I really have to ask you again to leave?”
She heard the slide of the glass door and the crunch of his footsteps heading towards the driveway. She waited until she’d heard his car start, the roar of the engine, and then the sound of him disappearing out the driveway. And only then, when she could hear nothing but the rustle of gum leaves in the sleeping bush around her, did she open her eyes. Her empty glass stood before her and she reached for the bottle once again, and then stopped, and got to her feet.
It wasn’t wine she needed right now. It was her work, and the time to think.
Time to revisit the past and nail that fucker shut.
And time to think about Caleb, and what she was going to do.
He hated leaving her that way. He drove down the windy road through the hills towards his flat in the suburbs feeling frustrated and impotent, all the while hating that once again she’d shut him out, excluding him from what it was that mattered in her life, as if he meant nothing. As if he couldn’t be a friend when she was hurting.
And that was what he was. Maybe he didn’t know when it quite happened, but he was damned sure that somewhere along the line they’d gone from being more than just casual fuckbuddies, to friends.
So why did she push him away?
Because of this damned arrangement of theirs? This casual hookup thing they had going? This no obligation, no commitment sex whenever it suited arrangement, based on mutual need and mutual convenience and nothing more, and the judges’ decision is final and no correspondence will be entered into?
Well, that had been fine and dandy once before. That had suited them both. But twelve months on, he wasn’t sure that was how he saw it anymore. He wasn’t sure that was how he wanted it. Damn it, she meant something to him. He cared about her.
And, hell, maybe, just maybe, it was time to tell her that. Without freaking her out and without making her think he wanted more. He didn’t want to risk what they had when what they had was amazing.
But now he knew she was hurting, and he wanted to help.
He was worried about her, that was all.
That was all.
Ava never worked if she’d been drinking. The level of realism in her art demanded her one hundred percent attention, a keen eye, and a skilful, sober hand. But tonight wasn’t about realism.
Tonight was about emotion.
Unleashed, it poured in surround sound from the speakers, just as it poured pure and potent from her brush onto the canvas in broad slashes of paint until the canvas was a sea of darkness, an ominous, cave like room in a palace turned prison.
And there, in the centre, lay the princess, huddled on her side, her legs pulled up, her head curled into the arms crossed at chest, her fairy tale life in tatters.
Ava stood back then, letting her pumping heart slow, and finally gave way to the tears. But not for her dead father. Nor for her dead mother. But for the girl on the bed who could make no sense of it.
The girl who felt betrayed.
Abandoned.
Alone.
And no longer a princess, but an empty shell.
She blinked away the icy cold tears that streamed down her cheeks and turned to stand in the doorway, looking out over the black of the sleeping gorge to the perversely cheerful twinkling lights of the city beyond, and breathed deeply of the warm night air.
Was it any wonder she felt at home here, with the gorge and its deep, secret folds?
She took one last look at the canvas and sighed, knowing she needed to sleep if she was going to front up for a day painting faces at the show. Now she could.
Naked, she slipped into her bed with its ruffled sheets that still smelled of Caleb and sex. God, she would miss the sex.
He’d blown into her life on a blistering summer day and promised her nothing more than what she needed, hot sex and lots of it, and he’d delivered.
But lately lines seemed to be blurring.
And he was a good man. A strong man. A man who should have children one day and who would have by now, but for the mess of a failed marriage. This thing with her couldn’t be long-term. He needed a woman without a past who could give him long-term.
She turned her face into the pillow, drinking in his scent.
Yes, she would miss the sex.
The weather forecasters had got it
