He slipped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. The colours of the décor reminded him of the colours in Mia’s dress. He hesitated then pulled out his phone, moving around the room taking pictures, amused with himself because he was thinking about mood boards. When he’d shot every angle, he scrolled through the photos, warmed by the thought of Mia’s smile. If he showed her these it might help them brainstorm ideas for the house...
His finger stilled. He rewound the thought. When had he started thinking of his house as ‘the’ house? A joint project. He threw his phone onto the bed and yanked off his tie. He needed to stop that kind of thinking. It was jumping the gun by a mile.
He stripped off his shirt, caught his reflection in the console mirror. The scratches on his shoulder and on his arms had faded, but the little knot of concentration between her eyes as she’d bathed his torn skin was burned into his memory, as was the image of her wrapped in his sheets, hair tumbling around her shoulders. She’d been asking him about Eline...and he’d given her a half-story. He pressed his temple, swallowing hard. She deserved more. She’d told him about Hal, not holding anything back. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes, the tears brimming there, the devastation on her face. She’d let him in, shared her pain, but he hadn’t returned the favour.
He lowered himself onto the bed. Half-stories and half-truths...that was his life now. If only he could let go, allow himself to trust again, but he couldn’t because this wasn’t about him. He was strong enough to take life’s knocks, but Bram wasn’t. Everything he did, the precautions he was forced to take, was all for his brother. And he was happy to do it, because Bram had always had his back, not just at home, but at university too. When he’d been an impoverished student Bram had helped him out, even though he hadn’t been earning much himself. He used to bring delicious food round, pretending to be after Theo’s opinion about some new ingredient he’d discovered. That was Bram, looking after him. It was what he’d always done. His brother was the most selfless person he’d ever known, and the fact that he was ill didn’t change that. It just made Theo even more determined to pull him back from the brink, to protect him while he healed.
He’d compelled Eline to sign a non-disclosure agreement as part of the divorce; she was forbidden to mention or allude to himself or any member of his family, be it on the radio, on television, in the press or online. She’d called him a crazy control freak, but control was what drove him. It was what having grown up powerless did to you. It made you burn for the opposite. If that made him a freak, then at least he was a freak with good intentions.
He got to his feet and fished a tee shirt out of his suitcase. Madelon’s success was going to be a problem but she was mindful. That was how they both had to be until Bram was properly back on his feet again. He unhitched his belt and took off his trousers. Would that day ever come? A wave of weariness swept over him. It was all the false starts that had exhausted Eline’s patience. So many times they’d thought Bram was clean and every time they’d been wrong. He’d kept falling back into his old ways and then it was picking up the pieces, starting all over again. Weeks on end at the beach house, running the business from his laptop, babysitting his brother.
He pulled on some jeans. But now Bram had been clean for eight whole months—the longest stretch he’d ever managed—and he’d told Theo to leave him be.
‘You’ve got a life you’re not living, a house that you barely spend time in. And it’s because of me. I’ve been weak, unforgivably selfish. Poor little brother... I’ve dragged you through every miserable moment, but I’m not doing it any more. I know I’ve promised you so many times, but this time I’m doing it for you, Theo, and because I’m doing it for you, not for myself, I’m going to make it.’
He’d seen a new resolve hardening in Bram’s eyes, a firmness of intention that had rowed him right back into their childhood, to the days when Bram had been the protector; himself, his mother and Madelon, the protected.
He’d agreed to leave Bram to his own devices on the condition that he saw someone every day; not a healthcare worker—Bram hated that idea—but the young woman, Marta, who went in to clean twice a week. He’d asked Marta if she’d check in with Bram on a daily basis, and she’d readily agreed, but she’d refused to take any payment. She’d said it was no trouble to call in, that she passed the beach house every day anyway.
With Marta keeping tabs on Bram, he’d started allowing himself to hope, but he couldn’t let his guard down. Bram was as fragile as a tower of cards. The slightest breath of an adverse wind could trigger a total collapse.
And so, no matter how he longed to open himself up to Mia, he couldn’t risk loosening his grip, couldn’t risk taking an arrow to the heel. But holding out on her was making his heart ache because she deserved better. She deserved trust, loyalty, love and happiness. More than anything, he wanted to give her those things, but it was going to take time and the one thing he hadn’t taken was time. He’d lost control, jumped on the accelerator like a total idiot. And now the intimacy they’d shared had sharpened the edges of his confusion. He was in a tangle: thinking about her all the time; missing her; burning with desire for her sweet body, her touch, the taste
