‘You may see it that way.’
‘You should see it that way,’ I throw at him, panic clambering up my throat as my feelings for him rise to the surface and terrify the hell out of me. ‘If you want something serious, you should find someone your own age.’
‘Now who’s treating who like a child?’
I’m struck dumb. So many emotions at war inside that I can’t see straight, let alone think.
‘In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. I can’t choose to stop loving you, just like I didn’t choose to fall in love with you; it just happened.’
My heart pulses, my chest squeezing around it tight. ‘Stop saying that.’
‘What, that I love you?’
I close my ears to it, my eyes to him. ‘You can get married, Valentine. Have children. Hell, you can produce enough offspring to make your own football team and I can’t do that any more.’
‘Now who’s talking about making it serious? I’m talking about committing to this relationship. I’m not talking about marriage and kids.’
‘But you will do, one day.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘But don’t you see? That option doesn’t exist with me.’
He shrugs. ‘We could adopt, if it came to it, if we wanted children. There are always options.’
Tears fill my eyes anew, the future he paints so beautiful that for a split-second I lose myself in it. But it’s a fantasy. Too good to be true. And I can’t let that kind of hope in; I can’t give him that hope either. We don’t belong together. We’re too different; the age gap is too much. And the longer we sit here debating it, the more it hurts.
‘You’re right; we can’t do this any more.’ I turn away, go to open the door and he reaches over to stop me, his hand gentle on my arm.
‘Wait.’
I look back at him, his silent form, praying that he will release me and I can just leave, get in my house and cry until the pain of this leaves me.
‘Tell me you don’t have feelings for me too, and I’ll let it go.’
My laugh is choked. ‘You know I have feelings for you; it’s because I care that I’m letting you go.’
‘Don’t you think I should be the one to decide that?’
‘Please, Valentine, don’t do this.’
‘Tell me you don’t love me.’
I drag in a breath, but I can’t look him in the eye.
‘I don’t love you.’
Every syllable strikes like a physical blow to the chest. I can’t love him. I can’t.
I pull away from his hand and shove open the door, close it and walk away. I don’t run. Running would tell him that this hurts. Running would betray my heart and belie my words.
Because I do love him.
I love him so much that I’m a quivering wreck inside, my fingers trembling as I locate my keys inside my handbag and unlock my door. I don’t look back. I walk straight in and close the door behind me, breathe in the familiar scent of home, but it does nothing for me. Because it doesn’t smell of him.
I hear his car pull away and sink back against my front door, my eyes squeezing shut as the tears roll down my face.
What have I done?
What have I done?
What have I done?
Valentine
I watch her go and wait for her to turn. Just one brief look and it would be enough to have me out of the car, kissing her quicker than she can refuse me again. But she doesn’t.
In fact, more than that, her parting words were clear: ‘I don’t love you.’
She’s lying. I know she’s lying. I feel it in my gut. She has to be.
But I won’t beg. I’ve done enough trying to convince her. The ball’s in her court and that’s where it will stay.
As I drive away though, I can’t ignore the crushing weight settling in my gut.
Freedom versus love.
I know which one I choose, but Olivia—wild, fun, carefree Olivia...
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Olivia
VALENTINE KEEPS HIS WORD. He hands over to Alan and I don’t see him again. It’s been two weeks and not a word.
Not that I expected one. Not after all I said.
But, Christ, I miss him.
I can’t focus. I can’t find joy in anything. I’ve given up my hunt for a new car as speaking to Harry only reminds me of Valentine and our track day. The swing from fun, high-octane fun, to...to this. Emptiness. I feel as though there’s a gaping hole inside that nothing can fill.
And as I stand before my sister’s front door, a bottle of red in hand, and hear the chatter on the other side, the shouts from the children, even more shouts from Fee as she calls after them, a bittersweet smile lifts my lips. At least I’m not eating alone this afternoon, in my empty house that feels far too big and far too hollow with just me in it now.
The door swings open. ‘What the hell are you doing just standing there, Liv? Get in here and help me organise this rabble before I end up cremating the roast.’
My sister is already striding down the corridor back into the kitchen and I close the front door.
‘Hey, Liv.’ Pete, her husband, walks up to me and I hand him the bottle, kiss his cheek.
‘Hi, Aunty Liv!’ Billy, my four-year-old nephew, bounds up to me and grabs my leg for a hug before frowning up at his father. ‘Daddy! Lucy keeps telling me to shut up.’
‘Lucy, stop telling your brother to shut up!’ he calls out towards the living room. ‘And will you all come and say hi to your aunt Liv.’
‘Hi, Aunt Liv!’ comes the chorused reply, minus the bodies.
Pete gives me an apologetic grimace. ‘You sure you want to eat in this mad house.’
I laugh as Billy races off again, his short blonde curls bobbing. ‘Positive.’
‘Can’t say I’m not glad to see you. Fee’s going out of her mind for some
