Page 88 of Naughty or Nice

‘There’s no need to fly off the handle,’ he says.

‘If you really believe that then you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said over the past couple of weeks.’

‘Seriously, Eva, don’t do this. Take the offer...at least think about it.’

‘I don’t need to think about anything, Lucas. It’s over. All of it. Over.’

I cut the line dead, my entire being thrumming.

I’m alone. Truly alone.

And now I let the tears fall.

Ten years and I’m still no wiser.

I only have myself to blame.

Give over, Eva, you are wiser!

The old me would have rolled over and taken what Lucas offered. I can at least be proud that I took control—of both him and my family. I held my ground and my product will have a home with Rosalie.

So why do I feel as if I’ve lost everything?

* * *

I stare at the phone as if it’s magically going to start ringing again, and when it doesn’t I don’t know what to do.

I want to ring her back. Hell, I want to drive straight over and make her see sense.

Working together gives us a way through this. A way that doesn’t make it personal.

But it is personal. You love her. You let Nate come between you ten years ago and now you’ve let him do the same again. You fool.

I toss the phone aside and reach for the bottle.

One more.

One more to numb this.

One more to make me think clearly.

I watch the liquid slosh into the glass and know I don’t need to think any more clearly.

Because I love her, I can’t take her from her family. For all I said I’d make her choose, when it came to it in that room I realised I couldn’t.

My gut turns over. I lost her before, but back then I’d never really had her.

Now I have...

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’M OUT IN the garden, avoiding them, and they know it. But, hell, it’s Christmas Day, my favourite day of the year. I’m supposed to be happy and instead sadness hangs around me like an aura.

I only have to walk into a room and everyone else catches it. Even my mother’s usual festive beam is dialled down.

Granted, the fact that Nate and I still aren’t speaking doesn’t help. But Mum knows the true extent of my sadness. She guessed it for the most part—my age-old feelings for Lucas were obvious to her astute gaze, and the second she probed it all came rushing out, a week of keeping it to myself proving too much.

And I think she’s told Dad. I can see it in the way he looks at me. But he hasn’t said a word to acknowledge it. It’s driving me crazy, but I don’t feel strong enough to have it out with him. I feel broken. Torn in two. And to what end?