“I’m sorry.” My eyes drop to the floor in shame. I hear him walk toward me cautiously. He doesn’t touch me, but his proximity makes my breathing spike. “I was so happy to see youin Edinburgh. I didn’t want to upset the moment. Every time I tried to tell you about Brad, I was too scared I would lose you.”
“Lose me?” he says, confused. “How can you lose me when we aren’t together? I was hoping there might be a chance for us, Katie. We reconnected, and everything felt right. I know we were just being friends, but you know as well as I do that we can’t just be friends.”
He places his finger under my chin and raises my eyes to meet his, giving me a slow, sexy smile. My body reacts instantaneously to his touch, all my senses on high alert, my inner vixen begging him for more.
“Your body talks to mine. They call each other. They need each other. It’s been a long time since we’ve been together, but I know you want it, too. When I’m inside you, I’m home.” He leans forward and kisses the side of my mouth gently; an intimate gesture filled with promise. In that moment, there’s a pang of hope. My chest swells, my hands move to lift to his neck. Everything becomes natural.
“You fucking whore,” Brad yells as he launches himself across the room and connects with Lance’s back. “Is this the prick that phoned? Is he here to win you back?” His face is red with rage, muscles tensed, ready to fight.
I duck around Lance and go to Brad, grabbing his arms, pushing him backward. It does nothing. He keeps walking until he’s nose to nose with Lance. I’m sandwiched between them.
“No, honey,” I try to soothe, my voice cracking as he leans over me. Lance doesn’t move—not a milliliter. But he’s eerily calm. “Lance is an old friend. He came to see me before I leave.”
“Lying bitch,” he hisses, pushing me sideways. I think he’s going for Lance, but then his fist connects with my jaw. Then ground comes fast, and I crumple in a heap before blows connect with my head. I lift my hands to cover my face, and the warmooze of blood coats my fingers. “I’ll make you so fucking ugly. No one will ever want you.”
Suddenly, the pressure vanishes. Brad bellows in anger as Lance wrestles him into the living room, closing the bedroom door and locking it. Brad pounds on the other side, frantic with rage.
“Katie,” Brad screams, “you listen to me. You’re mine. If you don’t come with me now, your career is over. Say goodbye to being an award-winning author. Be downstairs in ten minutes or I’ll make your life a living hell. You know I can.”
Lance grabs a towel from a shelf, then dabs my bleeding nose, the white cotton soaking red.
“Has he hit you before?” he asks softly. I shake my head, willing my tears to stop . “Do you want to report him to the police?”
“No,” I squawk. Our eyes lock. “He’ll ruin me. I have to go with him.”
“What?” he growls. “Over my dead body. You can’t go with him. He’ll hurt you, and next time I won’t be there to stop him.”
“Lance,” I say, taking his face between my hands. “I’m not the woman for you. You need to move on and forget me. Our time together will always have a special place in my heart, but there’s no future for us. I’m meant to be with Brad. I’m moving to New York.”
“No, Katie. I can’t let you do this. I love you.”
Everything shatters. My hopes, my dreams, the wish of living my own love story. The one standing in front of me, I can’t have. The one that doesn’t fit with who I am, or who he is.
“It’s not your choice to make,” I say.
I know I must push him away. Hurt him, so he walks away and doesn’t look back. “Lance, I don’t love you. You and I were no more than harmless fun. Now go home and get on with your life.My future’s not with you.” I step back, pushing his hands away. “And I don’t want it to be.”
Chapter thirty-eight
Katie
The green lady towers above me, holding her torch high above her head. I find it incredible she has been a figure on the New York skyline for over one hundred years. She’s an icon of independence and freedom, signified by the broken chains at her feet. I feel nothing like that woman. Neither independent nor free. I’ve been in New York for two months, and the festive season is upon us, but instead of feeling happy and excited, I’m trapped. Brad has been a gentleman since we arrived—there have been no arguments or even a harsh word from either of us. I’ve danced to his tune, complied with his requests, and he’s happy with the arrangement; I’ve accepted the situation.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Amy says down the phone. “How is life in the Big Apple?”
“Good. The usual, really.”
“You’ve only been there two months,” she shrieks. “How can something be ‘the usual’? Is Brad still behaving? Is everything all right at home? You would tell me if there was a problem.”
I sigh. My friend interviews me every time she calls. I throw her off the scent the best I can.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I lie. If only she knew what life was like here. How trapped I feel in this city. “Will you come to visit me, Amz? I miss you. The women here are so different.”
“What do you mean, different? Who are they?”
“I’m not sure how to explain it. They are the wives of Brad’s associates, and they’re so perfect. All fake nails and designer outfits. They talk, but I’m never sure if they like me. When I arrive, their gazes roam over me, assessing me.”