I nod. “Maybe.”
He hesitates, like he wants to say more. Then he turns and walks away.
I watch him get into the car. Then I watch her lean towards him, saying something I can’t hear before he drives off.
Only when they’re gone do I let the smile drop. I pull my arms tighter around me, suddenly cold.
I won’t go when he’s there tomorrow. I’ll call Catherine and arrange it properly. Because standing here pretending I’m fine?
It’s already breaking me. I can’t do it again.
RAY
“I think she wanted you out of the way,” Catherine says, handing me a coffee.
“I’m sure she did,” I mutter, staring into the cup, “but I want to see her before she leaves.”
“Before she walks out of your life forever?” she asks quietly.
I don’t answer.
The buzzer sounds.
Catherine presses the release without another word, and we wait in silence as the lift climbs.
It dings and the doors slide open. Wynter steps out.
She sees me . . .
And the disappointment on her face hits me square in the heart. She doesn’t want me here.
Catherine moves first, wrapping her in a hug. “I’ve missed you,” she says warmly. Then she pulls back, holding Wynter at arm’s length. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes, “you look terrible.”
Wynter shifts under the scrutiny, her eyes dropping to the floor.
Catherine’s right. She looks wrong. Thinner. And her skin is pale, almost grey, with dark shadows sitting heavy beneath her eyes. Even her hair, which is usually bright, looks dull.
“I’ve been working,” Wynter says lightly. “And partying a bit too hard.”
Catherine narrows her eyes. “Hmm. Go and sit down,” she says, nodding towards the couch. “I’ll bring coffee through. Ray, get the thing.”
Wynter obeys, moving slowly, like each step is painful.
“She looks different,” Catherine says once she’s out of ear shot, still watching her. “I can’t quite place it, but there’s something . . .”
“After today, it doesn’t matter,” I cut in, even though it clearly does.
I head to my room and return with the jewellery box. I place it on the table in front of Wynter and her eyes widen immediately. “She said you loved it,” I tell her.
Wynter nods, reaching out, her fingers tracing the delicate Italian detailing on the lid. “She told me you bought her this,” she murmurs. “I can’t take it.”
“I’ve no use for it,” I say. “She can’t take it with her. She wanted you to have it.”
A tear slips down Wynter’s cheek and she quickly brushes it away. “She said you got it because she never had one as a child,” she whispers. “It was something she always wanted.”
I nod, a small smile tugging at my mouth despite everything. “It had to be a musical one,” I say. “She wouldn’t settle for anything else.”
Wynter lets out a soft, shaky breath. “Are you sure?”