‘John, have they come to a decision?’
‘They have, old boy. They said the evidence was inconclusive. The ballistics reports suggest your story is off but there are discrepancies between the first and second reports that undermine their evidentiary weight. The print findings support that no other person took the shot and three witnesses say as much. Furthermore, the CPS does not perceive you to be a threat to the public. As such, it has decided it would not be in the public interest to charge.’
I don’t think I hear the words at first. But I hear them when Gregory asks John to repeat them.
‘No charge, old boy, no charge.’
My stomach drops out of my body and my legs lose strength. Gregory gives thanks to John Harrison and when I open my eyes, he’s staring down at me. He’s real and he’s free.Weare free. He hasn’t been charged. I didn’t confess. We did the right thing. Pearson went to hell for the lifetime of hurt he inflicted on so many people. Gregory’s alive and if he’ll let me,I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to fix him. I watch my hand as if it doesn’t belong to me as it reaches out for his heart.
It beats.
My chest explodes and my legs give way as uncontrollable sobs take over my body. Two weeks, three days. The agony seems to have been much longer. My knees crash against the wood floor and I break down, emotionally, physically.
Two big, strong arms encase me and pull me into a firm chest. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, clinging like I’ll never let him go, and give myself over to tears.
‘I love you. I love you so much,’ I sob into his shoulder, not caring if I never hear it back.
He sweeps me up, one arm under my legs, the other pulling my head into his neck. ‘Jackson, can you?—’
‘Don’t worry, I got it, kid.’
I feel Gregory nod but I can’t lift my head from his shoulder. I need to hold him to me; it’s the only way he feels real. Without saying another word, he carries me up the stairs to the first spare room he comes to, where I spent last night. He kicks the door shut behind us then sinks, his back sliding down the wall and as I sob against him, his chest chugs. He holds me to him, kissing my head between sharp breaths. I lean back to peer into his wet eyes.
I believe. I believe that one day, he’ll accept that I love him and he’ll love me back.
I push my lips against his and breathe in his freshly showered scent. ‘I love you, Gregory Ryans. I love you with every cell in my body. I always will.’
‘Scarlett.’ He holds my face between his two hands and continues to sob as if years of wanting to cry, years of hurt and anger, have been unleashed. I throw my arms around his neck as my heart breaks for him.
‘Shh, baby, I’m here,’ I tell him, the way he has held me and said those words.
The sound of his tears is a breakthrough and heartbreaking all at once. I kiss his brow and down his jawline and it’s my turn to take his face in my palms. ‘It’s over now.’
He shakes his head as his pounding heart begins to calm. ‘If I’d lost you?—’
‘You didn’t,’ I say. And then I kiss him.
He kisses me back, pressing my lips against his with his hand on the back of my head.He does love me.He pulls away, stroking my hair, my face, my body and when his lips meet mine again, his hand slides down the zip at the back of my dress. He lifts me as he stands and pulls the dress up over my arms then moves his eyes over every part of my body. I lift the hem of his T-shirt and pull it over his arms. He pulls me against his naked chest.
We need this. I need to feel his love the only way he can show me. Right now, he needs to know that I stood by him, that I have faith in him because heisa good man.
I unbutton his jeans as he releases the clasp of my bra. I slip the bra over my arms and roll down my stockings as he pushes down his jeans and boxers, standing before me in all his stunning glory. He lifts my legs around his hips then lowers me to the floor. His eyes are fixed on mine as he pulls down my black thong then hovers over me, his weight resting on his forearms and between my legs.
I take his face in my hands and smile. He doesn’t return my smile; he continues to look intently into the depths of me, then lifts his pelvis and, with one hand, guides himself between my legs. He swallows my groan as he presses his mouth to mine, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as if in pain.
This isn’t the relief I was expecting.
He holds still at first and I give him time to take what he needs. Then he starts to circle his hips, his mouth moving in sync. It’s slow and sensual but this isn’t lovemaking and it isn’t relief. It’s something else, something I can’t quite describe. Something terrifying and haunting all at once. My eyes well with tears as he fills me and opens his eyes to mine. He’s not here; he’s somewhere else, without me. His emptiness chills me to the core.
This might be the end.
21
It’s been a strange week. Gregory has made love to me every night like it’s his last. Each time, it’s been passionate and slow. Tentative, like I’m the most delicate thing he’s ever held. No expletives, no roughness or kinkiness, just pure, unadulterated lovemaking, beautiful in a way that’s every bit as earth-shattering as the explosive orgasms he’s so good at giving me. But unnerving. Neil Wallace flew out to Dubai the day after the decision, which means I haven’t had a chance to speak to him yet and give him my answer. Or rather, tell him his assumptions are wrong. A conversation I think I need to have in person. The old Scarlett wouldn’t have turned down the opportunity, nor the request of a new client. But I don’t know where she is. I don’t know exactly when she left but this Scarlett is different. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever do anything to put myself in a position to lose Gregory. I can’t, not now I know how much it scares me. He’s my anchor. The centre of the new version of me. The core of sense, the only thing that joins all the messed-up pieces together. I don’t need Dubai or anything else. There’s one thing that matters to me, one person, one man. I love him and so longas I have him, I’ll always be happy in our world, as dark and twisted as it is. Whilst I’m dreading it, Iwilllet Neil Wallace down.
I smile to myself as I apply my make-up. On Thursday, Gregory came back from an oh-so-normal run and to our oh-so-normal bedroom, sweaty and so goddamn hot, and told me that he wanted to take me somewhere on Saturday: tonight. He’s been planning a surprise for two days and I can’t wait to finally find out what it is. He sent me to Julia at Harrods and we picked out a gown. I have no ideawhyI need a gown but I decided to make it my surprise to him. Refusing to put it on his account, I bought it myself, the most extravagant thing I’ve ever bought. I think my first car actually cost less than this dress. Okay, so it was only a little runaround but it had a purpose beyond one night. Yet, oddly, and against all my sensibility, I’d rather have this dress.
I stand back from the floor-length mirror and assess my finished look. I’ve got to admit, for me, I look good. Fantastic. It feels like how the other half live, honestly.
