He chuckles softly before he squints out at the sea.
“I love your directness, Amy. Never change. It’s refreshing.” He takes a deep breath, then returns his gaze to mine. “My brother died when we were teenagers. He was a year older than me, but we were close. I miss him every day, and it’s been over thirty years.”
That soft ache I’ve grown used to throbs. The familiar sting of sibling loss flares beneath my ribs. Hearing the tremor in his voice is like someone pressing an unhealed bruise. I lost Bex once, but I miss her every day.
Ivan and I share a wound.
“What happened?”
“He was swimming at a disused quarry. My parents warned him multiple times not to go. They’d forbidden it, but he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, and at the age of seventeen, thought he knew everything. Invincible.” His nose pinches a little as if smelling something foul. “One too many bottles of beer and a slip on the rocks. He was unconscious when he hit the water. He never stood a chance.”
I stand, keeping my hand between his as I walk around the table and sit on his knee. My lips drop to his, tears filling my eyes. We’ve both lost our sibling.
“My parents never recovered, and neither did I. My father threw himself into the business, and a few months after my sixteenth birthday, I did the same. My mother disappeared into a haze of alcohol and prescription medication. She died before I was twenty.” He falls silent.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m listening. You can let me in; I won’t fade away.” He rests his forehead against my breast while I hold him tight. “I’m here,” I repeat. “You’re not on your own anymore.”
Chapter thirty-six
Ivan
Last night I laid my heart on the line once more. I handed it over—wrapped in a box with a bow—to Amy Corrigan. How someone can become so important in your life so quickly astounds me.
I’ve dated dozens of women over the years, but never has one crawled under my skin the way she has. She’s my first thought when I wake up and my last at night. Since Christmas, I catch myself factoring her into decisions I used to make on autopilot. Her opinion of me counts more than I could ever imagine. It terrifies me.
I don’t remember the last time I spoke to anyone about my brother. My memories of him are buried deep, locked away. Anytime I think of him, it hurts just as much as the day I lost him.
Ian was my best friend. In some ways, he still is. I talk to him more than anyone, although the conversations are always one-sided. For years, he was the person I thought about most.
Until Amy.
“Can I borrow your laptop?” Amy asks, disrupting my musings. I’m sitting on the sofa, sifting through the mountain of emails on my mobile that multiply daily. When I look up, she’s already smiling. “Please,” she adds.
“Of course. It’s online already.” My computer has been set up on the kitchen counter since we arrived. “The password is Ianlovessandra.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“My brother had an unhealthy fascination with Sandra Bullock,” I explain.
She giggles, soft and warm, and unplugs the laptop, bringing it over before settling beside me. Her hip brushes mine, and my arm instinctively wraps around her. Emails can be handled one-handed, touching her is more important.
“What do you need it for?”
A flicker of uncertainty crosses her face. “I’ve been thinking it’s time I start to apply for jobs. I can’t pretend that the money isn’t running out. I need to get into some sort of routine.”
“I offered you a job.”
“You did,” she says, her lips pressing together.
“And what’s wrong with the job I proposed?” I prompt.
“Nothing.” Another pause. “But I don’t want to be known as the employee sleeping with the boss.” Her chest rises and falls like she’s bracing herself.
“Do you think that would give you privileges?” I bump her shoulder, an attempt to lighten the moment. The base of her throat turning rose pink.
“No, it’s just.” She sighs, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I don’t want to bump into one of your previous conquests. Trey has toldme plenty of stories. Most of them involved you in your office with either an employee or client. The last thing I want to be known as is your current plaything. And if things don’t work out with us.” Her voice softens. “It would be easier for me to walk away if I don’t work for you.”
My mood plummets.
