“He’s leaving tomorrow,” she says. “So, if you’ve got something to say—say it. Don’t wait until he’s back in New York and you’re left wishing you had.”
My eyes well, overwhelmed that she’s given me her blessing. “Are you sure?” I ask.
She lets out a sigh, nudging me. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m not completely heartless.”
I fling my arms around her and give her a quick squeeze before pulling away.
Finally, I crack a smile.
And then… I run.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Max
Without much else to do once home, I shower and distract myself by answering some work emails.
I only came to London with a couple of suitcases, so it didn’t take me long to pack this morning.
Eventually, I sink onto the sofa, slipping my phone from my pocket, and open Instagram. I see Anna’s uploaded photos from the wedding to her story, so I tap through—photos of Anna and me at dinner, a couple of Anna with Mum and Dad, and when I tap to the next frame, my heart stops.
It’s a photo of Anna, April, and Gemma. All three of them in their dresses, taking a full body mirror shot in the bathroom, but I only seeher.
Soft background lighting creates a halo effect around her golden locks and her eyes are crinkled at the corners from smiling so wide—reallysmiling.
This is the Gemma I fell for. Totally unguarded, radiant, and completely herself.
So gorgeous and happy and so painfully out of reach.
Closing the app, I open our text thread and reread my last message to her.
Read at 12:00 a.m.No response.
Fuck.
Gemma Clarke has thrown me. With her, my defenses crumble to shit. I am everything I swore I’d never become again after Casey: irrational, emotional, and worse? Hopeful.
Because hope means I’m still holding on. Still waiting. Still desperate for a chance to breathe the same air as her. Still clutching to the idea that maybe she’ll show up. That maybe she’ll chooseus.
I’m fully prepared to negotiate my work schedule. Grayson’s a practical man, and if I tell him this really means something to me, which it does, I know he’ll give me a chance to try working from London.
But if she doesn’t come. If I don’t hear from her…
I could have shown up at her door with flowers, but that’s not who I am. And that’s not what Gemma needs.
My intentions are clear. She knows my willingness to fight for this. I’ve shown her my hand, again and again, and now the ball is in her court. The last thing she needs is me backing her into a corner. Pushing her now would be the fastest way to ensure she never speaks to me again. That kind of pressure will only make her run further. I won’t make that mistake.
No. This is a conclusion Gemma needs to reach herself, and whatever she decides, I have to respect it. I’m playing the long game. If she needs space, I’ll give it to her.
The rational part of my brain knows I should be relieved she hasn’t contacted me. This is the kind of clean cut we discussed, that we agreed to. The kind of clean break we need to get our lives back on track. I can board that plane tomorrow and step straight back into my old life.
But deep down, in my heart, I know the truth—I don’t want my old life back.
The buzzer cuts through the silence like a guillotine.
There’s only one person who would show up to my apartment at this hour. Without thinking, I press the button to let them up, and that nigglinghopesurges through me.
I walk to the door, running a hand through my hair, trying to calm the staccato of my heartbeat.
