‘We’ll go to my place.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he replied, heading towards his car. ‘But to be honest, I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re together.’ It was corny, but true. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow; tomorrow was another day. It wasthisday that counted.
He didn’t want a hurried goodbye. He wanted a long-drawn-out farewell, even though it would hurt. More fool him for falling in love, and he was being even more foolish by torturing himself like this, but he had to hold her, had to kiss her, had to make love to her until the very last second.
When he brought the car to a stop outside the bothy and cut the engine, he blurted into the ensuing silence, ‘I don’t want to return to London.’
Giselle gazed at him, but said nothing, her expression unreadable.
Rocco tensed in dismay. She didn’t feel the same way. He could have sworn… But she’d known all along that theirs was a transient relationship, so why would she feel more for him? It was only him who was hoping for more and it was only him who’d committed the cardinal sin of falling in love.
So he hastily added, ‘It’s so beautiful here. You’re incredibly lucky having all this on your doorstep. I’m going to miss it.’I’m going to miss you.
‘Everyone feels like that after a few days away.’ Her tone was flat, then she seemed to shake herself. ‘Why are we sitting in the car when we would be much more comfortable in bed?’
With a sad smile he followed her into the bothy, and no sooner had the door closed behind him than she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers. And as he kissed her, he prayed she couldn’t see the pain in his eyes.
It was dark. The only illumination came from the smattering of stars visible through the skylight.
How many nights had she lain here staring up at them, Giselle wondered.
Rocco lay on his side next to her, his eyes closed. She assumed from his regular breathing that he was asleep, worn out from their lovemaking. She was weary too, but sleep eluded her. And in a way, she was glad, wanting to relish every second of the time remaining with him. Soon it would be morning and he’d be gone, but for now she could pretend.
If you stare at them for long enough, you can almost see the stars moving, she thought absently, a physical passing of time far more ancient than any clock, but just as implacable. There was no arguing with time; no amount of pleading or bargaining could slow its progress. It would move on, and what was the present would all too soon become the past. And she’d be living in a future without Rocco.
She badly wanted to beg him to stay, but she knew it was pointless. By rights, he shouldn’t have stayed as long as he had, but Skye had worked its magic, as the island often did.
Or was the reason simply that he’d wanted to enjoy owning the castle for a while before he put it on the market?
What had Claire made of it, she wondered. Had she arrived at a figure yet? Had she seen enough to be able to put a value on something that should be priceless?
Rocco needed someone like Claire: a woman who understood his world, who was at home in it. A woman who spoke spreadsheets and pivot tables, not sea glass and shells. A woman who could accompany him to expensive restaurants, not one who preferred picnics on the grass or fish and chips out of paper.
The stars had definitely moved; the three glittering ice chips of Orion’s Belt were now two, as the world wheeled beneath them. Soon they would fade, replaced by the harsh reality of the morning sun.
If she could stay here forever, hold this moment forever, she wouldn’t hesitate.
Slowly, Giselle turned her head and found Rocco gazing at her, and when he reached for her again, she went to him with a heart full of love – and sorrow.
‘Just coffee,’ Rocco said.
Giselle poured him a cup of the instant stuff. It was all she had.
Despair encompassed her. She handed it to him as he sat on her sofa.
That plain blue mug of cheap black liquid was a symbol of the differences between them. No coffee maker for her. No ground beans, no filters, no fancy cup. Hers was a simple life. His wasn’t. She lived hand to mouth. He owned a sodding castle. And he was about to leave it – and her – for good.
‘What time is your flight?’ she asked.
‘One p.m.’
‘It’s five thirty now.’
‘Yes.’ The word trickled out of his mouth on a sigh, and she knew what the next ones would be. ‘I’d better go after I drink this.’
Giselle bit her lip. So he had.
The coffee was drunk far too quickly, and she watched him put the mug down and get to his feet. She rose, feeling awkward and uncertain, and praying she wouldn’t cry. Not until he’d gone, at least. After that, she’d howl the house down.
