12
GAME OF LIFE – SPIN THE WHEEL OF FATE FOR A CHANCE AT THE LIFE YOU WANT.
It was very quiet in the house once she’d gone.
Xavier paced the floor for what felt like hours, trying to reconcile his thoughts about what Soli had said to him. And what he’d said to her.
Her out-of-the-blue revelation had blindsided him – his harsh words a reaction to the crushing fear that he’d been wrong to relax around her. He’d been totally unprepared for how to handle her unexpected and shocking news, and something dark and instinctive had reared up from deep inside him, making him lash out at her. To protect himself.
The whole time they’d been sleeping together he’d been afraid of this happening, but he’d pushed it away, not wanting to dwell on it, telling himself he was worrying for no reason. He thought he’d been so careful, so clever, using extra protection and making sure they were both on the same page. But he’d forgotten about Corsica. The one weak spot in the whole game.
A restless sort of dread lay heavily in his stomach as he paced around, his veins on fire with adrenaline and terror.
He couldn’t give himself fully to her, not in the way she wanted. He’d protected himself from loving anyone else ever since Harriet had torn his heart to shreds and he’d seriously believed he wasn’t cut out for that sort of relationship with anyone ever again. He was his parents’ son, after all.
And he’d managed to keep his feelings under control and his heart protected, until Soli had come along and turned his world upside down.
Letting her in had been such a gradual process, he’d barely noticed it. He thought they were just having fun, but from the way he was feeling now that she’d walked out on him, it was clear she’d worked her way firmly into his affections.
He spent a rough night, barely sleeping a wink, Soli’s sweet scent on his sheets haunting his dreams when he did sleep.
Getting up groggy and tired the next day, with his head heavy and tight with stress, he made his way down to the kitchen in the hope that a strong cup of coffee would help him think straight.
Just the sight of the empty room where he and Soli had spent so much time enjoying each other’s company made him want to punch a wall in frustrated regret.
What was he going to do? How would he handle this? He suddenly desperately wanted her to be there to talk to – to see her kind, reassuring smile again. Supporting him. Caring for him.
Not that she was ever likely to be doing that again after the way he’d treated her.
Did he really believe he couldn’t love her?
He didn’t know any more – his head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool, and his blood was like sludge in his veins.
Dropping his head into his hands, he let out a loud, frustrated sigh and sank back against the work surface, feeling the hard ridge of it digging in to his spine, but he didn’t move; instead, he revelled in the pain it caused him, glad of the distraction from the more problematic pain in his heart.
* * *
The next few days were hell.
Soli kept her word, staying away from the house, and from him.
He’d thought it would be okay, that it would be hard but he’d be able to cope without her there – but he felt sick every time he came downstairs and found she still hadn’t returned. The house was so silent and dark without her, as if she’d taken all the life and colour of the place with her when she left.
Most distressingly, the house no longer felt like his home.
There was a constant, tight ache in his chest – which he accepted, when he finally allowed himself to acknowledge it, was because he missed her.
He missed her like crazy.
The following Saturday he woke up early, the sense of doom he’d been carrying around with him since she’d gone weighing on him more heavily than ever.
Once downstairs he found he couldn’t settle to anything. It was too quiet, too still in the house, so he grabbed his jacket and walked to Hampstead Village in search of something to distract him.
He was just passing some seating outside a coffee house when he heard someone calling his name. Turning to see who it was, he felt his pulse leap as he saw Harriet sitting in one of the chairs, cradling a tightly swaddled baby.
‘Harriet. How are you?’ he asked, his voice a little unsteady with a strange kind of yearning that had swelled in him at the sight of the child in her arms.
‘I’m really well, thanks. Meet Harry, my son,’ she said, beaming down towards the baby.
