Praying they had space for her, Miranda went to sit down.
After the scene with Betty, she couldn’t bear to go back to Camden. If need be, she could book into a hotel. She’d need to sell her sketch of the gown to pay for it, and she imagined the large cash advance. It would be a front-page story, worth a lot of money, more if she named herself as the palace insider, too. The first paper she called would snap it up.
However, against her will, she thought of the consequences. Caroline would lose her position, and Betty, too, would be fired for getting her the job if Miranda had her own name down as a source. How foolish she’d been for not thinking it through.
And could Sinclair, too, be scorched in the aftermath? Everyone knew they were friends – would he be reprimanded? Could they take Rome away from him?
She shook her head briskly, trying to rationalize her thoughts.
After all, what did it matter now that he hated her?
Yet there was something about Sinclair she couldn’t shake, evenwith his pristine manners, his uptightness interwoven with wit and charm, self-admonishing yet unashamed of who he was. There was a forthrightness to him, a self-possession. How easy it was to be with him, how natural to fall into his arms. What a relief she’d felt to have that connection again, for the first time since Jack died.
Was she ready to ruin it all for the sake of her pride, her independence, her fear of being human, of being hurt?
Something inside her head began to throb as she thought of the money Betty had tried to give her. If she’d have taken it, she wouldn’t have to sell her sketch – nor would Caroline have to take the blame.
Yet it must have been Betty’s savings, hidden away for emergencies. The old Miranda would have snapped it up in a moment, determined not to care about anyone.
But she wasn’t that person anymore.
Her heart sank at what she had neglected to see, that she’d let friendship in. It had been more useful for her to think of Betty and the others as casual acquaintances, when in actual fact, they relied on one another.
Betty had meant well when she offered her the money, she knew that now. And Miranda had thrown it back in her face for what? A quick escape from the mess she’d made?
What kind of person had Miranda become?
A plane must have arrived, as a stream of people entered the great airport hall, those gathered to meet them stepping forward to hug or shake hands, to help them with their cases. One couple stood out, a young woman darting towards a man in military uniform and throwing her arms around him. As he twirled her around, her dark hair fanned out, the pair united as one.
Just like her and—
But at that moment, instead of Jack, her thoughts went to Sinclair. How good they were together.
Only now she would never see him again.
Unable to stop herself, she bent her face into her hands and sobbed.
What was she doing here, running back to New York? So many years had gone by that she could barely remember what love felt like.And at that moment she knew that it was meant to be, not just that Sinclair was a stand-in for Jack, but that he was the one who would come after Jack, the one who would take her on her next journey.
And what a journey that would be!
Only now it would never happen.
She’d ruined everything. And even without thinking, she realized that it wasn’t because of Jack’s death, nor was it about her independence. It was because she couldn’t bear to be crushed by separation again.
Yet now she knew: she would risk anything to have Sinclair back.
‘Excuse me, madam.’ The woman from the airline desk leaned down to speak to her. ‘We found a seat for you, if you would like to come with me?’
Numbly, Miranda followed her back to the main desk, her mind reeling. She was going back to New York. Would she call one of her old friends, stay in yet another guest room? Her mood plummeted as she remembered that feeling, existing on the outer edge of a happy family, looking in. The familiar bitterness she’d felt in New York crept through her bones, her mocking resentment for other people’s happiness.
And she didn’t want it anymore. Instead of being outside that body of warmth and happiness, she wanted to be inside it. The togetherness she’d felt in Camden had enveloped her. It had made her feel human again.
‘We actually have a choice of seats available, madam. Would you like to sit next to the window?’
As if in a trance, Miranda listened as the woman went through the prices, but all she could think about was the cost to herself, of all that she was leaving behind.
And that’s when the words came out of her mouth.
