‘It’s not that far—’ she started to protest.
‘Were you and Larkin having a good old laugh about this?’ he said, cutting Bel off aburptly and throwing her with the sudden change in direction.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Was it some kind of dare? Your makeover? The old ugly-duckling-to-swan thing?’
His words genuinely shocked her. ‘Of course not.’
‘Funny you never mentioned that it was you at the petrol station. I guess you didn’t want to risk it.’
‘I wasn’t hiding anything. All it took was contact lenses, a few new clothes and a new hair colour and you were completely brainwashed.’ She’d always thought the Clark Kent and Superman thing was too far-fetched to be believable but, after this, she wondered if maybe there was something to it. ‘It’s not my fault you’re so shallow that you didn’t recognise me.’
He looked away from her and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I won’t stop you leaving,’ he said. His face could have been carved from stone. ‘But if you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back.’
The finality of his statement stole her breath. How could he switch his emotions off so quickly? Did he even have emotions to switch off? Was what they’d had really so meaningless? That emptiness in the pit of her stomach she’d felt after Lucile’s visit returned, and she could no longer ignore what she’d been trying to rationalise ever since that day.
Bel took some time to muster her composure then turned to go and pack her belongings. She fought the urge to cry; she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
This Tate was not the same charming man she’d first met. There was certainly nothing about him now that reflected any of Jax Lexington’s qualities. Seeing that coldness … it waslike she’d been in the dark and someone had just switched on the lights. This man was nothing like Jax.
He’d gone from someone she’d blindly decided to throw away her old life for to the cold-hearted bastard sitting out there on the sofa, waiting for her to leave. She’d clearly been fooled. Suddenly, Lucile’s warning didn’t seem so hard to credit.
With the last of her things collected from the bathroom and her clothes squeezed into her suitcase, she did a final check, like she was leaving a motel room. Who had she been kidding? This place had never been a home—and it was never going to beherhome. Maybe she had been just as guilty of burying her head in the sand and only seeing what she’d wanted to see as he had.
She didn’t look at Tate as she walked to the front door and placed her key on the hall table. She simply opened the door and listened for the last time as it hissed closed behind her.
There was no going back. She could only go forward.
