At the sound of Georgie’s voice, filled with concern, coming from far, far away, Finn froze. He hadn’t heard the door open. He hadn’t noticed the shadows lengthening across the floor. She couldn’t see him like this, he thought frantically, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin—weak, vulnerable and suffering, a man on the brink of collapse. He couldn’t let her help. He couldn’t allow her to push and prod as she was wont to do. It would drive him over the edge.
‘Get out,’ he said, his voice hoarse and cracked.
‘What’s happened?’ she said, walking into the room and dropping to her knees beside the chair in which he was sitting, crowding his space and his thoughts, too close, too dangerous.
‘I said, get out.’
‘I know. But you’re white as a sheet and shaking. I’m worried about you.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Talk to me.’
‘It has nothing to do with you,’ he said sharply, desperately, seeing her flinch, which only added to his torment.
‘Try.’
His strength was failing. His control was unravelling. He didn’t have much time. ‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘All right,’ he said harshly, his resistance crumbling beneath the need to get her out of his space before he completely lost it. ‘How’s this? Last November I discovered that I was adopted at the age of six months and that my entire life has been a lie. Fifteen minutes ago I learned that not only was I born in Argentina and left in an orphanage, but that I also have two brothers. We’re triplets. As you may be able to understand, it’s quite a lot to take in. I need some time and space to process it. So I’d appreciate it if you would respect that and leave me the hell alone.’
* * *
Wow.
Just wow.
For the briefest of moments all Georgie could do was stare at Finn as the frustration and torment rolled off him in waves and engulfed her, the shock of what he’d told her and how brutally he’d delivered it rendering her immobile. She could barely process it. He’d been adopted? He’d just found out he had a family he’d known nothing about? No wonder he was in such a spin.
When she’d seen the man she was in love with hunched over like that, clearly hurting, clearly in pain, her heart had twisted, and even though she hadn’t known what was troubling him, she’d just felt a clamouring urge to race over and give him a hug. All she wanted to do was help. Genuinely.
But he didn’t want it, she realised, the breath catching in her throat as her chest tightened. He didn’t want comfort. He didn’t want anything from her, as was clear not only from his words but also from the way he was jerking to his feet, turning away from her and stalking over to the window, a blunt, brutal dismissal that sliced her in two.
To think she’d been worried about him, she thought, her eyes stinging and hurt scything through her as she pushed herself to her feet and took a shaky step back. That all the time she’d spent showering and dressing while the minutes ticked slowly by she’d been wondering whether he was all right. What a waste of time and effort that had been.
He didn’t want her and he certainly didn’t need her. He probably never had. He was wholly self-contained. And as for the idea that they might be embarking on something resembling a proper relationship, what had she been thinking?
There may be lust but there was certainly no trust. Not on his side anyway. He must have been carrying the burden of his adoption for months, and the discovery of it, the uncertainty surrounding his identity, must have been cataclysmic. And he hadn’t said a word. She’d told him virtually everything there was to know about her, warts and all, and he’d revealed practically nothing.
Every time he’d asked her something about herself she’d spouted like a fountain. She’d told him things, this morning in particular, that she’d never told anyone, things that she’d only just begun to acknowledge. Yet when the tables were turned and she dared to ask him anything even remotely personal he deflected it. She knew next to nothing about his upbringing or his parents or how he felt about any of it. How had she let that happen?
And why had he never told her that he was adopted? He’d told her that he didn’t like secrets, but he’d been harbouring a massive one of his own, and on top of everything else that made him a hypocrite. So who else knew? Was she the only one who didn’t? Why hadn’t he wanted to talk about it with her? What was wrong with her? Was it the state of her mental health? Was that why he’d told her he wanted to know everything about her when they’d been talking this morning? She’d seen his interest as a sign their relationship was shifting to anot
her, more intimate level but perhaps he’d just been looking out for Josh by trying to find out how stable she really was?
They had no relationship and no connection, she realised as she stalked into the bedroom, blinking rapidly to ease the prickling in her eyes, and she’d been a fool to even begin to think otherwise. Everything she’d stupidly imagined they’d shared was entirely one-sided. Even this weekend, which had meant so much to her, would now be nothing more than a permanently tarnished memory.
She’d been falling for an illusion, a man who didn’t exist, a man she’d conjured up out of her own imagination because that was what she needed. She’d been delusional, which wasn’t a word she used lightly, and worse, naive. What would someone like Finn with his gorgeous looks and confidence and billions in the bank ever see in a woman like her anyway? How could her judgement still be so off?
Well, no more, she thought grimly, grabbing her suitcase and depositing it on the bed. Enough of the imbalance. Enough of being the pathetic, soppy drip she turned into around him. If she didn’t want to end up being even more hurt, perhaps even irreparably so, she could afford neither.
Nor was she having her recently rediscovered confidence and self-esteem knocked by Finn and his stick-his-head-in-the-sand attitude. She had to protect herself, although how she was going to do that now that they were civilly partnered and therefore stuck with each other and living in close proximity she had no idea. But she’d think of something. She’d have to.
In the meantime there was no way she was hanging around like a punchbag for all the emotions he must be feeling and clearly couldn’t handle. She was packing up and going back to London. Back to her son, who, unlike Finn, did need her. And then Finn would have all the space and time to think that he wanted.
CHAPTER ELEVEN