Secrets Made in Paradise

On the flight back to New York Luke slept again and Javier closed his eyes too—trying to figure out what to say to her when he saw her next. But he didn’t see her. She’d moved her few clothes from his room to that last spare bedroom on the far side of Luke’s. So Javier did the decent thing and went to work again late at night—giving her time to reunite with their baby without him watching.

An hour later he stared at the list she’d messaged through, barely biting back the urge to sprint back to the apartment and storm into her new room and tell her exactly what he thought of her ‘timetable’—an appalling co-parenting arrangement in which they completely avoided each other. He pushed away that instinctive wound—his own petulant assumption that it was a rejection of him. That he wasn’t enough. He was overreacting. But she’d struck a nerve. And how was it her hit could hurt this hard?

He got home late and the apartment was too quiet. He stole into Luke’s room and watched him sleep a while. Inexorably his attention was drawn to the photo he’d ordered hung on Luke’s nursery wall. The portrait of Emmy and Luke, moments after Luke’s arrival, had struck him the second he’d seen it. All the emotions rose every time he looked at it—protectiveness, possessiveness. They overwhelmed him. He lifted the picture from Luke’s wall and put it in his own room. He went to sleep looking at them and they were the first things he saw when he woke. But the misery rose, the rage blurred and slowly the truth settled. He needed that picture—it was his own aide-memoire—because they were the two most precious things in his life.

But now he knew the picture alone wasn’t enough. He wanted the real things—both of them with him, all of the time. And it was only now that she’d pushed him away that he realised that he, too, struggled with secrets, and struggled without certainty. He’d thought he had it all sorted—had offered her ‘everything’ he could in a half-assed, cowardly way. He’d suggested she stay with him, offering her no security. He was a jerk. But he’d not realised it himself—not until now. So his ineptitude, his silence of the other day when she’d opened up and hurled all her thoughts and feelings at his head, appealing to his heart...that had hurt her. It had hurt him too. Because he’d kept his heart buried away for so very long he’d just about forgotten it was there.

He’d never had emotional security. But he wanted his son to have it—to give it to him. He wanted to do that for Emmy too—so very differently and so very much. And she, more than anyone except perhaps himself, needed that certainty. She needed to hear the truth. She needed absolute honesty before she would believe. And he needed her to forgive him and to believe in him. This separation—he realised far too late—was the antithesis of what he wanted. He wanted everything with her.

He’d been so self-defensive, so focused on building his walls, he’d become blind to his own emotions. All the things he’d done—not just providing for her, but listening to her, laughing with her, wanting to bring her out, making love to her—they’d all been the actions of a man falling deeply in love.

He just hadn’t seen it in himself. And she’d not seen it either and that was on him. Because he’d been so damn defensive he’d hidden it too well from her. She’d opened up to him—she’d been so brave, so vulnerable, so trusting in him. But he’d hurt her.

So while he’d long been decisive, he knew whatever action he took now, whatever gesture he tried to think of, it wasn’t going to be enough. Because it was the words that were required. Words—or lack of—could hurt, but words could also heal. Sometimes stupid words could be forgiven. And honest words would be believed. He hoped so, anyway. He had to think that it might be possible in this case.

Because Emerald Jones, he finally realised, was his gorgeous dragon—she’d made him believe in something he’d thought was mere myth or fairy tale. But it was magic and real—it was hot and wonderful and scary as hell. She’d made him believe in the existence of love.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘THOMAS?’ EMMY WALKED into the apartment. ‘Luke?’

She listened but heard no reply. It was four days since her blow-up with Javier. He’d taken Luke and gone for the night. She’d indulged in a horrendous crying jag. Then she’d wiped a cold flannel over her face and moved her stuff into the spare bedroom farthest from Javier’s. She’d spent the night alternately wiping her eyes with that cold flannel and giving herself a pep talk and desperately trying to find a distraction for herself. Find work. Study. Survive.

She’d managed to avoid him mostly since their return. He’d been gracious enough to stay away for her reunion with Luke.

He’d apparently agreed to her suggestion of him leaving for work later, so he had time with Luke in the mornings. She lay on her bed and pretended to read or sleep or do something—anything—until she heard the front door close and was certain he’d left for the day.

She had dinner early, with Luke, and retreated to her room again when Javier returned home for the night. She’d booked onto an online course to improve her photography skills and researched some courses on management for charitable entities. She had a strong idea of what she wanted.

Thomas was the epitome of discretion and kindly courteous, leaving her with Luke as she needed the time to hold her baby and express love to him. But right now her baby wasn’t here. There was nothing to distract her again from the heartache and hopelessness of loving Javier or the anger within that she’d missed out.

Why couldn’t she have more? Why couldn’t she have it all?

She walked towards the lounge, absorbing the emptiness of the apartment like a hit to the side of the head. But an achingly familiar, tall figure turned at the window. Her heart leapt into her throat. Not from fear, but worse—joy. The bubble of rapture burst a split second later as she remembered.

‘Javier.’ She stopped on the threshold. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were home early.’

He looked cold and tired. His powerful form was half hidden by a loose black turtleneck and jeans. He hadn’t shaved, and his hair stood in tufts as if he’d been tugging on it or had just not bothered with it for the day because he had other things on his mind.

‘Don’t apologise.’ He watched her steadily but didn’t step closer. ‘Thomas’s taken Luke to the park for an hour or so. I cancelled my meetings.’

Warily she waited in the doorway. It was obvious he had something to say and she could hardly walk away before he’d had the chance. But it was too soon for her—that aching wish inside her threatened to leak out all over again.

‘We can’t go on like this, Emmy. We can’t keep avoiding each other.’

Her heart pounded. ‘Actually, I think it’s working well,’ she argued stiffly, striving to retain self-control. Seeing him as little as possible was absolutely for the best. Because just seeing him like this, now, made parts of her ache in ways she wanted to avoid for ever.

His jaw tightened and his teeth clamped. ‘I’m not well and I don’t believe for a second you are either.’

She flinched.

‘I was a jerk to you.’ His voice was low and didn’t sound like him at all.

She shook her head. She didn’t want him to apologise, to be nice to her. She didn’t want any sort of sympathy or pretence of caring because they’d happened to create a child together. She wanted to forget what she’d said, forget their physical intimacy and just move forward with new distance between them. It was the only way she could survive it.

‘I shouldn’t have said what I said,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It wasn’t fair. Please forget it. We’ve just...we need to move on.’

‘I’m never going to forget what you said, Emmy. Not ever.’ He stepped closer but stopped as he saw her reaction to his words. ‘And I don’t want to move on.’

Emmy put her hand on the doorjamb for support. Caught in that doorway, she couldn’t step either forward or back. It was as if she were trapped in a kind of purgatory.

‘You told me you’re in love with me,’ he said quietly.

Her heart ruptured. This wasn’t purgatory. This was pure hell.

She didn’t need him to remind her. Didn’t need her secrets ripped open for scrutiny again. The exposure burned.

‘I keep replaying it in my mind—keep trying to recapture that moment. I want to keep it for ever.’

She shook her head and tried to step back but he lunged forward and caught her hands. Just the very tips of her fingers. She could’ve easily slipped free, except the look in his eyes fixed her to the spot. He’d always floored her with that infinite deep brown gaze, but the emotions swirling made that cocoa mix more magnetic than ever.