Would he storm out, like Darren would have? Or would he shout back, like Max did when we fought? Or would he guilt trip me, like my mother always did?
As it turned out, none of the above. But then, even from one Christmas together, I’d always known that Aiden wasn’t like anyone else in my life.
His laugh bubbled up slowly, growing as I glared at him. ‘Look at us,’ he said, between bursts of amusement. ‘We were so sure we knew what we wanted, and we ended up going the opposite way entirely. I wanted obscurity and literary authenticity –’
‘And instead you’re one of the most famous authors in Britain, writing the sort of popular escapist reads you hated back then.’ I had to admit, there was something humorous about that.
‘I didn’t hate them,’ Aiden admitted. ‘I just pretended to because I was being pretentious to try and impress people.’
‘It didn’t work,’ I told him.
‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You slept with me, didn’t you?’
‘Not because of your taste in literature.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He winced. ‘I was pretty unbearable, wasn’t I?’
‘Only on the subject of popular fiction,’ I assured him. ‘And it’s not like I was much better. Pretending that the difference between twenty-one and eighteen made me a grown up and you a child. Thinking that I had everything sorted – the lawyer-to-be boyfriend, the five-year plan. Certain that I could juggle marriage and motherhood and a career instantly, with no stress, and that it didn’t matter that Darren wasn’t perfect because he was a grown up with a future and a career and ambition…’
‘Unlike me.’
‘Yes! Unlike you. And I was so sure that was all I needed. And now…’ I trailed off, and Aiden reached out and grabbed my hand again, squeezing it hard.
‘Now you have your son, and your future, and a much better idea of what you really want.’
‘It sounds a lot better when you put it that way,’ I said, with a half-smile. ‘I tend to see it more like I got everything I wanted, then lost it again.’
‘Was it such a great loss?’ Aiden asked softly, and his words pierced me down deep in the heart of my lies.
I wanted to tell him the truth – to tell him that I’d never connected with Darren the way I had with him, that the two weeks we’d spent together had shown me what I really wanted, I just hadn’t recognised it. I wanted him to know that my going back to Darren was a mistake.
Except it wasn’t. Because without Darren there would be no Max. And my marriage – even if it hadn’t quite been the stuff of a twenty-one-year-old’s fantasy – hadn’t been all that bad, either.
Until the end.
And even now, even knowing deep down that I’d made the right decision, sending Darren away again, it still hurt. Not the betrayal so much, or the loneliness. But the loss.
‘It’s my whole life, my whole future, torn away,’ I told him, flatly. ‘Everything that I expected from the rest of my life disappeared in one conversation and a piece of paper. Everything I hoped for in Max’s future changed, too. It’s not just the break up of a relationship. It’s the dismantling of a whole life – even the parts we hadn’t lived yet.’
Aiden rocked back into his seat. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that. I guess… I’ve never been in the kind of relationship that has that kind of future built in. Which is kind of how I found myself in this mess to begin with.’
‘This mess? You mean the reason you’re at Rosewood this Christmas?’ Because we never had quite gotten around to him finishing that story, now I thought about it.
‘Yeah. Melody, my editor, she thought that our fling was more than that. More than just a relationship, even. She thought it was the real deal.’
‘True love.’
‘And marriage and babies and… everything.’
‘And to you it was just a fling.’ I gave him a dark look. ‘So you led her on –’
‘Hang on!’ Aiden put his hands up in self defence. ‘First off, I never said it was just a fling. But I also neglected to mention that we’d only been together two and a half weeks at the point when she gave me the marriage ultimatum.’
I winced. ‘Two and a half weeks? That’s crazy.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Aiden sighed. ‘That’s what I told her, while she tossed books at my head. My own books. But then I came here to get a break from the crazy, and I realised…’
‘What?’ When had he leant forward again? When had I, for that matter? My feet were back on the ground, my defensive walls of arms and legs down. I was staring into his eyes again, wondering when we had moved close enough to almost kiss…
‘It was half a week longer than it took me to know that I was in love with you.’
My heart stopped. Just for a second, and probably not long enough to do any permanent harm, but long enough for my body to register that the world had shifted, changed. And I couldn’t tell if it was for the better or not.
‘You’re lying,’ I said, finally.
‘Why would I?’ Aiden asked, with a shrug. ‘It was fourteen years ago, Freya. Why bother lying about it now? It doesn’t change anything that happened.’
Because, of course, he hadn’t said he was in love with me now. He said he’d loved me once, fourteen years ago, when he was eighteen and naive and I was the first woman he’d ever slept with. Of course he’d thought he was in love with me. That didn’t mean anything at all.
Especially since he’d never told me, until now.
‘You never said anything.’
‘Would it have changed anything if I had?’ he asked.
And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? The one without an answer. Because how could thirty-five-year-old me really know how twenty-one-year-old Freya would have reacted to that news?
Would I still have gone back to Darren anyway? Or might I have taken a risk on Aiden – only to have it fall apart when I graduated and he didn’t, if not before?
I could never know. And neither could he.
Obviously sensing that I didn’t have an answer to his question, Aiden starting talking again. ‘I’d planned to tell you, actually. Which, with hindsight and my recent experiences to go by, was probably a huge mistake anyway. But yeah, I’d planned to take you out to that curry house you liked, romance you with a bottle of cheap and terrible wine, and tell you that I’d fallen in love with you.’
‘So why didn’t you?’ The image was so clear in my mind I could almost believe that it had happened. That I was viewing another life, where I’d taken a chance on Aiden instead of Darren.
‘Because it was already too late. By the time I’d plucked up the courage…’ He nodded towards my left hand, wrapped around my coffee cup again. ‘You were already gone.’
‘And it’s not like I gave you an opportunity after that,’ I murmured.
I was almost glad I hadn’t known. Because I was very afraid I’d have made the same decisions anyway, and the regret now might have been almost unbearable.
I sat back in my chair and sighed, watching as he leaned away too, resting one ankle on his knee, and his arm out along the back of the chaise longue.
‘So, you came all the way to Rosewood to escape a woman who loved you,’ I said.
‘Could have been worse. At least I didn’t run out and get engaged to the first idiot who asked me.’
I glared at him. ‘You know it wasn’t like that.’
‘I know.’ He caught my gaze and held it, his eyes bright blue in the firelight. ‘But I also know that there’s barely been a day since when I haven’t wondered what would have happened if you’d slammed the door in his face that morning.’
I felt the truth bubbling up inside of me, fourteen years too late, and whether it was the alcohol or just Rosewood itself, I couldn’t keep it in any longer.
‘Same here,’ I whispered.
He moved between one candle flicker and another, and before I even registered the movement he was leaning over me, his hands on the arms of my cha
ir, his body so close we were almost touching.
‘I never even got to kiss you goodbye,’ Aiden whispered.
A sob tore its way up through my throat. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ He took my hand and tugged me gently to my feet, pulling me into the circle of his arms. ‘None of it does.’
It did matter, I knew. Everything that had gone before didn’t suddenly cease to exist because we were both here, together, for one more Christmas. And the real world outside Rosewood didn’t stop mattering when we closed the door.
But for one perfect moment, I believed him.
His lips met mine as we moved together, gently at first, a soft reminder of those cautious, careful first kisses we’d shared all those years ago. It didn’t take long for them to deepen, though. For the passion I remembered to flare through me again, stronger than I’d ever felt since.
I couldn’t wish away the last fourteen years, and I wouldn’t if I could.
But I couldn’t deny how wonderful it felt to be back in his arms, either.
I reached an arm around the back of his neck, holding him closer, my thighs pressed to his. How could I have walked away from this feeling? From this buzzing need and want and sense of something filling me up from the core of me?