Trying to assimilate something he should have known already, would have, if he and Anthony had ever talked properly, if Anthony had connected with him like a father should, forced himself past his emotional hangups for his son’s sake.
She felt her heart softening. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how you’d take it, if you’d blow a fuse, or feel hurt, or...’
‘All of the above?’
‘Exactly!’
Her chest went tight. And it wasn’t fair, was it? Never knowing which way the wind was blowing. Always having to walk this tightrope between him and his father. And maybe it would clear the air if she just let it all out, told him.
‘Will, you’ve got to understand: this thing between you and your dad makes it hard for me—hard for me to say certain things, to know how to be with you about him, or about anything concerning him, like the hotel. We’re coming from such different places, you and I...’
Acknowledgement in his eyes. No need to elaborate. He knew what she was saying.
‘I wanted to tell you from the get-go, not only because it was the right thing to do, but also to honour your dad, because it was our plan, his dream...’
A dream he would never see realised now because the cancer had rubbed him out, the way it had rubbed Dad out. She felt her sinuses tingling. Precious lives cut short. Precious time lost—time that Anthony could have used to make things right with Will, that Will could have used...
She swallowed hard. ‘But for that exact same reason I couldn’t raise it with you! You’re all about getting the hotel done quickly, getting rid of it because Anthony forced it on you, and I can understand that...’ She could feel grief and anger thickening in her chest now, hot tears clogging her lashes. ‘But you also want to throw it off for the simple fact that it was his dream, because you can’t stand it, can you?’ Something pulsed behind his eyes that made her own well hotter, wetter. ‘I don’t know what all your issues were with him, and I’m not asking you to tell me, not if you don’t want to, but you need to know how it feels for me, Will! I’m stuck in the middle! I want to do right by him, and I want to do right by you, and I care about both of you, but I can’t...’ She forced a sob back down. ‘I can’t even move in this straitjacket!’
For a second, his eyes stared into hers and then his face was crumpling and he was moving in, taking hold of her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs. ‘Oh, Quinn, please don’t cry.’ Shaking his head, his gaze blue and full. ‘I do get it—all of it.’ And then his focus was shifting, turning inwards. ‘I’m sorry it’s such a mess.’
Her heart pulsed. But would he try to untangle it? For her—for himself. That would be a leap towards the light. She could prompt him, perhaps. A tiny nudge. Except that would mean speaking, moving, and she didn’t want to do either of those things because his gentle touch was giving her tingles, and his body was so close, and her face was tilted upwards in his hands so she was looking at his lovely mouth, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine how things could...
‘Sorry...’ His focus was back, arrowing in, stealing her breath. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ Except for her mouth, which was going dry, and her ears, which were pulsing with fast thick heartbeats because now he seemed to be stuck again, locked in the moment, or maybe it was she who was trapped, or maybe it was time stretching, slowing everything down, which was why it was easy to see his eyes lowering to her mouth, easy to see the slow parting of his lips, the tip of his tongue pausing there, then the slow deep swallow, the up down movement of his Adam’s apple.
And then suddenly he was jerking his hands away as if she were white-hot metal, pushing them through his hair.
‘Sorry...’ He stepped back, his hands making a second, slower, pass and then he was sighing at the ground, talking to the ground. ‘You must be sick of hearing that from me by now.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m certainly sick of saying it.’
Sorry for what, though? For looking at her mouth? For thinking about kissing her? Or maybe she had misread, was just projecting her own heat-of-the-moment confusion onto him.
‘It’s all right.’ She inhaled to steady herself. ‘We’ve both got things to be sorry for.’
‘Me more than you.’ Another sigh, and then his gaze was lifting by tentative degrees, filling hers again. ‘I can see I haven’t made it easy for you, and I want to wipe the slate clean, but you’re going to have to help me.’
Her heart gave. Asking for help, trying so hard.
‘Okay, but how?’
He gave a little shrug. ‘Just...talk about Dad...if you want to, I mean. Whenever you want to. Don’t skirt round him. Or me, for that matter.’ He stepped closer, his gaze deep, and full. ‘Promise me, Quinn.’
She felt tears aching again, in her throat, behind her lids. This was all for her, not for himself. Because it was still there, moving behind his eyes, that secret pain he kept over Anthony—pain he was forcing himself over, like a hurdle, for her sake. That he was doing this for her maybe wasn’t a startling leap towards the light, but it might unlock a few doors. At the very least, it would make talking about the project easier.
She swallowed the ache back down and smiled. ‘Okay. I promise.’
‘Great!’ His eyes crinkled and then he passed a hand across his forehead as if he was, indeed, wiping the slate clean. ‘So, now we need to talk about your plan for the hotel.’
Her heart bounced. ‘Talk about, as in...’
Did she dare to even hope that he would run with it?
He raised his eyebrows. ‘As in: I’ve got a few things to say about it, but I’m ready to listen and discuss it.’
She felt her lips curving, a mad urge to fling her arms around his neck, but that was out of the question. Besides, he was talking on.
‘The only thing is, we should really be making tracks...’ He threw a glance at the clock on the arch. ‘I’ve got to get my bag out of left luggage before we go through. We can talk in the cab.’
Her heart stalled. No, they couldn’t!
Oh, God!
How had they managed to spend three hours together without once touching on the return journey—a journey she wasn’t actually making?
‘Quinn?’ He was looking at her, his brow furrowing a little. ‘What’s up?’
Where to even begin?
She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Will...’
‘What about?’
She swallowed hard. ‘I’m not leaving today. I’m staying the weekend, flying back midday Sunday.’
‘But...’ His gaze narrowed in confusion and then it was clearing, meeting hers. ‘Please tell me you didn’t do that because of me, because you didn’t want to risk a repeat of last time?’
Her heart pinched. No point denying it. He could surely see it written on her face anyway.
