Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I groan at the comparison. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s normal not to want to get hurt,” Jacob says. “But if you never take the risk, you have to make the sacrifice. Are you prepared to take the risk with Kate, or are you going to be content as a miserable loner?”
“It’s one or the other, huh?”
“Sounds about right,” says Beau.
“And if she leaves me?”
“Then it will break you,” Jacob says. “But mate, you’re already broken without her. And you know it.”
“Broken” is a good word for how I feel. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I left Crompton; I haven’t been able to focus. Even food doesn’t taste the same. “But you knew with Sutton that she was…it for you, right? That you wanted to marry her and be with her forever.”
Jacob nods. “Absolutely. And I think you know that about Kate.”
Do I?
“That’s why you’re back in London so quickly. You’ve not even been back to New York, have you?” Beau asks.
I take the question as rhetorical. “I’ve never given a woman a second thought after our time together was over—even if that makes me a bastard. Kate…well, it’s different. I miss her. I miss her enthusiasm and her optimism and the way a smile from her is worth every million I’ve made. And when I think of the future, the thought of her not being part of it fills me with a foreboding sense of dread. Like I will have failed.”
“So you know,” Beau says. “Because if I ever felt that for a woman, I’d marry her.”
My heart has formed a fist and is banging on my chest wall, boom, boom, boom.
Marry her?
“Don’t just marry her,” Jacob says. “Love her. Enjoy her. Cherish and nurture her.”
“She’s not going to want to marry a man like me,” I say. “I travel all the time. Even if I was to buy a home and have a base, I’d still need to travel. She doesn’t like to leave Crompton.”
“Don’t make bullshit excuses,” Beau says. “You’ll find a way if it’s worth it.”
“When did you become such a romantic?” Jacob asks.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Beau replies.
Is it really that simple? Take a risk and find a way? That’s how I always approach business, but Kate is more important than anything in my professional life. Jacob talked about risk and reward, which begs the question: What am I willing to put on the line for Kate? And after the way I’ve fucked up—will it be enough?
THIRTY-EIGHT
Kate
Hi Olga, I think I’ve got food poisoning. I’ve been vomiting. I won’t be able to make it down with the rest of the heads of department today. I’m really sorry. Best, Kate.
I press send, drop my phone on the sofa and cover my face with my hands.
I’ve never felt like such a failure.
Food poisoning was only a half lie.
For two days straight, I’ve been sick at the thought of leaving Crompton to go to London. Literally sick: heaving and vomiting. I have the headache to prove it.
Even though all the department heads will leave Crompton for the station in thirty minutes, ironically, the vomiting has stopped. But the sickness is still there.
I don’t think I ever realized the extent of my problems until faced with the prospect of boarding a train to London for what is, by all accounts, a phenomenal opportunity. It’s just a train ride. Why can’t I do that? I managed a helicopter with Vincent.
Is this my life now?
I want to go to London. I want the job as head of guest relations. I’ve always thought I don’t leave the estate very often because I don’t want to, but now? I want to leave. I want this job. I want to share in the excitement of going to a fancy hotel in London and understanding more about the world I’m about to enter.
But the terror? It won’t let me leave.
Why was Norfolk so easy?
Vincent.
Everything was easy with Vincent.
I miss him so much. Flashes of our weekend in Norfolk wheel through my brain. The firepit. The party. The beach.
The beach.
I run upstairs and rummage through my bedside table. I definitely put it in here. I feel it before I see it—the smooth, cold edges. I scoop it up and take it from the drawer. That the memento I have to remember our time together is a heart made of stone feels ironic, but I tuck the thought away and instead focus on the weight of it in my palm. How solid it is. I trace the veins of white quartz against the dark gray rock. It’s beautiful—the best present anyone ever gave me. The triptych of pictures of Crompton I left beside Vincent’s bed the night before he left is a very close second, but this…when we found it, this stone felt like it was made for us. At the time, I thought I was the white quartz that had unexpectedly twined my way into Vincent’s impenetrable heart, or maybe it was the other way around.