December 2017

MARK

Wide-eyed, she stares at me. We're only a few feet apart physically, but mentally we might be on different pages completely. I wait for the heartbreaking pattern to appear. The one I've seen too many times. First in Spain, then several times since. Every time I think we might be going somewhere, she shuts down on me. The barrier protecting her heart shoots up.

I can't blame her. There is only one thing she's ever asked of me, and I've never been willing to give it to her. Until now.

"Someone tried to mug him. At knife point." I keep my eyes on her, forcing my vision to concentrate on the blonde beauty right now and not the glint of metal from last night.

"Who?" Her brow furrows. "Ben?"

"No. Ed."

Realisation strikes her. It strikes her so hard that she stumbles back and grabs onto the door for support.

"That's what happened last night?"

I nod. "They didn't hurt him. Didn't get anywhere near him. But we were leaving a club and it was so similar to a night where you'd been out with us. The guy jumped us. I put myself between him and Ed, but all I could think about was you. And how you might have been there on a different night."

The colour drains from her face. Here it is. I'm witnessing it in real time. The panic. The withdrawal. The barrier.

"Attempted muggings don't scare me. Knives don't scare me—even though one of them killed Ben. What scares me is losing the people I love."

I broke protocol last night. If someone had behaved the way I'd behaved, they'd be fired. It's one of the reasons I accepted the leave of absence without challenging Jeremy on it. Because I recognised the poor decision-making. I'd known Ed was safe, so I'd engaged with the guy. Tackled him to the ground. Neutralised him. Waited until he was in handcuffs.

One less knife-wielding prick on the streets.

Ed was never in danger, but that was beside the point. Protocol dictates that you let the assailant have what they want because the priority is the principal's safety—not justice.

But with Ed safe, my priority became justice. And now I've achieved two things that I've struggled with my whole life: I've kept someone safe, and I've removed a dangerous criminal from the streets.

I should feel happy. Accomplished. But I don't, because in amongst all of that, my mind was full of Zoe. And now the fog of avenging Ben has lifted, everything is clear.

"We deserve a chance, Zo. Me and you."

"What was last night?" She's still leaning against the doorframe, knuckles white as she clutches the wood.

"Last night I needed you." I'd feel guilty if she wasn't one hundred percent on board with the whole series of events. "I needed to feel you. To love you. To know you were safe and alive. The first time anyway."

A faint blush colours her cheeks. I can't stand this distance anymore. I throw off the covers and stalk towards her.

"Please." I cup her jaw and tip her head back until our eyes meet. "Just give me a chance."

Sighing, she drags a trembling hand through her hair. "Can we get lunch tomorrow? Talk it over?"

Fuck. She needs time to think about it. To think about how to let me down gently. This is exactly why I fucking despise communication. Because words are weapons that blow open the most vulnerable parts of us.

"Don't look at me like that. Mark, you know how much you mean to me. I just think we need to have a conversation about what kind of...relationship we're both looking for. Given that we have jobs that will take over our lives."

"Okay." I don't take my eyes off her. "We can have a conversation."

We don't need a conversation. I'm thirty-seven. I know what I want, and it's not defined by a label. In my eyes, it's simple, but Zoe isn't me, and her last two relationships have no doubt shaped her view of them. I have to be sensitive to that.

"So, tomorrow lunch?" she repeats. "I don't want to be distracted thinking about my interview."

"Okay."

I leave it there, and just hope that she doesn't change her mind in the next 24 hours.

*

She doesn't change her mind, but she does change the plans. I'd booked us a table at a restaurant Ed likes—it's quiet and intimate, so we can have a personal conversation without the awkwardness of an audience. Then, just as I'm flicking through my assortment of tops, wondering at what point my wardrobe became 85% white shirts, she texts.

Zoe: Don't feel like eating out. Can I come to your place?

My jaw clenches. She didn't get the job. They're idiots. How much money has she made for them? Is it because she's young? A woman?

I loathe texting, but if she's upset then I don't want to put her on the spot by calling.

Me: Yes. Come whenever.

Zoe: I'll pick up some food en route.

Me: Don't worry about it. Got plenty in — I'll cook.

Zoe: I don't want to put you out.

Me: You're not. See you soon x

I stare at the tiny x for about thirty seconds, then delete it and send the message. Now isn't the time to be blowing the cobwebs off my romantic side.

I'm about forty minutes from the hotel, which gives me plenty of time to make a risotto—sans mushrooms because she clearly needs cheering up. While I stir the rice, my mind whirs with a kaleidoscope of emotions. I've shared Zoe's celebrations and disappointments for eleven years now, and every time it feels more personal. Today, I can barely function through the intense heartache. The nausea destroys my appetite.

Autopilot helps me finish the risotto, and I leave it simmering on the hob as I pick out a white shirt. Why did I bring up a relationship the day before her interview? It's an added stress she doesn't need. I should have waited. Exercised patience.

My stomach is in knots when I answer her gentle knock. I should get her a key. Yes. That's a good idea. We used to live together, after all.

Dressed in a black knee-length dress, she offers me a shaky smile. Her make-up is still immaculate, so hopefully that means she hasn't been crying.

Just as my nerves settle, she steps into my flat and tilts her head up to look at me and say, "Can I kiss you?"

All I can do is nod, because I used that exact same line two days ago, and if she's using it for the same reason I did...

Her dainty fingers sink into my shoulders, and her soft lips brush mine. I kiss her back at her pace, slow but intense. My fucking head won't switch off, though, sifting through a list of potential motivations for it, ones that range from a goodbye to a distraction.

When she pulls away, her hands slide down the front of my shirt, nails scratching over the buttons.

"Lunch smells good," she says.

"Risotto."

Her eyes light up, and my heartache lifts. At least I've done something. She lays the table while I plate up. The routine is familiar, even though we never had a dining table when we lived together. I could suggest moving in. Although she might not want to do that if we're going to give a real relationship a try. It didn't exactly work out the first time.

"You okay?" she asks when I set both plates down and take a seat.

"Worried about you."

Her shoulders sag. "Sorry. I just didn't feel like going out. The interview took a weird turn and I'm still processing."

"What happened?" I pick up my fork even though I don't feel like eating.

She sits back in her seat and scrunches her mouth. "They told me straight-up that they're uncomfortable with my age. And, ironically, they used Teddy as an excuse as to why they need someone more experienced sitting at the top."

"Are they fucking serious? We stay there so often because of you. Did you tell them that?"

She frowns. "Of course I did. But that's been my trump card for three years. The fact is, you're a well-established and loyal client by now."

"Fuck that." I scoff and drop my fork. "We can easily go elsewhere. Anywhere you end up, Zo, we'll follow."

Tenderness touches her eyes as she smiles. "You should be thinking about Teddy. Not me."

"I am. His safety is reliant on trust and familiarity. That lies with you—not the walls of the building."

She hums in acknowledgment and takes a sip of water. "Maybe."

"No. Not maybe. Definitely. Now more than ever."

Silence falls between us. She starts to spoon risotto into her mouth, and I watch her eat for several seconds before finally tucking into mine too.

"They did offer me another job," she then says lightly, but her knuckles whiten around her fork. "In a different hotel."

"Perfect. Take it, and we'll ditch The Portman and join you there. They'll soon see the money follows you. That's all they care about."

Logistically it's not ideal, but I can make it work. If Zoe shares the floor plan, Jeremy and I can brainstorm the best arrangement. Fuck, after this week's shit show, maybe we'll even look at a more permanent solution.

"It's in LA."

My racing mind skids to a halt. "LA? As in... California?"

"Yeah." She closes her eyes briefly and reopens them with a tired sigh. "A sister hotel. They want me to bring it up to speed. Similar to what I did in Spain that time, but on a larger scale."

"Is it a permanent role?"

I need the facts. The full information. Then I can decide how the fuck I feel about this.

"A one-year contract." She pauses. Bites her lip. Flicks a glance up at me. "As Hotel Manager."

And then I decide I don't care how I feel. It's there for her. Within touching distance. Her dream. The pride in my heart almost overpowers the ache at her leaving.

"Zo... You have to take it. Fucking prove to them you can do it. And this time you get to do it from the ground up. Your hotel. All yours. That's what you've always wanted."

She slides her fork back and forth through her risotto. "I know. The timing is just crap."

"Why? Because of what I said the other morning?"

Her shoulder twitches in a half-hearted shrug. "Part of me wants you to tell me not to take it."

"I'm not going to stand in the way of your dream job, Zoe. I respect you too much for that." I clear the growing lump in my throat. "Besides, we can still see each other. Ed is over there in a couple of months to work on a film."

She sets down her fork and leans back in her chair, shoulders slumped in defeat. It's a lot for her to take in. Even without the complications of us, moving to the US is a huge life change.

"I love you." Her eyes turn glassy. "I want to be with you. Every day. But we can't have that, Mark. And I can't have half of you."

I scrub a hand over my jaw. "Isn't half of me better than nothing?"

"JJ cheated on me. Multiple times. Richard left me even though we were engaged. If I've never been good enough for anyone while living in the same country as them, how can I be good enough when there's five thousand miles between us?"

Irritation battles with sympathy inside me. Those two dickheads hurt her, and now she thinks she's the problem.

"Zoe—" I start.

"I think I need to take this job for my own self-worth. To prove I can do it. To prove I'm good enough. For something, at least."

I reach across the table for her hand, laying my palm over her knuckles. "It kills me that you don't see how good you are. At your job. At being a loyal girlfriend. At being a decent human. Don't let those two men fool you into believing you're not good enough. You are too good, Zoe. If you weren't, I'd be selfish and ask you to stay."

A tear spills from her right eye and trickles over her cheek. Immediately I scrape back my chair and round the table.

"Come here." I tug at her elbow until she stands. Her slender arms wind around me to hug my waist, her head dropping onto my chest. "I'm so proud of you, Zo."

"I love you," she mumbles into my shirt with a sniff.

"I love you, too." I smooth a hand over the back of her head. "We'll make this work."

While her tears soak my shirt, I tilt my face up towards the ceiling, closing my eyes to keep my own pain at bay.

***

Thank you for reading :) xx

***

Timing is never on their side 💔 But they're determined to make it work! 

In better news, Zoe finally has her promotion--even if it comes with a significant relocation. We'll soon meet Jarrod, who may end up being one of those characters you love to hate / hate to love 😉