‘Are you sure? Because when I’m myself, and I try to ask you questions, you shut me down.’
She had a point, but she was also being a little unreasonable.
‘I spoke to you about my mother today.’
‘And it was like pulling teeth.’
‘What do you want? A therapy session? Would you like me to bare my soul to you?’
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ she snapped, reaching for her wine and taking a sip before replacing it on the table with enough force to slosh the liquid against the edges of the glass like a roiling ocean.
‘I don’t want to,’ he said, wishing the words sounded slightly less accusatory.
‘Fine, then. So, it’s just sex.’
But that characterisation sat ill in his gut. ‘Jane—’
‘No, it’s fine. It’s just good for me to know, so I can personally do a little less of the soul baring.’
He ground his teeth. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘This is my problem, not yours.’
‘What problem?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Jane—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She stood up and paced towards the railing, turning her rigid, straight back to him, staring out in the direction of Crete. He looked at her for several beats before pushing back his own chair and striding in her direction.
She whirled around as he approached. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
She was hurting. He’d hurt her. He shook his head, unable to accept that. ‘I’m sorry.’
She glanced away. ‘Don’t.’
‘This is different. Everything’s different with you. I don’t know what I’m doing, either.’
That had her eyes slamming back to his with a ferocity that almost knocked him backwards.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve been making conversation, asking questions about me, my life. That’s fine. You’re not the first woman to be curious.’ Her cheeks flushed pink. ‘But you are the first woman I’ve ever felt like I wanted to be honest with. To actuallytalkto. Not as a means to an end, but because there’s something addictive about you. And that scares the hell out of me, Jane.’
‘Scares you?’ she repeated, her eyes on him like he was a puzzle she desperately wanted to break.
‘I don’t like things in my personal life to be unpredictable.’
She frowned, her features shifting, softening. ‘Because of your mother?’
His first instinct was to deny it. Hehatedto discuss any of it. He’d built walls around his pain, and he liked having those walls there. They kept him safe, secure, able to function in the world. Because deep down, he knew that nine-year-old he’d once been was still a part of him, reeling from the very idea that his mother, the woman he loved more than anyone on earth, could possibly be so sick.
How could he deny it to Jane, though? Because it wasn’t just his mother. His father had further pulled the rug out from under him with the revelation of his infidelity and secret child. The sense of betrayal was immense.
‘I don’t trust easily,’ he said after a beat. ‘And yet, I find myself wanting to trust you, Jane. Why is that?’
Her eyes widened and her skin paled, almost as if it was the last thing she expected—or wanted—him to say. ‘I don’t know.’ A whisper, and then she reached for his hand. ‘But it’s something we have in common. I mean, after Steven, trusting anyone has been almost impossible for me, but with you…’
