Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
“Don’t call him that.”
Lio grunted. “Sorry.”
“I was so fucking selfish,” I said, rubbing my hand over my face. “What he must have thought of me.”
I didn’t correct Lio’s assessment of how drunk I was. It was easier to let him think I could hardly remember that night than to admit I remembered it all: The desperate plea in my voice. The calm look of tender pity in Jon’s eyes. The feel of his hands on my body as he carefully unbuttoned my shirt only moments before racing me into the bathroom to vomit.
My face flushed with embarrassment as though it had happened last night instead of years ago.
“You’ve never given up on anything in your life,” Lio insisted. “Banks loves you. Find him. Talk to him.”
I knew Jon loved me. He loved me like one loves an errant but earnest child. Like one loves a longtime coworker with whom they’ve shared hundreds of inside jokes. Like one loves a benevolent employer.
Meaning: not anywhere close to the kind of love I wanted from Jonathan Banks.
“I’ve tried. He won’t answer my calls.” The lump in my throat grew to threatening proportions. “He didn’t even say goodbye. Just thanked my father for his years of employment and said it was time to pursue a new dream. Time to move on.”
“Really?” Lio asked, sounding suddenly perky. “He said it like that?”
Across the baggage hall, an older man in a dark suit held a sign with my destination on it. I began walking in his direction.
“That’s what Dad said. But I’m not sure what it could possibly mean. Jon’s dream has always been a simple one: To have his own vegetable-and-flower garden. A dog. Peace and quiet. That’s it… that’s the dream. I’ve told him a million times we could move anywhere in the world to make that a reality. I can work from anywhere. I just wanted him to be happy.”
“He’d never ask you to go out of your way for him.”
“Or maybe his dream just didn’t include me,” I said lightly, like acknowledging that truth didn’t rip my heart from my chest. I took a deep breath and made eye contact with my driver, giving him a slight nod to indicate he had the right passenger.
“Could he have had a different dream? Something you didn’t know about?”
If he’d asked me two days ago, I would have assured him there was nothing I didn’t know about Jon. His fondness for schedules and dislike of movie remakes. The growl in his voice when I teased him for either. The precise scent of my pomade when he applied it to my hair, which was so much different and better than when I applied it myself.
But now Jon was gone, and I wasn’t sure of much anymore.
I handed my rolling suitcase off to the driver. “There was one other thing he mentioned a long time ago.”
“What was it?” Lio asked.
“He always wanted to take the Blue Train through South Africa. He wanted to go on safari.”
2
JON
I stepped onto the platform and took in the long line of sleek blue train carriages with a clean white stripe down the sides. Being here was bittersweet. On the one hand, I’d never expected to actually make it to my dream holiday. On the other, I’d only pulled the trigger on such an extravagant expense to get me as far away as possible from the man I loved.
After all these years, I never expected the final straw would be something as benign as a fancy-dress fundraiser, but it was.
As I’d helped him with his costume that night—a simple white tank top and baseball cap wig—Iggy had vibrated with excitement. He’d chosen it to create a stir, and as usual, once Iggy fixed his heart on something, nothing on earth would shake him. He’d considered that night’s costume his “funniest, sexiest” idea to date.
But as I stepped close to apply the large “No Ragrets” tattoo to Iggy’s waxed upper chest and prepared to watch him walk out the door without me once again, I began to feel the deep, soul-crushing irony of the tattoo’s message.
Had I stepped forward another few inches, the tip of my nose would have fit perfectly into the dip between his collarbone, smelling his Jo Malone Whisky & Cedarwood cologne and feeling the warm comfort of his skin against mine. I’d imagined it so often in recent years that it felt familiar. Right. Even though it was impossible.
When I’d come to work for the Corbridge family, I’d never imagined feeling this way. Back then, my charge had been a teen boy who was more legs than sense and had a mouth ten times bigger than he was. I’d felt more like a babysitter than a valet—a six-year veteran of the British Army, tasked to keep the chancellor of the exchequer’s son from getting into trouble.