Rough patches happened, even in the best of relationships. Hadn’t I seen that before? Not just in my parents’ but in my colleagues, and in Lia’s and Asher’s.

  I peeked around the corner just in time to see Simon scan the room, his eyes roving hungrily before he bowed his head in disappointment.

  “Now for my last song. It’s brand-new. Not one I intended to play, but . . .” He trailed off. “Sometimes life changes. Sometimes you fall down.” He blew out a breath. “And sometimes, you take down the people you care about most in the process.”

  The chords were more complex—a testament to his growth as a musician. The minor chords settled over me. Simon liked to play with them—push them as far as he could go while remaining upbeat. This melody teetered on the edge of complete heartbreak.

  And then he began to sing.

  A cloud passed before the sun,

  On that day when we fell down

  Now, I miss your eyes and your smile

  I want to ask you just to sit awhile

  But the dark consumes me as the clouds rolled in

  On the day when we fell down.

  I didn’t catch the rest of the words. My heart hammered to loud.

  His face . . . the way his lips twisted and his eyes beseeched . . . he hurt, too.

  As much as I did.

  Why hadn’t I seen that?

  I didn’t want to see it.

  The last note faded, the crowd hooted and hollered, clearly unaware of how much of his soul Simon left in their ears tonight.

  “Thanks for coming. Have a great holiday.”

  Simon’s shoulders heaved and he lifted his left hand, standing fast enough to make his stool screech across the wooden stage. He strode forward, not even acknowledging the ear-splitting applause.

  I stood, too. My legs wobbled a bit, and I blinked back the strange black globs floating through my vision.

  “Simon.”

  He kept walking. Almost to the door. His shoulders rose again, as if he was breaking down.

  “Simon,” I cried, hurrying forward. I scuttled around a rowdy group of university boys and another older set of men who hooted as I bounded past.

  He reached the door. His hand grasped the knob.

  “Simon.”

  He disappeared through the door.

  It shut with a deep resonate thud.

  Like he’d just sealed our fate.

  No. No. He couldn’t be gone.

  18

  Simon

  I finished the set.

  I said some final words and waved. I strode off the stage and didn’t look back. I shoved my guitar into its case and snapped the locks before grabbing my coat. Shoving my arms into the sleeves, I picked up my guitar case and snagged my car keys.

  “Where are you running off to?” Angelica said, breathless, her eyes alight.

  “Home.” I paused, my fingers going numb. Except I didn’t know where that was anymore. I’d given up the right to my house in Seattle when I visited my lawyer.

  Shit. This was hard.

  “Don’t you want to know how the simulcast was received?”

  “No.”

  I headed across the narrow, wood-paneled room we’d used as a staging area for my minimal gear. I grabbed a water and downed it in a few thirsty gulps. As soon as I threw the bottle in the trash can, I strode toward the far side of the room with a door that led outside.

  “Not even if I tell you more than three million people watched live? And the comments on that last song . . . my goodness, Simon. I have shivers.”

  “Don’t care. I performed tonight for one . . . two people. No one else mattered.”

  I reached the door. My hand gripped the cold knob. I turned it, opening it to walk out into the rest of my lonely life.

  Her voice reached me, warming my insides even as the cold blast of wet English winter slapped my face.

  “I bloody well hope I’m one of the two.”

  I whirled back, my guitar case sliding from my fingers, my throat clogged with a thick, deep emotion. The bitter cold wafted through the door, causing me to shiver. I stepped back into the room, closer my wife.

  “Ella.”

  She stepped forward, too, and uncertainty boiled through the depths of her lovely eyes. “Was I? One of the people you played for tonight.”

  Desperate though I was to touch her, I fisted my hand. I couldn’t help moving deeper into the room where she hovered by the door leading into the pub. As if she might need to make an escape. From me.

  How could I go the rest of my life and not touch Ella? Not cradle her cheek in my palm? How would I survive without the ability to run my hand down her spine and cup her derriere, dragging her closer, then closer still?

  Why had I listened to other people when I knew, always understood that Ella was my love, my rock, my greatest passion?

  Pain lanced its way through my chest. No way I could ever, ever recover from this blow.

  “You’re the most important person. And Jeremiah.”

  Ella crossed her arms over her chest, which forced her small bump into prominence. “What about the baby? Ready to claim her yet?”

  I shoved the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to force the moisture back inside me. If I started crying, the tears would wipe me out.

  “I love her, too. I can’t wait to meet her and hold her and . . .” The tears streamed down my face. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. More would follow. “I don’t want to miss a moment of her life. If I could get out of my contract, I would.”

  Ella cocked her head to the side. Her hair slid across her shoulder, and I wanted to run my hand over its silky weight. My fists tightened.

  “The last time you cried was at your brother’s funeral.”

  I grumbled a little. “I’m not much for this kind of emotion.”

  “Did you mean that? Getting out of your contract?” Ella’s voice remained careful, her eyes watchful. I hated the chasm I’d created between us.

  This time, I snorted with rueful humor. “Asher told me fame and money weren’t all that great. I thought he was blasé—I mean, he’s a freaking legend with plenty of money in the bank to do whatever he wants.” I couldn’t help it. I had to step closer, to smell her subtle scent—the lavender she kept in the coat closet and in her clothes drawers.

  Ella plucked a tissue from her pocket and handed it to me. I wiped my wet cheeks and nose before shoving the soggy cotton into my pocket. I stiffened my shoulders and met her gaze. “But what I didn’t understand was I already had everything I needed and more than I deserved.”

  I stretched my hand out, my finger trembling as I ran the very tips down her cheek. Her eyes closed and a pained expression crossed her face.

  “I messed up. I know it. I can’t go back and change it. All I can hope for is that you can forgive me. That you’ll let me prove how much you mean to me.”

  The pause between us grew. I couldn’t take it. If she planned to tell me to get lost, I needed one last connection. One last kiss to keep me warm and yearning for the rest of my lonely, dark days.

  I leaned in, my head tilting right as she tipped her chin, dipping her forehead to the left. This, at least, was familiar. The shock of her lips zinged through me. Perfect. But different. Hers tasted of lemonade and a hint of ginger. I rubbed mine over hers, licking at the corners before sealing our mouths together. She clutched my coat low at my waist just above the rear pockets of my jeans. I moaned, desperate for her mouth, for her taste, for her love.

  With a tremulous noise, Ella opened for me. I pressed my tongue inside, my right hand cupping her head as I delved in, then again and again, seeking the succor Ella had always provided.

  Her tongue touched mine with a tentativeness that brought a growl to my throat. I didn’t want Ella timid. I wanted her vibrant and strong and the woman I’d fallen in love with.

  I pulled her tighter to my chest, my need for oxygen making me light-headed, but I didn’t release her.

  Not until light flutters skittered across my belly. I pulled back, and her hands fell to her sides. My eyes widened with the longing to feel my daughter move again.

  She did. Barely more than the lightest drift of wind. But I felt her. I dropped to my knees, my lips pressed to Ella’s stomach, my arms wrapped as tight as I dared around Ella’s hips.

  “Hi, baby. I’m your daddy. I can’t wait to meet you.”

  The baby kicked again, and I chuckled as I rubbed my cheek against Ella’s belly. She dropped her hands into my hair, connecting to me.

  “But maybe slow down on giving your mom such a hard time. We got lots of years to worry over you, okay?”

  Ella made a strangled noise, her fingertips touching her lips, her eyes filling with tears.

  “What? What is it?” I asked. My anxiety spiked. “Do you feel okay?”

  She met my gaze, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to raise this girl without you.”

  I pulled her tight to my chest, my throat working as another bout of emotion brimmed there. “You don’t have to. I’ll never ask that of you. I promise.”

  I glanced up at the soft sound across the room. I caught a glimpse of Jeremiah’s grin and Angelica’s back before the door that led into the pub clicked shut.

  19

  Ella

  I launched myself forward, hurtling too fast, but Simon caught me. As he had that first night of our honeymoon in Sonoma when I leapt from halfway down the staircase. As he had when I miscarried seven years ago.

  But this embrace was gentle, his arms absorbing my weight as he maneuvered my slight belly so it was cradled against his stomach.

  His nose found its spot in the curve of my neck and we both exhaled in a rush.

  “Ella. Shit, El, I’ve missed you.”

  “Simon.” I pulled him tighter to me, needing his strength, his warmth. Needing him.

  I soaked up Simon’s unique scent, the strength of the tendon and sinew that cradled me with such care. The soft rasp of his voice as he whispered his sorrow, his love into my skin.

  We stayed there, in that drafty back room in the pub, wrapped around each other for much longer.

  Finally, Simon pulled back, his eyes red-rimmed. “You need to get off your feet. Let me take you home.”

  “Back to your hotel,” I said.

  Simon shook his head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas. We’re going to your parents’. That is.” He dropped his gaze, suddenly unsure. “Do you think they’ll let me stay?”

  I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.

  Simon grabbed my hand, wrapping his much larger one around my fingers. He bent enough to grasp his guitar case and led me out into the late evening. Snow drifted in large, lacey flakes.

  “A Christmas snow,” I said with a smile.

  Simon tightened his grip. “Excellent. Miah and I can have a sledding rematch.”

  Simon opened my car door. I glanced around, shocked Simon’s was one of the only vehicles in the lot.

  Angelica popped up from a nice SUV nearby. “Jeremiah went home with your parents about an hour ago,” she said. “If you’re heading back with Ella for the night, I can pick up your luggage and deliver it to you tomorrow.”

  Angelica looked between the two of us, shivering slightly as the snow blew down the neck of her cashmere sweater.

  Simon looked down at me, letting me know without words it was my choice.

  “Yes, that’s lovely,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Angelica?” Simon said. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  Angelica shrugged. “I told you—I don’t really have anyone to celebrate with.”

  “You most certainly do,” I said. “You’ll have the day with us.”

  “I don’t want to impose,” Angelica said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  “That’s no trouble a’tall,” I said. “My mum loves to cook. There’ll be plenty.”

  Angelica’s smile lit up her face and the air between us, causing me to gasp in delight.

  “I’d really like that,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Simon said. “Thank you for all the help.” He turned toward me, ready to assist me into my seat.

  “It’s my job,” Angelica said in that gratingly cheerful voice.

  Simon closed his eyes for a moment before he met mine. “She’s probably not joking.”

  I choked back a laugh and settled into my seat with a sigh.

  My body ached with exhaustion, but my mind drifted, at peace for the first time in months.

  I turned my head to look at my husband when he slid into his seat, shivering a little at the dropped temperature.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said.

  He picked up my hand and pressed a kiss to my glove-covered palm, closing my fingers over the promise he’d made there.

  “I’ve been desperate for you.”

  I smiled as I closed my eyes.

  The car stopped, and I blinked with groggy intent.

  “Where are we?”

  “Your parents’ house.”

  “I fell asleep.”

  “Just ten minutes.”

  I made a movement to open the car door, but Simon placed his hand on my thigh. I shivered.

  “Shh,” Simon whispered. “I’ll get you.”

  He pulled me from the car, and I snuggled tight against his chest. “Promise you won’t leave me,” I murmured.

  He kissed the top of my head. “I promise.”

  After locking my parents’ back door, he climbed the stairs and settled me in the bed. He took off my shoes and pulled off my jeans before covering me with the sheet and blankets.

  I rolled over and pressed my body to his. “Love me, Simon.”

  His lips slid up my jaw to my lips. Our lips and arms clung to each other—our limbs a tangle. I ran my hands back up to his hair and giggled when the leather of my gloves caught in the strands. I pulled them off with my teeth.

  They fell to the bed as I tunneled my fingers back into his hair. Simon continued his assault on my jawline and throat. I hummed, enjoying the leashed urgency in his touch.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Ella. Neither you nor the baby.”

  “You won’t.”

  I moved my hands to his abdominals, sliding my palms up his stomach and chest. He heaved a breath, his eyes meeting mine. The desire there in those hazel depths flared brighter—as did his love.

  I needed that look, the soft touch of his lips and finger tips.

  “Don’t make me wait,” I whispered. “I need you.”

  “I need you, too, El.”

  He continued to touch, caress me. His lips followed his fingers across my heated, flushed flesh until I ached for him, writhing and clenching my jaw to keep silent. With careful hands, Simon removed the rest of my clothes. He stood, yanking off his shirt, pants and underwear with quick movements. He inhaled sharply, clearly trying to get himself under control, before he crawled back into the bed, kissing my shoulder, then down the slope of my breast.

  His hands fitted to my ribs, holding me close as he licked and nipped his way, murmuring love words. My chest heaved and my hands fisted in the sheet.

  On and on, he worshipped my body, bringing me close but never letting me fall over the peak. I scrabbled for purchase—to keep my world right as it narrowed to his hands, lips, tongue, skin.

  “I need you,” I murmured.

  “You have me,” he said as he entered my body.

  I heaved a sob, clutching him tighter.

  “Simon.”

  “I’m here. I’m right here with you, Ella.”

  He was. He held me as he loved me with gentle insistence. I strained toward him, trying to alleviate the tight coil of desire building.

  On the next thrust, my release slammed into me. Simon pressed his lips to mine, swallowing my cry. He slid out, in, grunted as his body tensed with his orgasm. We slid, boneless, and breathing hard, back to the sheets.

  He pulled both my hands up to his mouth and pressed firm kisses to my knuckles.

  “I love you, Ella. God, I love you. Being away from you slays me.”

  “I love you, too.” I yawned wide enough to pop my jaw. I winced.

  Simon chuckled. He climbed from the bed and padded naked to the en suite bathroom. I enjoyed the way the moonlight filled his dips in shadows, highlighting the ridges of muscle he worked hard to maintain.

  He returned with a cloth and insisted on cleaning me. After returning the cloth to the bathroom, he brought me my flannel pajama pants and candy cane tee. I slid into them, a decadence warming my blood at my lack of panties. Simon pulled back on his boxer briefs and returned to the bed. He wrapped his arms around my waist, tucking my back to his chest.

  We both shivered as the cool air from the room dissipated, replaced by our body heat. I snuggled in tighter, curling into the ball I preferred to sleep in these days.

  “Promise you won’t hurt me,” I whispered.

  Oh, Ella. I’ll move mountains to keep you from being hurt again.”

  Christmas Day proved low-key and much happier than I’d anticipated.

  Angelica showed up midmorning with Simon’s bags. Jeremiah’s eyes sparked to life when he saw them, his eyes brimming with hope when they raised to mine.

  “I love your father,” I said as Jeremiah stepped forward, settling next to me on the settee. “And he says he loves me.”

  Simon came and sat on my other side, picking up my hand. “I do. You, too, Jeremiah.” His fingers drifted over the slight rounding of my belly. “And this little peanut.”

  “What does this mean?” Jeremiah asked, his voice cracking.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I glanced up at Simon, not wanting to speak for him—unsure where we went from here.

  “Glad you asked,” Simon said, voice brisk.

  He squeezed my fingers before laying my hand back in my lap. He rose and went over to his bag where he pulled out a few presents. He settled them on the coffee table in front of me and his eyes darted to my parents, then Angelica’s. She nodded.