“What’s your problem, Jagger?”

  He avoids my eyes, his lips creasing with a twisted smile.

  “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

  “What are you talking about, man?”

  I take his face in my hands and gently tip it up. His gaze shifts to me.

  “She’s here for you.”

  “I don’t need her pity.”

  “She loves you, man.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says increasingly annoyed, and I drop it.

  He winces again.

  “You want me to call someone?” I ask as he looks more and more uncomfortable.

  “Yes. It’s starting to hurt really bad.”

  I pull up, and he cuffs my wrist.

  “Go home... I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

  I turn to him and give him a hug.

  “Call me, all right?”

  He nods, and I rush out of the room looking for a nurse.

  15

  VIOLET, New York

  Weeks Later

  “Any questions?”

  The people in the conference room stay silent, their eyes roaming over their tablets.

  “Okay then. If you need any help, ask. Everything needs to be done by next Wednesday.”

  The team of writers leave the room when my phone buzzes with a message.

  I swipe the screen, and a picture pops up. Liv and Jonas on a beach in Bali. She laughs as if he just told her a good joke, his arm curled around her shoulders, his lips planting a kiss in her hair.

  Life is good in paradise, the caption says. And then I check the next picture. A blue stretch of clear water and a pristine beach. A few more photographs offer snippets of Bali, their beautiful hotel suite and their horse riding in the sunset.

  Grinning, I glance away. The gray winter smirks at me from outside the window. My smile dies out.

  A soft knock on the door makes me spin around.

  “Braxton Wellington will be here in five minutes,” Roxane says.

  “You mean Doug Wellington,” I mutter, sliding my phone on my desk, and taking a seat.

  “No,” she says, resolute, and I shift my gaze up to her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. He called minutes ago. He said you need to get ready.”

  Typical Braxton.

  I grab my phone and call him. He doesn’t answer. Why am I not surprised.

  “Did he tell you what I need to be ready for?”

  “He didn’t say, but he told me to clear your schedule for today, and tomorrow. He said you’re not gonna be back in until Monday.”

  “He did?” I ask, tilting my chin down to hide my smile. “And you listened to him?”

  Roxane stays quiet, and I flip my gaze up. Nervous, she plays with the waistband of her skirt.

  “I’m still your boss,” I say.

  She lets out a gasp.

  “I know, but he’s your boss,” she mutters, making an effort to keep her face straight.

  I look down at my phone, pushing back a grin as I check Liv’s pictures again.

  “Okay, tell him to...”

  A soft rustle draws my gaze back to the door.

  “Never mind,” I say as my eyes lock with Braxton’s.

  Smoothly, she walks out of the room. He closes the door behind her and swaggers to me.

  He wears a suit, a dark, long coat, draping on his shoulders. His eyes sparkle like ice, his clean shaven skin bitten by the cold outside.

  I toss my phone on the desk and rise out of my chair. He stops in front of me, tenderly grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. He doesn’t say a word, only smiles and holds my eyes, and I turn to mush inside.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” I say softly, and a warm grin lights up his face.

  “I missed you,” he says, and my heart flutters.

  “I missed you, too.”

  He takes my face into his hands and gives me a kiss.

  He smells like winter.

  “Where are we going?”

  His lips curve into a full mouth grin.

  “Wherever you want,” he says, playfully.

  “Are you going to romance me?” I ask, smiling.

  “That too,” he says, a naughty grin pushing to his lips.

  Two hours later we finish dinner. Ten minutes to nine the limo stops in front of my building.

  He steps out of the car and holds the door open for me, his gaze steady on me.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, then,” he says.

  Snowflakes whirl in the air, some getting caught in his lashes.

  “You wanna come upstairs for a drink?” I ask, and a grin lights up his eyes.

  “I thought you'd never ask,” he says, and motions to the driver.

  He takes my hand and leads me to the entrance. The doorman slides the door open for us, smiling warmly.

  We stride across the lobby and enter the elevator. I press the button for the third floor and lean against the wall, studying him in silence.

  A soft smile clings to his lips.

  Moments later, I invite him in. I show him to the living room and fix a couple of drinks. He peels off his coat and jacket and sits on the sofa, his arm stretched on the back of it.

  I glance at him a couple of times.

  “So how is he?” I finally tackle the topic we’ve been dancing around the whole evening.

  I hand him his glass, and run my hand over my skirt before I take a seat next to him, and cross my legs. I take a sip and set my glass on the table. Out of the corner of my eyes, I register his gaze roving down my body.

  I swing my eyes to him.

  “He’s good. Physically. He’s done great these past weeks.”

  A shadow rushes through his gaze.

  “And other than that?”

  He looks down and softly shakes his head before he takes a swig of bourbon.

  “He’s dwelling.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “He won’t open up to me. Not in the way he used to. He’s not the same man, in some respects, and I expected that, and yet I didn’t think it’d be so hard. Whatever happened that night he has it buried deep inside him. It’s like a weight he’s carrying around, that drags him down. He can’t talk about it, and I understand that, but he also doesn’t want to talk about you or us, and I mean him and me. There’s a big part of him missing, and no matter how much he tries to act as if everything is okay, things will not be the same until he accepts the new reality and finds some closure. I want him to heal. I want to be able to love him again even if he’s scarred, even if there’s lingering pain in him for a while. It will help him if he lets me close to him again. ”

  “He knows you’ve come to see me?”

  He nods.

  I lower my eyes.

  “He doesn’t know you don’t let me touch you, though,” he says.

  I whip my gaze to him.

  “How is that helping my cause?”

  “He doesn’t hold anything against you,” he says, and my head spins a little.

  “How can you say that, Braxton? He was angry because I left, and then he was furious because I slept with you in New York, and then he thought I came to the hospital in London merely because I felt guilty. How is that not having something against me? And in all fairness, how does it all look? Like crap, if you ask me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to change that perception. I trusted you because I wanted to believe that things would get better, and here you are. You can’t even figure him out.”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

  “How? Tell me how? That horror happened while we were both away from him, fucking. How would that have made you feel? I, for one, would’ve felt betrayed.”

  He flicks his eyes to me.

  “What happened to him couldn’t be prevented or foreseen. It was meant to happen.” he says, his voice bleeding sheer anger. “Why? I have no fucking idea. It didn’t make any sense, and he sure didn’t deserve it. Nobody does. Trust me. If I could change anything about that night, I would, but it wasn’t in anyone’s power. He said he didn’t want your pity because he’s a very proud man. The hours we spent together didn’t make a difference. Trust me,” he says, yet I have a hard time believing him.

  “You say he would’ve reacted the same way whether I had broken up with him or not.”

  “Yes, I believe so. He told me he didn’t want you to see him that way. It had to do with him, not you.”

  “Not many people do that.”

  “I know, but he’s not like other men. I would’ve probably done the same thing. To protect you.”

  “What about you? He didn’t mind you around him.”

  He shrugs.

  “I don’t know why he did that. Maybe he’s going to tell me one day.”

  He empties his glass and sets it on the table.

  “I should go,” he says, and rises to his feet, no trace of a smile on his face.

  Suddenly, I sense him cold and distant. He pivots to pick up his jacket, and I grab his hand. His gaze slants to me. We lock eyes, his fingers lacing with mine. His skin is soft and warm, his touch gentle.

  “Stay with me tonight,” I say with a quiet voice.

  A sad smile curls his lips.

  “I don’t want your sympathy either, baby,” he says.

  I slowly shake my head.

  “It’s not. I need you, and I miss you as much as I need and miss him, and I happen to believe that if one of us falls, the other two can bring him back. I want him back as much as you do. I’m willing to wait. I know he’s going to be a different man, and I know he’ll be scarred, but he may also gain a different perspective on things and life, and maybe we can make him love us again. We owe him that,” I say, and take his hand and bring it to my face, and then I kiss it.

  He smiles, his eyes glistening with emotion.

  VIOLET, New York

  His hands are soft. His touch is tender. His back sinks into a pillow as I roll my naked body on top of his. In a trance, he watches me covering him with kisses. I trail his lips and cheeks, his chest and abs. I love him with all my heart, bringing back all the emotions I’ve tried so hard to bury these past few weeks.

  Curling my hand around his neck, I start to kiss him. He gently cups my face and stops me. His eyes burn. His lips quiver.

  “What are you doing Violet?”

  Warmth spreads over my face. He pulls up and leans against the headboard while I straddle his lap. His arms go around my body, and my hands cup his face.

  “I need to hear it, baby…” he says softly, his eyes darting back and forth. “And if we do this, it can’t be only one night,” he murmurs.

  I lower my mouth and claim his lips, yet I still sense his reservation. He gently breaks the kiss.

  “Violet?” he breathes out, his eyes rooted on mine.

  I run my fingers across his lips, and then on his face.

  “The reason I stayed away from you all this time had nothing to do with you. It’s hard to love someone when half of your heart is bleeding,” I say, and his eyes narrow, quickly getting hazy with pain and sadness.

  “You’re not the only one who feels that way and yet I wanted to have you in my arms, again,” he says, and tears well up in my eyes. “I love you, Violet,” he says, softly stroking my hair.

  “I love you too,” I say, kissing his palm.

  He searches my eyes for a moment.

  “If you do, you have to let this thing between us and live its course no matter what happens in the future, with him or us or all of us.”

  He locks my eyes, observing me. I nod.

  “I will.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am,” I say.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I can’t get used to the idea that he’s gone.”

  “He’s not gone. It will take time, baby, but he’ll come around. Trust me,” he says and buries me in his arms.

  “You’re a good friend. Despite how everything looks right now,” I say, and we share a soft chuckle.

  “I’ve never planned to fall for you,” he says.

  “How did that happen?”

  He stretches a soft smile.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He studies my eyes for a moment and then laughs softly.

  “It’s not romantic or anything... so you might not like how it sounds.”

  “Try me,” I say.

  “I was hit hard when I caught you and Jagger that day at the beach house....but... but...” he says, grinning as I pull my lips into a tight line, “you really got me that night at my birthday party.”

  His smile fades away, a shadow rushing across his face before he continues.

  “I knew something had happened to you that night, and it made you vulnerable and beautiful, and possibly unaware of how insanely powerful was the chemistry was between us. I sensed that you were loyal to him, but you let me close to you, and that’s what made me fall so hard.”

  “That night was a special night for me,” I say, and he gives me a warm smile.

  “Let’s make them all like that,” he mutters, and smoothly locks my lips, rolling me under him.

  16

  JAGGER

  Ibiza, Spain

  The sun lays warm hands on me.

  Sprawled in the chair, I look up at the sky. Not far from me, the waves break against the shore. The water is still cold, and yet it’s so tempting.

  Braxton’s voice drifts from the house.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’m good.”

  I shift in my lounge chair and shield my eyes from the sun, taking him in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Braxton?”

  He grins and stays quiet.

  “Come here!” I order.

  He tosses his phone on the kitchen table and walks outside. He slides into a lounge chair in front of me and plops his legs on the patio table.

  “What the hell were you doing?” I ask, smiling. “All secretive and shit.”

  “Why do you have to be so nosy?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Braxton!” I say jokingly.

  He peels his T-shirt off and drops it to the side, and then he flexes his arms and clasps his hands behind his neck, stretching and hardening his muscles. A distraction, by all means.

  Clever, he pulls his eyes shut, peeking at me through his lashes.

  “I’m waiting,” I say, throwing my straw at him.

  He laughs and flips his eyes open. His smile sparkles against his bronzed skin.

  “I was texting,” he throws at me.

  “Who were you texting?” I ask, annoyed this time.

  “Violet.”

  I shift my eyes to the sea, and silence falls between us.

  “How is she?” I ask after a while.

  “Good,” he says softly.

  I turn my eyes to him.

  “What were you texting about?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You.”

  “I thought she was your girl now,” I say mockingly.

  His eyes pull into a line.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “She works for me.”

  “Hmm... She does? Is that what it’s called?”

  A muscle ticks in his jaw.

  “Why do you have to bust my balls?”

  “I’m not... Girlfriend ends up with his best friend. How unusual it’s that?” I grump.

  “She didn’t end up with me,” he says, pissed and I smile.

  “Did she or did she not warm up your bed when you were in New York last week?” I ask, grinning, and he finally de-tenses.

  “Someone had to do it,” he says, throwing me a suggestive look.

  “Are you complaining?” I ask, sliding my fingers through my hair.

  His gaze sweeps my abs.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The doctor said I couldn’t make any effort until my wounds healed,” I say, smiling slyly.

  “And what’s your excuse now?”

  “I thought you were all set... Now that you have a girlfriend and what not,” I mutter, teasingly.

  “Stop saying that!”

  Irked, he pulls out of his chair and dives into the pool. I watch him wave down to the clear bottom and then surface at the other end.

  The water is light-blue like the sky and his eyes. I swing my gaze back to the sea. The spring is almost here. The almond trees are already in bloom. Fluffy, white flowers cover the backyard and the island.

  The air is warm today, and now may be as good a time as any.

  I push out of the chair, grab a blanket, a towel, and a few clothes, and I head for the beach stairs.

  “Where are you going?” he shouts, pushing himself out of the pool, and I rush away, laughing.

  “Jagger?”

  He sprints after me.

  “It’s too cold,” he says behind me as he catches up with me on the beach.

  “Don’t be a fucking pussy.”

  “I’m not. It’s too cold for you. You’re no longer used to it.”

  “I’m fine. In the meantime, you can light up the fire,” I say pointing to a pile of ashes and a few dry pieces of wood sitting at our old place.

  I toss everything on the sand, grab the back of my T-shirt and pull it off me.

  His eyes go to my scars. One ragged line marks my flank and two crisscross on my shoulder. A smaller one stretches on my left arm.

  “I’m getting those tattoos tomorrow.”

  “That’s not why I was looking at them,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with them. You can barely see them anyway.”

  My hand flicks in the air.

  “I know. I just don’t want to see them.”

  He sinks to his knees and starts working on the fire.

  “Don’t go far.”

  “Leave me alone,” I say, chuckling.

  Soon the water grows up to my chest. It’s cold indeed, and goosebumps cover my chest and arms. A dull pain flows through my arm and shoulder.

  I fill my lungs with a gulp of air, and submerge, pushing the water under me. Within seconds, silence surrounds me.