‘What? When?’
Libby’s tired mind played catch-up.
‘After the baby’s born.’
‘Of course you aren’t!’
She should never have left Sonya alone at a time like this. Her friend’s voice held a strain.
‘No. I mean I want to stay home with the baby. I’m not coming back after my maternity leave. I know it means leaving you in the lurch, but I want to sell my share of the company.’
Libby reeled. ‘I understand. Of course you want to be there for your tiny human.’
But I’ll miss you.
Tears threatened, closer than ever to the surface. She swallowed them down, hating the selfishness that had enabled her to leave her heavily pregnant friend in the first place, and now bemoaned her decision to be a stay-at-home mom.
Sonya rushed on. ‘I won’t pull out straight away. I’ll give you a chance to find someone you can work with. There’s no rush.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. You just focus on you and the baby. I’ll miss you, though.’ The last words were choked out past a constricted throat.
She wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all her best friend.
‘Libbs, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to feel pressured to return to work, or to feel obligated.
‘I understand.’
Did she? She’d spent long career-focussed years trying to forget Callum’s death and her own misery. Cheated, she’d closed down that aspect of her life, denied herself sex, relationships, even friendships in case they wandered from the friend zone into something too close to what she’d once had with her fiancé. What she couldn’t risk feeling again. But could she call it happiness? Living?
Libby clutched her stomach, holding in the emotion that threatened to send her running for Heathrow Airport. What would she do without Sonya? Her dry sense of humour and her shared passion for cute shoes? They were a team. The best team. But her friend was moving on…her life was transitioning to the next phase…whereas Libby had purposely withdrawn from the well-travelled path.
Things shifted, became distorted as if being viewed through a cracked mirror. The wedding, her dream—all so trivial.
‘Libbs? Are you okay?’
She pressed the heel of her hand to her throbbing eye socket. ‘Yes. Just a bit surprised.’ She forced the wobble from her voice. ‘And missing you, I guess.’
‘I miss you too. Look, I’ll help you find a new partner, if that’s what you want,’ said Sonya. ‘I’ve even mocked up an ad. I’ll e-mail it through for you to take a look.’
‘Don’t worry about any of that now. You just concentrate on resting.’
A sigh she was powerless to stop stuttered from Libby. This was real. The end of an era. The end of the only good thing Libby had left in her life.
But Sonya didn’t need any extra burden. Libby forced joviality into her voice. ‘I found the cutest little outfit for the baby—just wait till you see it.’
She needed to hang up before the floodgates opened and she sobbed down the phone, begging Sonya to stay.
Sonya’s relief brightened her tone. ‘Send me a picture. So, what’s the sexy Englishman got planned for you for the rest of the week?’
Libby spoke without thinking, her mind still fogged with sadness. ‘I’m going to France.’
Sonya’s gasp brought Libby back to the present. ‘Ooh, la-la. So not fair. I’m a whale, stuck here with the dreadful humidity, and you’ll be swanning around Paris.’
A feeble laugh. ‘Hardly.’
Pressure built behind Libby’s eyes. She scrunched them closed, breathing through her nose. She could no longer hide her true emotions from her friend.
‘He’s invited me to a wedding.’ Her throat shrank, hot and achy, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I don’t think I can go, Son…’
‘Oh, Libbs.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘Have you told him why?’
‘No.’ It was too personal for a business associate. And that was the label she felt comfortable with. But weren’t they more than that? Their relationship was blurring around the edges… He’d said no more games…
‘Well, you don’t have to go—come home.’
Home. But without seeing Sonya every day, would her New York life even feel like home?
‘Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s time to focus on you,’ said Sonya. ‘Callum would want you to be happy.’
Libby nodded, although she knew Sonya couldn’t see. Her silence spoke of understanding without the need for words.
What was happy? And where did she search for it? It had been so long since she’d considered the possibility she’d convinced herself that this—her job, her cat, her friends—were all she’d ever need. But life changed. She knew that better than anyone. Her best friend was moving on. They’d still be there for each other, but it wouldn’t be the same. She was truly happy for Sonya. But how could she stay the same when everything was shifting under her feet?
‘You’re right. I just don’t know how to do it.’
‘Libbs… Don’t overthink it. Go to France, drink champagne.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Have a glass for me.’
Libby sniffed, smiling despite herself. ‘Okay.’
‘Will you be okay?’ Sonya’s voice dripped with concern.
Libby injected her tone with a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘I’ll be fine. Thanks for being there.’
‘Always.’
‘Promise me you’ll rest?’
‘I will. Promise me you’ll try to do what I said?’
‘I will. Love you.’
They ended the call.
Libby sat staring at the twinkling lights of the city, her forgotten tea now as cold and unwelcoming as her tumble of thoughts.
Libby opened heavy eyelids, the splash of cold water on her foot startling her from a sun-warmed slumber. Alex stood at the foot of her sun lounger, rivulets of water caressing his tanned, muscular body, which was covered only in a pair of black swim shorts, their wet fabric clinging to his thighs and the bulge of his crotch.
Libby licked dry lips. He was Adonis. Standing on the terrace of this fairy-tale eighteenth-century French château, complete with turrets, he looked as if he’d come from a movie set—or the pages of one of Vinnie’s beloved magazines.
She smiled. Her outlandish assistant would pop something if he could see her now.
‘Come in. It’s warm.’
Libby curled her toes, checking the reality beneath her feet. The whole day had held a surreal quality. A private jet ride from London to the south of France, a waiting car to drive them to this breathtaking château, a delicious brunch on the terrace where she’d met Isabel and Henri, the bride and groom, and now Alex—wet, practically naked—luring her to the pristine blue waters of the estate’s swimming pool.
She took his outstretched hand, allowing herself to be pulled from her lounger and into his now familiar embrace. His wet body slid against hers, raising goosebumps, his searing kiss turning her from warm and sun-kissed to hot and achy.
The château, owned by Jack and Isabel’s maternal grandfather, had fourteen bedrooms, half of which were occupied by the wedding party.