‘He told you that, or you decided it?’
Mila’s face was clear, but when she spoke her voice was ice. ‘It was Greg’s decision. Do you think your father’s friends would have kept quiet about it for me?’
She waited for his answer, but it didn’t come. He was too busy processing her words.
‘He didn’t want you to come home until you’d decided to.’
‘You should have called me,’ he said, his voice low, dangerous.
‘If you hadn’t been so determined to put as much distance between us as possible—if you hadn’t let it cloud your judgement—you would have known that you should have come home even though I didn’t call you.’
Her voice was a mirror of his own thoughts, and if her words hadn’t pierced his heart Jordan might have taken a moment to enjoy—perhaps a better word was admire—this new edge to Mila. But he was too distracted by the emotion that what she’d said had awoken in him.
Had his desire to escape the pain of his marriage blinded him to what he should have known? That he should have come home?
‘So you’re back because of the will?’
Her question drew him out of his thoughts—drew his attention to her. He took a moment before he answered her.
‘Yes, that sped up my return to Cape Town. But I’m here for good.’
Jordan watched as her left hand groped behind her, and he moved when he realised she was looking for something to keep her standing. He caught her as she staggered back, his arm curved around her waist. His heartbeat was faster than it had been in a long time, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he’d really wanted to stop her from falling, or if he’d put himself in this awkward situation because...
He stopped thinking as he looked into those hauntingly beautiful eyes of hers that widened as they looked up at him. The love that had filled them a long time ago had been replaced by such a complexity of emotion that he could only see surprise there. And caution.
Her brown curls were tied back into a ponytail, making her delicate features seem sharper than they’d once been. But maybe that was because her face had lost its gentle rounding, he thought, and saw for the first time that she’d lost weight. Pressed against hers, his body acknowledged that her body felt different from what he remembered. The curves he’d enjoyed during their marriage were now more toned than before.
He wished he could say he didn’t like it, but the way his body tightened told him that he would be lying if he did. The lips he had always been greedy for parted, and his eyes lowered. Electricity snapped between them as he thought about tasting her, about quenching the thirst that had burned inside him since they’d been apart...
They both pulled away at the same time, and again Jordan heard the smash of glass against the floor. Pieces of a wine bottle lay mingled with pieces of the glass Mila had dropped earlier, and Jordan belatedly realised that he’d knocked it over when he’d moved back.
‘I’ll get something for that,’ she said, hurrying away before he could respond. But she didn’t move fast enough for him to miss the flush on her face.
He stared at the mess on the floor—the mess they’d made within their first minutes of reuniting—and hoped it wasn’t an omen for the rest of the time they’d spend together.
* * *
Mila grabbed the broom from the kitchen cupboard, and then stilled. She should take a moment to compose herself. Her hands were still shaking from the shock of seeing Jordan, and now her body was heated from their contact.
She hated that reminder of what he could do to her. Hated it even more that he could still do it to her, even after everything that had happened between them.
Why had he touched her anyway? She hadn’t been going to fall—she was pretty sure about that. It had just been the prospect of him staying—her stomach still churned at the thought—that had shaken her balance. And then, before she’d known it, she’d been in his arms, feeling comfort—and something else that she didn’t care to admit—for the first time since the accident that had ruined their lives.
She took a deep breath and, when she was sure she was as prepared as she could be to face him again, she returned to the living room.
And felt her breath hitch again when she saw him standing there.
He was leaner now, though his body was still strong, with muscles clearly defined beneath his clothing. Perhaps there were more muscles now, whatever excess weight there had been once now firm. His hair was shorter, though it was still shaggy, falling lazily over his forehead as though begging to be pushed aside. And then there was his face...those beautiful planes drawn into the serious expression she was becoming accustomed to.
‘We need to do something about the house,’ he said when he saw her, and moved to take the cleaning items away from her.
But he stopped when he saw the expression in her eyes—the coldness she had become so used to aiming at him to protect herself from pain—and she bent to pick up the pieces of glass.
‘I’ll be leaving in the morning,’ she said, grateful that he couldn’t see her face as she tidied up.
The idea of going back to the house that reminded her of all that she’d had—and all that she’d lost—made her feel sick. But what choice did she have?
After Jordan had left, she hadn’t been able to be alone in the place where it had all happened. So she’d escaped to their beach house in Gordons Bay for a few months, before Greg had asked her to move in with him. But the divorce meant that she no longer had any right to stay there, and since she had been renting before they’d got married the only thing she had was the house she’d lived in with Jordan. It was in her name after all.
But what did that matter when she couldn’t bring herself to think about what had happened there, let alone live there and having to face the memories over and over again...?
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ he said.
Sure that she had got to all the pieces of glass that could be picked up by hand, she stood. ‘Not the only thing, maybe.’
She wondered how she could speak so coolly when her insides were twisted. But then, she was used to saying things despite her feelings. How many times had she bitten her tongue or said the thing people wanted to hear instead of saying what she really thought? The only difference now was that she was actually being honest.
‘Fine.’ The word was delivered through clenched teeth. ‘There is something else. Did you put him up to the ridiculous conditions of his will?’
Anger whipped through her, and she barely noticed her hand tighten on the dustpan.
‘No, Jordan, I didn’t. I don’t want to own a house with you, and I don’t want to plan an event with you.’
I just want to move on with my life.
He didn’t say anything immediately. ‘I don’t want that either.’
‘But we’ll have to.’
‘Because you want your half of the house, the vineyard?’
‘Because if we don’t you’ll lose your half of both, too.’
He didn’t deny her words, though she knew by the way his face tightened that he wanted to. It wasn’t so much at the truth of what she said, but at the fact that it was the truth. How could Jordan explain the fact that his father had left his house—and his share of the vineyard—to both his son and ex-daughter-in-law? For someone who valued logic as much as Jordan did, having no explanation for something this important must be eating at him.
‘I’m going to contest the will.’
The part