SHE KEPT MAKING the same mistakes, and if she continued down that path it would destroy her. So Mila kept to her word and focused on her work, ignoring the kiss that she’d shared with Jordan that morning—and its after-effects.
She called Lulu and explained that their event was now less than two weeks away and they needed to make sure there would be an event. She confirmed the details with Simon, informed the marquee supplier about the date, and called to tell the vendors the same thing. She soothed complaints, found alternatives, until eventually she was fairly certain that the event would take place.
She updated Mark, as the executor of the will, and emailed him records of all they had done to keep within the conditions of the will.
And then she braced herself for visiting her house again.
She had decided the previous evening that she would move out of Greg’s house. She should have done it the day after Jordan had returned. It would have saved her so much heartache. Now her heart pained her with every beat, and her mind was consumed by grief because he didn’t want her.
He wanted her physically, maybe, she thought, flushing at the memory of that morning, but not in any other way. And so, because she couldn’t live with the man who reminded her of everything she wanted and couldn’t have, she was going to live at the house where they’d started their lives together.
It was better that way, she told herself as she began packing a bag. She would start clearing the house, get it on the market, and once it was sold she would use the money to buy offices for her business.
She and Lulu had used to work out of the flat she’d rented before she got married and at Lulu’s home before Mila’s fall, but now she wanted something more legitimate. Something that would make her feel steady. Something that was her own.
It was also the only thing she could think of to use the money from the sale of the house for—taking it to live a lavish life didn’t seem right to her. And she knew Jordan wouldn’t want it back—it would be a slap in the face to him if she offered, when she knew that he’d done it because he had wanted to give her something. He had hurt her, yes, but Mila had no intention of doing the same thing to him. She was better than that.
That was another reason why she had decided to sort out the house on her own. Before she’d thought she needed him. That she couldn’t do it by herself. But as part of her resolution to move on, to only rely on herself, she would do it by herself.
Yes, her heart still thumped at the thought of going back to the house where she had lost her baby, but it was also the house where she had found out she was going to have him. It was the place where she had first felt him kick, where she had spent the only time she’d had with him. And although focusing on those positives almost made her reconsider selling—almost—she knew it would be for the best if she did.
And then, when the event was over, she would file for divorce.
She would move on from Jordan.
She packed the case with her essentials—she had enough clothing to last her until the event at the house—and dragged the case behind her to the front door. It rattled on the tiles, and then stopped. She turned back, giving it a forceful pull before continuing.
And walked straight into Jordan.
‘Hey!’ he said, steadying her, and she had a flashback to those hands on her waist, lifting her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to stay somewhere else.’ She knew it sounded snappy, but it was better than showing the need that heated her belly at her memories.
She looked up at him and saw the carefully blank look in his eyes.
‘You’re leaving,’ he said flatly.
‘I am,’ she said in the same tone. ‘It’s what’s best, isn’t it?’
She could almost see the gears grinding in his head as he thought, and she wondered what there was to think about. He’d made his choice. She’d made hers. That was it.
That was it, she reminded herself when something inside her lit up—just a little—at the thought of him wanting her to stay.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to the house.’
She saw the twitch in his eyebrow before he schooled his features again. ‘I’ll take you.’
‘No, no,’ she said quickly, feeling all her bravado fade at the prospect of going back with him. ‘I’m calling a taxi.’
‘No, you’re not.’
She would have been annoyed by his tone if she hadn’t seen that twitch in his brow again. She had grown familiar with his facial expressions when they were married—was even more so now, perhaps—and she knew he was upset, but was trying to hide it.
‘Please, just let me do this thing for you.’
The tone had softened, and she hated that her heart did the same. ‘Okay...’
She didn’t protest when he took the case from her hand, and she followed him to the car, getting in before he could open the door for her. She had had too many lingering touches from him in the past when he’d done that, and she wasn’t interested in repeating it now. Not when she was already warning her heart to stay behind the wall she’d erected the previous night after she had finished sobbing. That wall had already been threatened by their kiss that morning, and she refused to put it in danger again.
When they pulled into the driveway at the house she immediately turned to get out—and then froze when she felt his hand on her thigh. It was in no way sexual, but heat seeped through her and she turned back in the hope that if she did he would remove it.
‘Are you going to miss it?’ he asked, and pulled back his hand as Mila had hoped.
He was staring at the house now, avoiding her gaze, so she sat back and looked at it, too. It was beautiful, she thought, and felt a pang in her heart.
‘I am,’ she said carefully.
‘But it’s not the vineyard?’ he replied and looked at her.
She felt pinned by the look—especially since he had said exactly what she was thinking. The house she had lived in for the past year had begun to feel like more of a home to her than this place, where she had lived in with the man she had married. It was going to be hard to leave all that behind, she thought.
‘I walked in here for the first time and I thought this would be a great house for you to come home to. Your first real home. I wanted it to be special for you.’
And just like that his words carved another spot in her heart.
‘It was special,’ she said, ‘and it will always be my first home. Thank you.’
She wanted to kiss him in gratitude—a simple peck as she would have given him so often before—but she resisted.
‘I’d like to show you something.’
He got out of the car before she could answer and she followed quickly, unsure of what was going on.
‘I wanted to show it to you yesterday, but we...er...got a little distracted.’
He locked the car, and then held out his hand to her. It was a simple gesture, almost a reflex, but he stood like that until she walked over to him and carefully took his hand with her own. The warmth immediately gave her comfort, and she almost pulled away. She didn’t need to be reminded of how much Jordan made her feel at home. But then she looked up, saw the impact simply taking her hand had had on him, and left it there.
You’re hopeless, she berated herself.
But still she followed—perhaps because she thought it was for the last time.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, to escape her thoughts.
‘You’ll see,’ he replied, and she felt him tighten his grip on her hand.
It made her sad, and she wasn’t completely sure why. They walked in silence, and when they reached a gate that Mila had never seen before Jordan took a key out of his pocket.
‘Wait—this is the Gerber place.’ Mila let go of his hand and placed hers lightly on his arm.
‘It used to be,’ he answered, and then pushed open the gate.
It didn’t make any sound as it opened—confirmation to her that it had been recently put there—and Jordan gestured for her to go through. The plot was vast and green, as though completely unaffected by the coldness of the season, and a bridge led over the stream that ran around the whole property.
He held out a hand to help her cross, even though she saw that the bridge was fairly sturdy. And she took his hand, needing the contact to help her soothe the sudden anxiety in her stomach.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’
‘Trust me.’
She stood at the base of the bridge, looked at the sincerity in his eyes, and felt the wall she had prided herself on erecting and then maintaining completely disintegrate. She nodded, unable to speak, and they walked over the wooden bridge together.
She ran her free hand over the railing, forcing herself to focus on its design—anything to keep her mind occupied with something other than how much she loved him. It was a perfect example of the traditional charm that all the Stellenbosch properties had—just as the barn they were walking towards now was.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Mila asked softly.
‘This is the latest Thomas property.’
‘You own this place?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How? It must be recent, because I didn’t once see or suspect that the Gerbers were selling their property.’
‘They weren’t planning on selling it, but I managed to convince them.’
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and the gesture made him seem less rich-vineyard-owner and more handsome-husband. Though his words implied that he had very much played rich vineyard owner to get the property.
‘When?’
‘About a year ago.’
‘A year ago? But that was—’
‘Just before your fall?’
She nodded, and he continued.
‘Yes, it was. I was going to surprise you with it after you gave birth.’
‘With what? Another property? We didn’t need that—’
‘With the Thomas Events venue.’
Her mind took a moment to process what he was saying, and the moment she did she felt the heat of tears in her eyes.
‘The Thomas Events venue?’ she repeated, and hated it that it sounded so right. Hated it even more that Jordan had been trying to make another dream of hers come true.
She wished with all her might that things could have worked out between them. Her life would have been absolutely perfect then! She would have had a place to go home to, a husband who loved her and a baby who needed her and to whom she would have given the world.
‘I thought it was time your business had a home,’ Jordan said when she didn’t say anything. ‘I had the barn redone so that you could host events there—weddings, conferences, anything you wanted—and I was going to turn the house into an office. You could meet your clients there, do mock-ups—even turn one of the rooms into a baby’s room, if you wanted.’
‘I...um... Wow...I...’ She took a deep breath, and pulled her hand away from his. ‘This is... I don’t know what to say, Jordan.’
A tear slid down her face and he took a step forward.
‘I didn’t want you to be sad. I just wanted to—’
‘What?’ she asked, grasping for anger instead of pain. ‘You wanted to show me another thing I don’t have?’
‘No! No, of course not,’ he said quickly, his eyes wide. ‘I wanted to show you this because it’s still yours. I want you to have it.’
‘I don’t want it,’ she snapped, and another tear rolled down her face. ‘I don’t want any reminder of the life we will never have together.’
‘Mila—’ He stepped forward again, opening his arms, but she took a step back away from him.
‘No, Jordan! You don’t get it, do you? I can’t do this with you any more. I can’t pretend that we’re friends, or whatever we’re pretending to be at the moment.’ She took a shaky breath and impatiently wiped at her tears. ‘I need to move on. I am moving on. The minute this event is over, I’m gone. Far away from this place—’ she threw a hand out ‘—from the house I lived in as your wife and from the vineyard that started this whole thing in the first place.’
She looked up at him and choked out her next words.
‘I’m filing for divorce and moving on from you.’
She bit her lip, trying to compose herself as the words tore her heart into pieces.
And then she said slowly, ‘I don’t want you to show me things I’ll never get to enjoy. And I don’t want you to show me a person I’ll never get to be with.’
‘No, Mila—wait,’ he said when she turned to walk away, and she heard anger and something else coating his voice with gravel. ‘You had your say, so now I’m having mine. I showed you this because it’s yours. I don’t care what you call it, or if you accept it or not. I bought this for you. So that you can understand how much I care for you and how much I believe in you.’
Care, she thought. Present tense. Before she could caution herself against it, she felt hope reignite.
‘You can move on, move away, Mila, but this place will still be here when you get back.’ There was a momentary pause, and then he said, ‘It’ll be waiting for you just like I will be.’
He took a step closer and lifted her chin until she was looking at him.
‘I don’t care whether it’s a year or ten years, whether we’re married or not, I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘Why?’ she whispered, before her mind could give her permission to speak.
There was barely a moment before he answered, ‘Because I love you.’
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her in, silencing her protests even before his mouth found hers. It was similar to the way she had kissed him two days ago, she thought hazily, and she wondered if his reason was similar, too—to show her that they mattered.
But she was already too lost in the taste of him to think any more about it. Her body was thanking her for something—someone—it had longed for but never got in the last year. And yet still she could feel a part of her resist—the sane, rational part of her that wanted to protect her poor already broken heart—and in response she felt his arm loosen around her.
He was giving her an out—telling her that she could leave the embrace if she wanted to.
But that only made her want him more, and barely a beat after he’d offered her a way out, she found herself pressed against him again. His arms went around her, tighter this time, and his mouth took hers more deeply, hungry after the possibility of stopping.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think in his arms, and she poured all the love she felt for him into the kiss, turning it from desperate into tender.
He eased away, and then looked down at her, his eyes heavy with need. ‘I love you, Mila.’
Hearing the words again was like a slap. ‘Stop!’ She pulled herself away from him completely and felt the tears come back. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Of course I mean it,’ he said firmly, almost angrily. But the look in his eyes was...fear.
‘If you really meant that, Jordan, you would stop being afraid of sharing with me and tell me about your childhood. About your mother and your father. You would want to tell me about it.’