Desire Collection: December Books 1 – 4. Elizabeth Bevarly
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go. People to see.”
He knew she was lying, she could see it in the bleak expression that reflected back at her. Faye turned away. She couldn’t bear to see his disappointment and it irritated her that it mattered to her so much.
She grabbed her coat, scurried down the front steps to where Meredith had left her station wagon and started to take bags of groceries from the rear. Piers was at her side before she could make her way back to the house.
“You know you’re running away.”
“I’m doing nothing of the kind. I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, remember?”
“You’re running away,” he repeated emphatically. “But are you running away from me or from yourself?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not running anywhere,” she snapped and pushed past him to take the groceries to the house.
He was too astute. She’d always admired his perceptiveness in the workplace but she hated it when he applied it to her. Behind her she heard him grab the remaining sacks of supplies and follow her up the stairs.
She made her way swiftly to the kitchen, where Meredith was already taking inventory of what needed to be done.
He was close behind her, and as he brushed past he whispered in her ear, “Liar. I’d hoped you might change your plans and spend Christmas here with Casey and me. We don’t have to worry about anyone else.”
Words hovered on the edge of her lips—acceptance and denial warring with one another.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she eventually said, hoping she’d injected just the right amount of lightness into her tone.
“Faye, we need to talk. C’mon, stay. It’s Christmas Eve.”
The last three words were the reminder she needed. Christmas Eve. The anniversary of the death of her family. Shame filled her that she’d lost track of the days.
“I really need to go,” she said, her voice hollow.
Meredith handed her the set of keys to the station wagon. “There you go, Ms. Darby. There’s plenty of gas in the tank.”
“Thanks, Meredith. I’ll take good care of it, I promise. I’ll leave Mr. Luckman to explain why he needs all these diapers,” Faye answered, patting the bumper pack she’d carried in with the bags from the car.
Before Piers could stop her, she slipped out of the kitchen, through the main room and out the front door. The finality of pulling the heavy door closed behind her sent a shaft of anguish stinging through her, but she ignored it and kept going. It was the only way she could cope. She was used to loss. Used to pain. She’d honed her ability to survive, to get through every single day, on both those things. And, somehow, she’d get through this day exactly the same way.
Blue skies, sand and sunshine had never looked better, Faye decided as she opened the drapes of her sitting room on Christmas morning and stared out at the vista below. She’d paid a fine premium for this apartment with its tiny balcony overlooking the beach, but even though she’d chosen it because it was nothing like what she remembered of home, she never could quite shake off the memories.
Take last night. She’d started her movie marathon; the way she’d done every year since she’d lived alone. But for some reason the gory plotlines and the gripping action couldn’t hold her attention and in the end she’d turned off the player. At a loss, she’d sought out the box of precious possessions among her parents’ things. The entire household had been packed up and stored in a large locker after the accident and held for her until she turned eighteen—fees had been paid out of her parents’ estate.
This particular box she saved for Christmas Eve alone. Filled with photo albums of her throughout her childhood, starting as a baby, with her mom, then with her stepdad and finally the unfinished album with the precious few photos she had of her baby brother. He’d have been just over thirteen years old by now. Maybe he’d have been an irritating teenager, pushing his boundaries—or a sports star in his favorite game. Or maybe he’d have been more bookish and quiet like she’d been as a child. She’d never know. The empty pages at the back of the album were an all-too-somber reminder of the lack of future for baby Henry.
Last night’s visit to her past had reduced her to a shaking, sobbing mess, but when she’d woken this morning, instead of the yawning abyss of loss that had consumed her heart for so many years, she felt different. Yes, there was grief, and that would never completely go away. But overlaying that grief was a sense of closure, as if she’d finally been able to completely say goodbye.
She knew she’d never be able to stop thinking about her family, never stop loving them, but she felt less of a hostage to her grief than she’d been before. It was part of her. It had made her grow into the adult she was now and it had driven so many of her decisions, leading her to this point in her life. But maybe it was time for her to stop letting it direct her life. Maybe it was even time to let go of her grip on the guilt she felt for not having been able to avoid the crash that night. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be unhappy, after all. Maybe it was even time to take a risk on loving someone else again. Someone like Piers, perhaps, who now came with a ready-made family?
The thought struck terror into her heart, but before long she managed to push past it to examine the thought carefully.
The analytical side of her brain asked her if she thought she might genuinely be falling in love with Piers.
If she entered into a relationship with him, she’d be doing it with her eyes open. After all, she probably knew the man better than his own mother did. She’d been an integral part of his life for the past three years, managing both his work world and his private life in as much as he needed her to. And she admired him. He could so easily have been more like Quin. So easily have lived off the obscenely large trust fund that previous generations of Luckmans had provided for him, but he’d chosen to work and he worked hard. The business and residential property developments he’d undertaken since she’d worked with him had become among the most sought after anywhere in the world.
Yes, he had a playboy background and, yes, she’d seen how easily he discarded a lover when he’d felt a relationship had run its course. But he’d definitely been different since Quin had died. Quieter. More thoughtful. And, slowly, she’d begun to see yet another facet to him. One that had undoubtedly begun to unravel the bindings around her heart.
But was she actually falling in love with him or was she instead falling in love with the idea of being part of something bigger than just herself? A family? A new start? A chance to make amends for what she’d done?
Faye squeezed her eyes closed and growled out loud in frustration. So many questions. So few answers.
* * *
Piers returned from Wyoming in the second week of the new year. She heard his voice as he came down the corridor from the elevators and every nerve in her body stood to attention. She’d avoided all his calls since she’d left Jackson Hole, keeping their communications strictly to text messages and email. She’d sensed his frustration with her immediately but she hadn’t been ready talk to him. To hear the timbre of his voice. To relive the intimacy they’d shared—the memory of which still took her by surprise every now and then and stole her breath away.
But there was no hiding now. Any second he’d round the corner and walk straight into the open-plan area they shared.
And then there he was.
The impact of seeing him was just as shocking as she’d anticipated. A flush of heat spread through her body as her eyes flew up to meet his. She swallowed hard against the sudden lump that formed in her throat when she realized he bore a baby car seat in one hand, with Casey sound asleep inside it, and his briefcase in the other.
“Good morning,” she finally managed to squeeze