2. Two

Two

I t's dark by the time I pull up outside the wooden double gates at the entrance to the drive. After taking a few wrong turnings down a couple of country lanes, I've surprised myself that I managed to get here. I've only ever been here once before after all—as a passenger—and didn't pay too much attention to the route. The last time, Art drove.

Art.

My heart twists with sadness.

He has to be here.

Please let him be here.

Before I get a chance to buzz the intercom, the gates open.

I put my car into first and creep up the winding drive. The house stands in shadows against the darkness. A deep breath of relief leaves my body at the sight of the familiar grey sports car parked up out front .

As I pull up beside his car, I realise I haven't really thought the next bit through. What am I going to do now? Knock on the door and explain to his mum that Art and I have had a bit of a falling-out and ask to speak to him, please? How embarrassing—not to mention, juvenile.

There has to be another way. My eyes drift to the side of the house.

The cold night air clings to my arms and legs as I climb out of the car and walk across the gravel drive. Lush green lawn stretches onwards in the darkness, and no fence or gate means it's easy access to the rear. Cold, dewy blades of grass tickle my toes, and I wrap my arms around me to try and keep warm. My light jumper and shorts are no match for the chilly evening air as I hurry to the back garden.

I round the corner of the house, relieved to see the paved patio and line of stepping stones Art led me across the last time we came. Nerves swipe away my relief as I head across the path towards the hedge of conifer trees. I've found him, but I've no idea how he's going to react to me turning up like this.

My heart leaps in my chest. He's sitting on the bench, bent forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped tight together.

What do I say first? Where do I begin?

Sensing my presence, he lifts his head, and I'm hit with a flurry of fresh nerves. His face is partially obscured by darkness, so I can't tell whether or not he's pleased to see me, which isn't helping. I take the fact that he hasn't told me to leave as a positive sign. But now that I'm actually here, my brain's not working in tandem with my mouth. There are so many things I need to say, but no words come. I take a steadying breath in and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as I head towards him.

His dark eyes follow me. His mouth is drawn into a tight line, giving me no clue how he feels. I don't know how this is going to go.

Goosebumps prickle across the bare flesh of my thighs as I sit down on the cold wooden bench beside him. A tense energy zaps between us, and my stomach tightens with anxiety. We could be strangers right now. How is it possible for us to sit so close yet feel so far apart ?

Silent seconds tick by into strained, unbearable minutes. One of us needs to speak, and I know it should be me.

I'm about to when Art sits up and tears his jumper off over his head. He yanks down the khaki T-shirt that's ridden up over his abs and offers me his jumper.

I stare at the black cashmere in his hand.

"You'll freeze," he mutters without looking at me.

"But so will you."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Just wear the bloody jumper, Sophie," he snaps, clearly in no mood to be tested.

"Thanks," I say quietly.

I take the jumper from his outstretched hand and slip it on, wishing it were his arms wrapping around me instead. The cashmere is soft and warm from his body, and it smells of him. I ache.

Art resumes his hunched-forward position on the bench, and I feel him retreating. I need to start talking.

"You're right; I haven't told you about everything that happened between Theo and me." I sit back on the bench and fold my arms. "He convinced me that the way he behaved—controlling what I wore, who I saw, not letting me go anywhere without him—was all about love. That he did those things because he cared about me. At first, if I had a go back at him, he'd sulk and blank me for days, make me feel as if I were the problem. In the end, he wore me down, I suppose. Life was easier if I went along with what he wanted. When Lucy and Mum tried to tell me how he treated me wasn't right, I defended him, thinking they were wrong because they didn't know him like I did. I truly believed that he loved me, and that was just his way of showing it. I couldn't see things for how they really were, how he really was … until the end." I stop and take in a deep breath to steady myself.

Art frowns. For the first time since I arrived, he looks at me, and I can see him trying to mentally piece things together .

"You told me he made you black out the one time, and then you left. What else did he do?"

Now, it's my turn to look away.

"He started drinking heavily the last six months we were together. The first time … that night he came home really drunk from work, I was in bed." I pause to give myself a few seconds. "He pestered me for sex. When I told him no and I tried to fight back, he got aggressive. I couldn't stop him." My voice is as cold as the night air. I've no room for softness; otherwise, I'll fall apart.

"I confronted him the next morning, but he said I must have dreamt it because he wouldn't do something like that to me. Because he loved me. At first, I was in shock and then denial. I told myself he'd been drunk, so he hadn't known what he was doing, as if that made it any better. At the time, it seemed easier than to face up to the fact that I loved someone who was capable of doing that to me." I look at the bed of forget-me-nots beside my feet, which appear even bluer in the fading light.

"But it didn't stop there. It happened the next time he came home drunk and the next. I stopped going to bed to see if that would make him stop, but I was more of a challenge when I was fully clothed. He got rougher and rougher. When he made me black out, it was the final straw. I waited for him to go to work, packed up my clothes, and left."

Art sinks forward and rakes his fingers through his hair. My throat aches with pent-up emotion, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I can't look at him. If I do, I'll burst into tears. I haven't cried about Theo in a long time, and I'm not about to start now.

It feels like forever before Art speaks, and when he does, his haunted voice threatens to undo me.

"The bastard raped you." He drags a hand down his face in shock. "Fucking hell. No wonder your parents—"

"They don't know," I cut him off. "No one does."

"No one?"

"No one. "

"You've carried this all by yourself, all this time?"

"You're not the only one who wants to keep their past in the past."

"Sophie …" He trails off, his voice gentle. I can't take it.

I bite the inside of my mouth to stop the swell of emotion in my chest from overtaking me. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can't bring myself to look at him. I know his gaze will be full of pity, and I couldn't bear it. Not from him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you. I should have by now. I know I'm the world's biggest bloody hypocrite after having a go at you for not telling me stuff about your past. I was wrong. I wanted to tell you, but …" I bite my lip as a traitorous solitary tear slides down my cheek. My hard-fought composure cracks along with my voice as I admit my greatest fear, "I was scared … I was scared you'd think less of me."

"No, no, no, no …" Art murmurs, shaking his head. He turns his body to mine and slides an arm around my back and the other beneath my knees, scooping me onto his lap and into a warm embrace.

I close my eyes and bury my face into the cotton of his T-shirt, cocooned in the safety of his arms. The relief that he knows tips the wave of emotion I've been holding at bay and takes me by surprise. Art rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair, holding me as heavy sobs rack through my body. He clutches me tightly to his chest, as if he dare not let me go. I don't know how long we sit like that. Eventually, I stop crying and feel warm lips press against my forehead.

"I understand," he whispers into my hair. "But I don't think less of you. How could I? It's not your fault this happened. Nothing in this world could ever make me think less of you, Sophie."

I look at him through watery eyes. He cups my face and sweeps my tears away with his thumbs. Dark eyes search my face, but instead of pity, they're filled with admiration. "To go through what you did and carry it all by yourself all this time … you're so brave and strong." His jaw tightens with regret. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I reacted like I did and took off. I didn't know what to think when I first read the letter. I mean, it's clear he's still in love with you. I hated the thought of that, but now …" He shakes his head, his gaze hardening. "Now, I know what he put you through, and he's got the fucking nerve to ask you to meet him …" Red-hot anger flashes in his eyes like a warning flare. "That bastard's going to pay for what he did."

I panic. The days of me wanting Theo to get his comeuppance are long gone. I want to forget about him. I've spent the past three years trying hard not to think about him.

"I don't want revenge; I don't want anything to do with him. If we ignore him, he'll go away. I probably won't hear from him again."

There's no way I'm telling Art about Theo's phone call to Mum. Not right now. It certainly wouldn't stop him from wanting to punish Theo.

"I can't let this go. Not after what he did to you …"

"No." I entwine my fingers through his. I've heard of Art's aggressive, reckless streak. I don't want him to lose his head and do something stupid. "This isn't about you. Theo's from my past. I want to keep him there. I'll ignore him, and he'll get bored and disappear back beneath the rock he crawled out from."

He stares down at our hands and brushes his thumbs across my knuckles. "How does he know where we live?"

"I don't know, but I don't want you getting involved."

"I'm already involved, Sophie."

He's not listening.

"Promise me you'll leave it."

"You're asking me to do the impossible."

"Promise me," I press.

Several long moments later, he lifts his eyes to mine. "I meant it when I said, no one's ever going to hurt you again. If I ever clap eyes on him, I will kill him, Sophie. But if you're asking me not to …"

"How would you get away with that? If something happened to Theo, they'd probably suspect me, wouldn't they? And then you. Do you want to go back to prison? Do you want me to have to deal with that?"

He slowly shakes his head, like he can't believe what he's about to say. "Even though it's going against every fucking instinct, I'll leave it. For you, I'll leave it. "

He seals his promise with a lingering kiss, and I drink him up. So much has happened in the last few hours. I've missed every single inch of him.

He pulls away and rests his forehead to mine. We both stare down at our fingers, still linked in my lap.

"Thank you for telling me. I know that must have been really hard for you. Are you okay?"

I nod. "I feel better than okay. It's like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders." I look at him. I feel bad about not telling him about Theo calling Mum and Martin, but now's not the time. "You've got all of me, you know? Every last part."

"I know I do." He brushes the tip of his nose against mine. "What a fucking day."

I heave a weary sigh and relax against his chest, closing my eyes. "I'm exhausted."

He kisses the top of my head. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you smell a bit weird."

"Oh, that's nice. Thanks for that. It's your jumper I'm wearing."

He laughs softly. "No, not bad, just odd. A bit like disinfectant or something."

The distinct, pungent medical smell hangs in my nostrils and clings to my clothes. I open my eyes. "I went to the hospital this afternoon."

"What do you mean, you went to the hospital this afternoon?"

There's no denying the panic in his voice.

I sit up and look at him. "It's okay. It wasn't for me. After I got home and realised you were gone, Mum called. She thought Martin was having a heart attack and asked me to meet her at the hospital."

"Shit. A heart attack? Is he okay?"

"He didn't have one. It was angina, apparently. He's on the mend. They told him he was lucky."

Art glances around the garden, digesting what he's just learnt. "Do you want to go back to the hospital? Is your mum okay?"

"It's fine. He's getting some rest and doing well. Mum was obviously a bit upset at first, but she's okay now that she knows he's going to be all right. "

Art briefly closes his eyes and frowns. "I'm sorry, Sophie. I should have been there for you. Instead, I turned my fucking phone off."

"You weren't to know. It's not your fault." I slide my hand in his. "You're here now."

"That's not good enough. I should have been there when you needed me. Instead, I drove off in a rage like an arsehole."

I can hardly throw stones. I jetted off to another country.

"Don't beat yourself up about it."

"I wanted to be on my own for a while," he carries on, not listening to me. "I turned my phone off because I needed some time to think."

I look at him. "And what conclusion did you come to?"

"About what?"

"You told me that whenever you have a problem, you come here, and you always leave, knowing what to do."

"That's right; I do."

"So? What did you decide to do?"

"Go back home and talk to you. Because it doesn't matter how we argue or how angry I am, I'll always love you." He slides his arms around my waist and gives me a squeeze. "If I'd have done that at the start instead of leaving, I would have been there when you needed me."

"It doesn't matter. You're here now," I insist.

"I'm fucked off with myself."

"I can see that."

"I feel like I've let you down."

I curl my hand around his neck and kiss him slowly, taking my time, savouring the taste of him. We're both slightly breathless when we pull away.

I smile. "It worked."

"What did?"

"The kiss. It shut you up."

"Any kiss from you is guaranteed to shut me up. "

I stroke my fingers across the back of his hand. "I told Mum we're engaged. Well, actually, she noticed my ring."

"Was she pleased?"

"Very. It cheered her up after the day she had. She was going to tell Martin before she left."

He beams. "That's great. I'm glad she's happy."

"She was always going to be. They both think you're wonderful."

He tightens his grip on me and smiles. "And Mum thinks you're wonderful."

I close my eyes and sink back against him. Everything is almost perfect.

A few seconds pass before he mentions her. "Tell me that you didn't really believe I'd fucked Ash."

The familiar way in which he says her name annoys me, but I let it go. I'm really not in the mood to talk about her, but I know it's something we need to discuss.

I lift my eyes to find him watching me carefully.

"No. Not really, not deep down," I admit. "Big Steve came to the apartment to talk to you and told me you weren't at the club, where you'd told me you were going. I'm not going to lie; I was a bit suspicious, but when I couldn't find you, I was seriously worried something bad had happened. I didn't follow you. I drove round half of London, trying to find you. I went to Savage because I was desperate and worried. I never dreamt you'd actually be there."

He rubs a hand through his hair and looks awkward. "I was going to tell you that I'd met up with Ash after I got home. I knew if I told you first, we'd end up having an argument before I could leave."

"Yes, we probably would have," I admit. "Why did you meet her?"

"She'd tried to call me a few times over the last couple of weeks, but I'd ignored her. She's from my past, and like you, I've no desire to go back there. But when she kept ringing, I decided the only way to get her to stop was to speak to her."

"What did she want?"

Art strokes his thumb over the back of my hand. "She needed my help. She's getting a divorce, and she needs to find somewhere else to live. "

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "Why did she think you could help?"

"She knows I've got some contacts, and she needs to move out pretty quickly."

I disliked Aisling Lonergan before I could put a name or face to the woman who had seduced him into a world of domination and kink, and now that I can, everything's magnified. There's something about her that I don't trust—aside from the fact that she and he have history.

"Why does she need to move so quickly?"

"Things are rather acrimonious between her and her husband, and it doesn't help that they're both still living in the same house. She needs to get out." He glances at me. "It turns out, he found out about me and her but didn't confront her at the time. He's just kept tabs on her for the past few years."

"You mean, she's had other affairs?"

"A few. She said she stopped going to Savage a year or so ago, but by then, it was too late. He knows she's been unfaithful and is using that against her to file for divorce."

And they say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! Looks like Aisling's soon-to-be ex-husband didn't like being taken for a mug.

"Why Savage? Why did you meet her there?"

His shoulders roll into a shrug, as if it were nothing. "I dunno. She suggested it. I went with it." He gives me a look as if he knows what's going through my racing mind. "Apart from the obvious, it's like a normal club, and she's a member even though she doesn't go anymore. We sat and talked in the bar. We both said how weird it felt to be back there. That chapter of her life has closed, just like it has for me."

I still don't trust her. "So, did you help her out?"

"Yeah, this guy I knew at Oxford, Gabe White, owns a property development company. I put her in touch with him."

I realise this is beginning to sound like an interrogation. "Have you got to see her again?"

He frowns. "No, I haven't, but even if I did, it shouldn't matter."

Does he really not get why I don't like her ?

"It's not you I don't trust; it's her. She seduced a client, sticking two fingers up to her professional ethics and values because she wanted you. Why the fuck would she care if you're engaged? Why would that stop her? She put her career and marriage on the line to be with you time and time again."

He fixes me with a firm look. "She helped me, and now, I'm helping her. Nothing more."

"Helped you? You'd just lost your dad, and you'd just come out of prison. You were vulnerable," I snap.

"I was an adult. I knew what I was doing."

"She took advantage of you."

He exhales slowly, and I know his patience is wearing thin. "Listen, I know seeing us this afternoon upset you. I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I should have told you before I left. I thought … I thought I was doing the right thing, but whatever happened between me and her is in the past. We're just friends now—and barely that. I don't want us to fight over this, Sophie." He grips my hands tight. "I spent most of this afternoon telling her all about you and how happy I am that we're engaged. She was happy for us both."

My mind rewinds back to the look she gave me this afternoon. She certainly didn't seem very happy to see me, but there's no way I'm going into that now. He already thinks I'm overreacting.

"You've got absolutely nothing to worry about with Ash—with anyone for that matter. You're mine, and I'm yours, remember." He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "For as long as we both shall live."

"Don't ever forget it," I remind him.

He solemnly shakes his head and kisses me. "Never."

Uneasiness continues to gnaw away at me. Ghosts from both our pasts have reared their ugly heads, and I'm not sure how things are going to unfold. There's nothing I can do but watch and wait.

"Penny for them? "

I shake my head dismissively. "Oh, nothing much. It's just been a full-on day." I rub my hands down his arms. "You're cold," I say, changing the subject.

"As long as you're warm, it doesn't matter."

"Are you two okay out here?" a female voice enquires from behind us. I twist round to see Barbara emerging from the darkness, clutching a floor-length, button-down floral dressing gown around her and holding a torch. Gold-framed spectacles sit on the edge of her nose as she peers at us through the darkness. "I thought you'd be here."

"We were just talking," Art says.

"You should come inside. You'll freeze."

"Actually, Mum, we're going to head home."

He glances at me, and I smile gratefully. After the day we've had, I want nothing more.

Barbara shakes the torch and her head with it. "No, no, I insist. Come inside, and I'll pop the kettle on and make us a nice, warm drink. We can have a chat about your engagement party."

Art told me she'd insist on throwing one. Before we can object, Barbara's already making her way back up the path, shining the torch to light the way across the stones.

Art squeezes me. "I'm sorry," he says once she's out of earshot. "I think she's a little bit excited. And when I say a little bit, I mean, tremendously, and when I say excited, I mean, ecstatic."

I smile. "Really?"

"Yep. I think she'd given up all hope and resigned herself to the fact that I was going to live a bachelor existence and she'd be grandchild-less."

I press my lips together to suppress a smile. In the cold, dark shadows of the garden, to hear him talk about our future together, especially after today, it warms my heart.

"There you go again, talking about kids," I tease .

Art lowers his eyes to my stomach and places a hand on my belly. "Can you imagine a life that's both part of you and me? That we're going to love unconditionally and protect with all our hearts? That will always come first, above everything else?"

My heart breaks a little as he talks about everything he missed out on, growing up.

I rest my hand on top of his. "Yes, I can, and it will be wonderful."

He kisses me softly. "Whatever you do, no mentioning kids in front of Mum." He grins. "Otherwise, her head will definitely explode."