I suddenly feel so very stupid, and with nothing left to say, I close my arms around his shoulders and pull him into me. He’s right. It’s no wonder my mind’s a jumbled mess after everything we’ve been through. ‘I don’t know where I’d be without you.’

Accepting my fierce embrace, he inhales into my hair. I feel him locate a lock and start to twist it around his fingers. ‘You’d be in London living a carefree life,’ he muses quietly.

His sombre statement pulls me from the warmth of his body immediately. I didn’t like the words and I definitely didn’t like the tone. ‘Living a hollow life,’ I counter. ‘Promise you’ll never abandon me.’

‘I promise.’ He says it without a second’s hesitation, yet right now it doesn’t feel like enough. I’m not sure what else I can make him say that will convince me. A bit like his acceptance of my love. That wavering is still showing signs and I don’t like it. A repeat of him leaving, even if he didn’t want to, is still something I live in fear of.

‘I want a contract,’ I blurt. ‘Something legal that says you can’t ever leave me.’ I realise my stupidly in an instant and I cringe, slapping myself all over Central Park. ‘That came out all wrong.’

‘I hope so!’ He coughs, almost falling to his arse in shock. I might not have meant that the way it sounded, but his clear disgust is like a slap in the face. I haven’t given a second thought to marriage, or anything beyond today. There’s too much shit blocking dreams of futures and happiness, but now I’m really thinking. His clear abhorrence to the idea is making it hard not to. I want to get married one day. I want the kids, the dog, and the cosy family house. I want mess everywhere from children running riot, and I know in this moment that I want it all with Miller.

Then reality crashes down on me. He obviously finds marriage unspeakable. He hates mess, which puts my chaotic family home right out of the picture. And as for the children? Well, I’m not going to ask and I don’t think I need to, because I remember that photograph of a lost, grubby little boy.

‘We should go,’ I say, standing to meet him before I say anything else stupid and have to face another unwanted reaction. ‘I’m tired.’

‘I concur.’ The relief rolls off him in waves. It doesn’t help my despondency. Or my hopes for our future . . . once we can finally focus on our happily-ever-after.

Chapter 3

Things have been awkward and tense since we left Central Park. Miller left me to entertain myself when we got back to the suite, choosing to disappear into the office space that leads off the balcony. He had some business to see to. It’s not unusual for him to take an hour to make his calls, but it’s now been four hours, with no word, appearance, or indication that he’s still alive in there.

I’m on the balcony, the sun warm on my face, and I recline back on the lounger, silently willing Miller to emerge from the study. We haven’t gone this long without some kind of physical contact since we’ve been in New York, and I’m craving his touch. I was dying to escape the tense vibes when we returned from our stroll, was quietly relieved when he muttered his intention to deal with some business, but now I’m feeling more lost than ever. I’ve called Nan and Gregory and chatted idly about nothing in particular, and I’ve read half of the history book that Miller bought me yesterday, not that I can recall any of the information.

And now I’m lying here – into hour five – twiddling my ring and getting all worked up over our Central Park conversation. I sigh, remove my ring, put it back on again, twist it a few times, and then freeze when I hear stirring from the other side of the office doors. I see the handle shift and snatch my book up, burying my nose in it, hoping to look engrossed.

The doors creak, prompting me to glance up from the random page I opened the book to, and I find Miller standing on the threshold, watching me. His feet are bare, the top button of his jeans undone, and his shirt has been discarded. His dark mop of waves is a dishevelled mess, like he’s been raking his hand through the curls. And I know once I seek his eyes out that’s exactly what he’s been doing. They’re brimming with despair. Then he tries to smile, and I feel a million bolts of guilt stab at my fallen heart. Placing my book on the table, I sit up and pull my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs. The tension is still thick, but having him close again is rekindling my lost serenity. Fireworks crackling beneath my skin, working their way deep, is familiar and comforting.

He spends a few silent moments with his hands resting lightly in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe, thinking. Then he sighs and without a word comes over to straddle the lounger behind me, encouraging me to move forward before he settles, slides his arms over my shoulders, and pulls my back to his chest. My eyes close and I absorb all of him – his feel, his heartbeat against me, and his breath in my hair.

‘I apologise,’ he whispers, pressing his lips to my neck. ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad.’

My hands start working in slow circles across the material of his jeans. ‘It’s OK.’

‘It’s not OK. If I had one wish,’ he begins, working his slow-moving lips up to my ear, ‘I’d wish I could be perfect for you. No one else, just you.’

I open my eyes and turn to face him. ‘Your wish must have come true.’

He laughs a little and moves a hand to my cheek. ‘You must be the most beautiful person God’s ever created. Here.’ His eyes journey around my face. ‘And here.’ Then his palm rests on my chest. He kisses my lips tenderly, then my nose, my cheeks, and finally my forehead. ‘There’s something on the desk for you.’

I instinctively pull away. ‘What is it?’

‘Go see.’ He encourages me to stand before resting back and gesturing towards the doors of the office. ‘Chop-chop.’

My gaze flicks from the doors to Miller, back and forth, until he cocks an expectant eyebrow at me, kicking my cautious feet into gear. I pad warily across the balcony, filled with curiosity, feeling blue eyes burning into my back, and when I reach the door, I look over my shoulder. There’s a hint of a smile on his perfect face.

‘Go,’ he mouths, taking my book from the table and flicking through. My lips are clamped together as I make my way to the regal desk, and I release my breath once I’m settled in the green leather chair. But my heart begins to bounce off my breastbone when I see an envelope positioned in the centre, perfectly placed, the bottom square with the edge of the desk. I find my ring and begin to spin it on my finger, worried, cautious, curious. All I see when looking at this envelope is another envelope – the one on Miller’s desk in Ice, the one containing the letter he wrote to me when he abandoned me. I’m not sure I want to read it, but Miller put it there. Miller wrote whatever’s contained inside, and those two combinations make for one very curious Olivia Taylor.

Scooping it up, I work the seal open, noting the adhesive is still damp. I pull out the paper and slowly unfold it. Then I take a deep breath and brace myself for his written words.

My sweet girl,

I will never do anything less than worship you. Every time I feel you or touch your soul, it’ll be etched on that beautiful mind of yours forever – and beyond that. I’ve told you all of this before. There aren’t words in existence that could justify my feelings for you. I’ve perused the English dictionary for hours looking for them – nothing. When I try to express myself, nothing seems adequate. Yet I know how profound your feelings are for me. And that makes my reality almost impossible to comprehend.