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Two weeks.
Two weeks and she’d be free. Free to take on the next phase of her life on her own terms.
She reached into her pocket for her phone. Her fingers brushed something smooth and cool. Her heart twisted as her hand closed around the small white stone Griffith had given her on their walk. She’d nearly left it behind but at the last second had tucked it into her pocket when she’d changed back into the clothes she’d worn to the chateau. Then forgotten about it as she’d drifted through a haze of heartache as she’d traveled back to England.
She pulled it out now, let it lay flat on her palm. The man could have bought her rare paintings, diamonds, a private jet.
But the rock, a simple token that had made him think of her, meant more to her than anything else in the world he could have bestowed upon her. The urge to call him, to tell him he had been right, that she had finally broken free and decided to take the risk of being herself, nearly won out.
Until she remembered his face when she had walked away. The cold hardness in his eyes, the resoluteness in his clenched hands. She truly hoped he would find peace. Would come to terms with who he was and who he could be.
But he wasn’t ready. Not for his past and not for his future. Which meant he wasn’t, and might not ever be, ready for her. Self-doubt had her wondering if she wasn’t enough, if her love wasn’t enough.
Except she knew it had nothing to do with how much she loved him, even if she hadn’t told him so directly. Until he could accept himself, love himself, nothing would ever be enough.
Sadness wrapped bitter fingers around her heart and squeezed. She clenched her eyes shut, let herself experience the grief for a heartbeat.
Then pushed it away. Now was not the time for mourning.
She tucked it into her pocket before continuing on to her desk. Nostalgia hit, memories flickering through her like an old movie reel. The plant on the corner of her desk, the first thing she’d added on her first day. Meeting her first client as an associate attorney. Calling her parents after her first win in court.
Her lips curved into a sentimental smile. She wouldn’t regret her time here. But in two weeks, when she would walk out of Nettleton & Thompson for the last time, she would be looking to her future.
Griffith stared out the window at the London Eye. The massive structure, white against the deep blue of a summer sky, slowly rotated. He’d ridden it plenty of times before, had even reserved a luxury dinner for an actress he’d enjoyed a weekend fling with.
But now, as he watched it turn, all he could think about was Rosalind and the ride she’d never gotten to share with her mother.
In the first few hours after she left, he had managed to focus on business, returning to the reports he had neglected in the days they had indulged in their brief but wild affair. But when he’d slipped into his bed that night, her scent had assailed him, drifted up off the pillowcase and summoned memories of her body wrapped around him as he’d driven himself deep inside her.
He’d ended up in a barren guest room on the second floor. But even glancing at the window as he’d fallen asleep, seeing the moonlight stream through the glass, had reminded him of her naked body awash in silver as she waited for him on the balcony.
Realizing that almost every room held some memory of her now, he’d made arrangements to leave for London the following day, walking across the bridge and to the edge of the road where he managed to get enough of a signal to reserve his private jet. It had been then that he had learned Rosalind had never shown up for her flight the day before. She must have purchased her own ticket back to England. It had stung, even if he understood why she had done it. Admired her for it.
He had known their separation would be painful. Had mentally prepared himself for it.
But no amount of preparation had kept him safe from the constant barrage of memories: a sip of wine on the plane reminding him of their cliffside picnic; the site of a rosebush making him think of the tender way she had stroked the rose petals in the garden, and her slow smile as if she had realized for the first time there was more to life than work, more than chasing after others’ dreams instead of her own.
Time, he told himself. He just needed time. His relationship with Kacey had been his longest to date. But his time with Rosalind had been the most emotional, the most he’d ever allowed himself to get involved.
A few days had felt like a lifetime of knowing her. Of course, it would take time to let go.
Except instead of getting better, it was only getting worse.
He managed to get through the days. He returned to the office a week after arriving back in London. The meeting with his executive board had gone better than he had anticipated, with only a couple casting curious glances at his scars. A few of the staff members had had stronger reactions to his new face. Widened eyes, quickly looking somewhere else, even a gasp from an intern. He’d mostly ignored it, and in the case of the intern, had surprise himself by offering the young woman a slight smile and a comment of It is a little jarring when you see it for the first time. She’d stammered out a quick apology. Then they’d moved on.
It had been a little strange to discover that he had missed the daily interactions that came with being in the office. He’d been steeped in grief and isolation so long that he hadn’t realized how much he enjoyed casual greetings, small talk with his secretary and the myriad of meetings that filled his day.
The nights, however, were hell. It was at night, in his penthouse in Knightsbridge, where his mind inevitably turned to Rosalind. What was she doing? Who was she with? And, the most pervasive: Was she happy?
Three weeks after she had walked down the drive and out of his life, he’d received a call from Mr. Nettleton directly, thanking him again for working with the firm and offering to represent Griffith’s estate as the firm had represented his father’s. Griffith had agreed to a meeting, surprising Nettleton when he had declined the attorney’s offer to come to him and instead making the trip down to the law firm. It had been there that Griffith had discovered Rosalind had quit.
Even as he silently cursed Rosalind’s decision to leave, mourned the chance to see her one last time, pride surged inside him. Whether she had taken his words to heart or discovered what she’d needed to make the decision on her own, she’d done more in the three weeks they’d been apart than he’d done in over a year. She’d taken charge of her life, made some hard decisions and moved on.
And what would he have done with that last meeting anyway? Apologize for how he’d ended things? He’d thought it would be the pain in her eyes that would haunt his dreams. The stricken look on her beautiful face when he’d taken the special moments they’d shared and ended them, swiftly and ruthlessly.
Except it hadn’t been the pain. No, it had been that one aching moment when she’d looked at him with unabashed longing and resignation.
You’re the only one who sees yourself as a monster.
