Page 24 of Unwritten Rules

She shrugs a delicate shoulder, then slips her phone into her handbag before sliding those enormous Versaces over her eyes to shield her from my intense perusal. Then, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, she folds her arms across her chest.

I move past her to grasp one suitcase in each hand, pondering how on Earth I’ll get the third across the street to my SUV, when Mila’s hand darts out to grab the handle.

“I can manage myself, Nate.”

Despite my inner gentleman, the one my father spent a lifetime cultivating, screaming in protest, the determination on her features tells me to let this one slide. I nod once, then she flips the handle, tugging it behind her as she moves down the path to a pedestrian crossing I’d not seen before now.

Probably because I’ve been unable to take my eyes off the beauty beside me since I spotted her as I parked.

We make our way to the car silently, and she slides into the passenger seat with a sombre expression on her face while I stack the luggage across the back seat.

“Can I choose the music?” Mila glances over her shoulder questioningly.

Nodding, I close the door and move around the car to climb into the driver’s seat as Mila browses my Spotify. Her wry chuckle draws my attention when I pull out into considerably lighter traffic.

I glance to the side, finding her with her head tossed back against the headrest, eyes closed, and her shoulders moving up and down as silent laughter engulfs her body.

“What’s so funny?”

Opening her eyes, she tilts her head to the side to meet my gaze and barely manages to choke out three words before descending into raucous laughter.

“‘Just…Like…Heaven.’”

A wry grin lifts my mouth, knowing precisely what she’s referring to. Mila and her obsession with rom-coms—an obsession she’s tried and failed to infect me with. I’ve lost count of the number of times she’s made me watch Just Like Heaven with Reese Witherspoon and that Hulk guy.

“Just because it’s on my Spotify doesn’t mean I’ve been listening to it, wench.”

Caught red-fucking-handed.

“You’re just lying to yourself, grump. You’re a great big closet rom-com fan, and you know it.”

Her laughter starts up once more, even louder than before.

“Siri, play The Cure.”

As the familiar beat of “Just Like Heaven” fills the car, tears begin to stream down Mila’s face, and just like that, the tension from our cardigan conversation has passed, and we’re Nate and Mila once more.

Now to just maintain this easy camaraderie of before. Should be a piece of cake, right?

You’re fucking insane, Hawthorne.

The trip to Hawthorne House takes just over an hour. It passes comfortably and easily, the conversation flowing between us just like old times, and as my SUV turns onto the long gravelled driveway lined with tall oak trees on either side, I’m fully convinced that we can do this.

My heart is light and happy in her presence until I round the final corner of the drive, and the first glimpse of the house I’ve never called home comes into view.

“Oh, my God, Nathaniel. It’s stunning.”

Hawthorne House has been in my family for generations, and honestly, from an unbiased standpoint, it’s utterly breathtaking.

For me – it’s a reminder of my failures.

And so, even Mila’s excited declaration can’t lift my black mood as the unwanted memory of the last time I’d been in this exact spot races across my mind.

* * *

The rain is pounding as I dash to the waiting town car. Phillippe, my driver, is still loitering outside, and I’m so grateful to have a place to gather my thoughts.

And to get me the fuck out of here!