Slowly, with deliberation, Louis pulls out a battered Christmas card from his pocket. He waves it at me with a cheeky grin. This fake heart-to-heart we are having makes my skin crawl.
“Says she’s infatuated. Gets hot every time we cross paths at the hotel. Wants to kiss me under the mistletoe.” He shrugs. “I get why she’s colder this year—we need to build the trust. I didn’t reply to the card, did I? Probably hurt her feelings. But there’s been that spark between us once, and that sort of thing doesn’t just go away. She’s single, she’s made that clear, so . . .”
I know why he’s telling me this. He’s marking out his territory, playing his move so I know there’s no use me playing mine. We may be standing here in smart shirts talking politely, but really we’re fighting like stags.
“Anyway. Wish me luck, lad,” Louis says with a wink, and then he claps me on the arm.
I twitch. I am one scrap of self-control away from spinning around and punching him in the stomach.
“See ya,” he says, strolling away with a smile.
* * *
? ? ? ? ?
That’s it. It’s finished. If there’s even anything to finish. I was never hers and she was never mine, so I suppose there’s no break-up here. Just me, opening myself up to someone who’s chosen someone else.
And why wouldn’t she? Despite everything I’ve done, when she looks at me, she sees a man who’s not good enough. And for all the effort I’ve made to fight those feelings, for all the times I’ve hung up on my uncle and told myself You’re doing great, it’s really fucking hard to believe I’m worth something when the woman I love thinks a cuz?o like Louis is a better man than me.
I look up to find Mr. Townsend watching me. I turn away sharply, aware of the tears in my eyes.
“Son,” he says, “are you all right?”
I breathe out slowly, trying to get control of myself. “No,” I say. “I’m not. I want to go home.”
Izzy
No. No no no no no no no.
Louis and I are in the turret room, at the window where Lucas gave me Brazilian food and introduced me to his family. The sun is setting above the trees, gorgeous in powder pink.
I have the card in my hands. The card. It has two cute penguins on the front, both wearing Christmas hats. I never thought I would see this card again.
It’s a lot smaller than I remember. I am holding it with my fingertips, as though at any moment it might explode.
“Louis.”
I open the card and in comes a wave of shame and humiliation as I remember writing it, how brave I’d felt. Putting myself out there. Being bold. Living life to the fullest, just like my parents always wanted.
Dear Lucas, it says. I have a confession to make.
“Louis . . . this wasn’t your Christmas card.”
For the first time since I’ve known Louis, he looks unsure of himself.
“Pardon?” he says, ducking his head to look at it with me.
“Lucas.” I press my hand to my forehead. Oh my God. “I wrote this for Lucas.”
“Then why does it say . . .” He trails off. “You have really bad handwriting,” he says after a moment, and there’s an edge to his voice now.
“I am so sorry, Louis.”
“So it’s Lucas you want, then,” Louis says, stepping back slightly. The sunset bathes us in rosy light; it’s a very romantic setting. I suppose that’s why he got the card out. The perfect moment. “It’s always been him?”
The question floors me. Because . . . well, yes, it has, really. I’ve cursed him and crossed him and kissed him, but yeah, it’s always been him, hasn’t it? Nobody has ever made my cosy warm heart beat the way he does.
I was infatuated then, and if I am entirely honest with myself, I’m infatuated now.
And he never knew. He never knew.
“I really am so sorry, Louis. But I need to go, I’ve got to . . .”
He frowns, interrupting me. “Your colleague, that sorry-for-herself one, she gave the card to me. She said it was for me.”
I wince. Poor Mandy has never complained about my handwriting, but Lucas always says she gets him to translate half the stuff I write down. I thought he was exaggerating. It’s always perfectly clear to me.
“I guess she must’ve read it wrong, too. I’m sorry.”
Louis’s expression shifts. He seems to go from affable to calculating in a flash.
“Does Mrs. SB know you and Lucas have been getting off with each other on company time?”