Page 11 of Anton

“Oh, God, don’t remind me. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had to hold my hair back twice during the night while I threw up, and I’m pretty sure I might’ve decorated his car with my vomit, too.” I cringed, the memory still vivid.

“And? How did he react?” Claire’s voice softened in curiosity.

“He was really good about it all, Claire. Honestly, he was incredibly nice. Stayed with me all night, then brought me toast this morning. I just wish he’d been staying over for another reason. But that’s never going to happen now,” I sighed, unable to keep the wistfulness from my voice.

There was a pause on the other end. I could almost hear Claire’s scowl. “What happened?”

“It’s just so frustrating.” I sank deeper into the couch and lay my head down on the cushion. “One minute, he acts like he’s interested, and the next, he freezes me out. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Marcie, you know what the guys say. Anton has commitment issues. Nobody knows exactly why, but it’s his problem. Have you tried asking him about it?”

“Yes, I finally did this morning,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And?” she prompted.

“I asked him why he wouldn’t give us a chance, because I know he feels the chemistry between us. And he said, and I quote, ‘Maybe it’s not about you. Maybe it’s about me.’ What the hell does that mean?” I vented, my frustration bubbling to the surface.

“I’ve no idea. Trust Anton to be bloody cryptic instead of just telling you what the hell the problem is,” Claire huffed, clearly seething on my behalf.

“I just wish he could be straightforward for once. If I’m wrong about the chemistry and he’s not attracted to me, then why won’t he just tell me and put me out of my misery?” A knot tightened in my stomach. I felt like I might be sick again.

Claire chuckled softly. “I think we both know straightforward isn’t Anton’s strong suit. And it’s clear he’s not going to discuss whatever this thing is between you two. That’s on him, not you.”

“Am I not good enough?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Quiet and pathetic sounding even to my ears. As a person who’d grown up watching my dad beat my mum and tell her she was worthless, and then later, having him do the same thing to me, it was always something that lingered in my mind. Whenever anything good happened in my life, I wasn’t quite sure I deserved it. I’d fought long and hard since running away from home to build up my self-esteem, yet this thing with Anton plunged me back to that dark, consuming place where doubt and fear ruled my thoughts.

“Marcie, don’t do that to yourself,” Claire’s voice softened, but the firmness in it remained. “Don’t question your worth because some guy can’t admit his feelings. You are a catch, and he should be grateful you even look his way. If he won’t give you a chance, then he’s a bloody fool, and he doesn’t deserve you. Ihate to say it, but I think it’s really time you gave up on him. I know it’s hard to hear, but I don’t think you have a choice. Right or wrong, he’s made his position clear. You need to accept that and let him go.”

“I know,” I whispered again, tears threatening as a heaviness settled over me.

“Maybe you should try dating someone else. I mean, that will either make Anton realise his mistake or help you get over him. After all, they say the best way to get over a guy, is to get under another,” she chuckled.

I balked at the suggestion. The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. “I’ll think about it,” I said, not wanting to pursue the notion just yet.

As we wrapped up the call, anxiety and resolve tangled together in my chest. Tears spilled down my face as I admitted that Claire was right. I’d reached the same conclusion myself. This thing with Anton had me questioning my worth, and it had to stop.

Perhaps I would think about dating other men after all. Maybe Claire was right, and that would help exorcise Anton from my mind. Or maybe not. I wasn’t sure I was ready to replace him just yet. But one thing I could no longer deny—whether I liked it or not—it was time to let go. My mind told me that was what had to be done, but how was I going to let go when my heart still desperately wanted to hold on?

CHAPTER 6

ANTON

LONDON, EARLY SEPTEMBER – MARCIE ON MY MIND

The screen in front of me was a blur of numbers, lines, and columns—each one running into the next in a disjointed mess that made my eyes ache. Outgoings. Profits. Invoices. The usual. I’d been over these figures a hundred times, and yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t focus on the spreadsheet in front of me. The digits swam before my eyes, indistinct and impossible to pin down, as my mind turned inwards. To her. Marcie.

Her name clung to me like a whisper in the back of my mind, dragging me deeper under her spell. It had been three months since I’d last seen her. Three months of keeping my head down, trying to forget her, trying to remind myself why I’d kept my distance, and convince myself it was for the best. But the longer I stayed away, the harder it became. These months of avoiding her had done nothing to ease my need for her. If anything, they’d made it worse.

I glanced back at the spreadsheet, but her face filled my mind again—her challenging gaze, that spark of defiance that both irritated me and pulled me in, that soft, husky laugh that always cut right through me. The absence of my Little Miss Sassy, with her quick wit and cheeky remarks, had left more of a void in mylife than any of my prior losses. She haunted me more than any of them, too. That was a sobering thought.

I’d no idea if my Little Miss Sassy had finally let go and moved on. I hadn’t asked Nick, and he’d not mentioned Marcie to me, not since I told him, the Monday after her party, whatever had been between us was over. He’d just looked at me like the fool I knew I was, shook his head, and never uttered her name to me again. Neither had Derrick. And I hated it. It was my own fault, but knowing that didn’t help.

So, for the last three months I had stewed over the idea that she’d pushed me out of her mind, forgotten about me, and moved on. After all, a woman like Marcie didn’t sit around waiting—especially for someone who’d made it clear he wasn’t interested. Not that she should. Of course not.

Eyes glazed, I skimmed over the spreadsheet again, each cell blurring into the next. My focus was shot, my patience gone. One minute, all I could think about was seeing her, being near her, and then the next, I’d tell myself to get a grip and stop torturing myself. But it was useless. The connection we had—whatever it was—felt like a constant tug in my chest, a gravitational pull I couldn’t ignore.

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out as I snapped the laptop shut, frustration taking over. Pathetic. This was bloody pathetic. I was used to being in control, to keeping things in check, but it was like she’d stolen that from me the moment I walked out her door.

My fingers tapped restlessly against the desk, the dull rhythm doing nothing to calm the nerves gnawing at me. Running a hand through my hair, I took a slow breath, but it didn’t help.

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