Page 167 of Reckless Hearts
I pace around my room, steadfastly ignoring the incessant buzzing of my phone, notifications piling up faster than I can swipe them away.
The two people whose messages I’m interested in reading have a special notification sound, and they haven’t contacted me.
Should I contact Saskia? See if I can get an idea of whether Seb has watched the clip. The state of his head right now.
Should I fly out to New Zealand to see him?
Things have changed for me so much in the past year. I feel like I can be the man Seb deserves now. Love him like he deserves to be loved.
But that doesn’t mean he wants my love. It doesn’t mean he’s still in love with me.
As I pick up my phone, contemplating calling Saskia, the paparazzi suddenly erupt in a frenzy. Camera flashes explode like fireworks, voices rising in a cacophony of shouted questions and exclamations, like someone’s stirred up an angry hornet nest.
There’s a taxi pulled up outside my gate.
My mouth goes dry. Is it Seb? Surely… Surely it can’t be…
All the questions swirling in my mind are answered when a familiar figure climbs out of the taxi.
The paparazzi are all over Seb, snapping away furiously. He hunches his shoulders, his hand shielding his face.
“Get security out there, get him in,” I say quickly to Erica.
My palms are suddenly slick with sweat, and I consciously remind myself to breathe. Hope and fear wage war in my chest, leaving me dizzy and off-balance.
The gate opens for Seb, and my security team ushers him through while holding back the waiting throng of paparazzi. That only seems to embolden the paparazzi more, and they press forward to get photos of him.
It’s a complete circus.
But I don’t care about that now.
Seb came. Seb’s here.
It’s a good thing, right?
I’m elated he’s here but terrified of what he might say. What if he’s come to tell me he’s moved on? After my public declaration, does he feel like he owes it to me to respond in person?
“I’ll leave you two,” Erica says, gathering her handbag and slipping out the back door.
My legs numb, I go to the front door. My hand shakes as I open it.
He steps inside.
I close the door to shut out the cameras before I turn to him.
His curls are messy and he’s wearing a T-shirt that statesMay the Mass Times Acceleration Be With You.My chest inflates with so much affection that I can hardly breathe. It’s beyond belief how much I love this man.
For a few moments, we just stare at each other.
“You came,” I finally manage.
“I did.”
Seb sets his ratty canvas bag on the marble tiles of the entranceway of my house, where it looks as wonderfully out of place as its owner.
“I told you to ignore all messages from me. But I don’t think I said anything about what to do if I turned up in person,” he says.
“I promise I won’t ignore you,” I manage to rasp out.
