Page 37 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“All right.” It was a grudging concession, but probably as much as she was going to get.
* * *
Vicky eased herself carefully in the bed. Jeremy was beside her, his back to her, and she didn’t want to risk waking him. She had been uncomfortable about sharing the bed with him, but she hadn’t been able to think of an excuse not to — especially as it would have meant one of them sleeping downstairs on the sofa.
Fortunately, after a rather stilted evening — dinner in the restaurant of the Carleton Hotel, followed by a few drinks in the pub and a slow walk home up the hill — he had bestowed a casual goodnight kiss and had been asleep by the time she had returned from the bathroom.
A glance at her bedside clock told her that it was almost two o’clock. In London there would still be the roar of traffic on the busy main road, but here the only sound was the occasional gust of wind rattling the window.
She slipped silently out of bed and crept over to the window, and parted a narrow crack between the curtains. In the pale glimmer of moonlight the garden was a fairy kingdom of silver and shadows.
The soft night breeze drifting up from the sea rustled in the leaves and the long grass, swirling around this old cottage — and on to the rambling stone farmhouse a few hundred yards up the lane.
Where Tom would be sleeping.
Lying in bed, that lithe male body totally relaxed, those long dark lashes shadowing his cheeks. What did he wear in bed? Pyjama pants? Boxer shorts? Or... nothing at all...
But of course he wouldn’t be alone, she reminded herself sharply. There would be a wife in bed beside him. And his son sleeping in another room nearby.
So, no more silly fantasies. Tom Cullen was strictly off limits.
Drawing in a long, slow breath to steady the rapid beat of her heart, she tiptoed back to bed. Jeremy was still fast asleep,snoring quietly. Slipping under the duvet she closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep.
* * *
She must have drifted off eventually, waking as Jeremy began to stir beside her. She slipped quietly out of bed and picked up her clothes, and escaped to the bathroom before she had to face him.
She needed these few moments to gather her thoughts. This situation couldn’t drag on any longer — she had to face the truth. It wasn’t just arrogance — Jeremy was a bully.
When had he started to get like that? He hadn’t always been like it. When she had first met him he had been charming, considerate. Confident, yes, but not arrogant — and certainly not a bully.
He had always known what he wanted — and she had been happy enough to go along with him, because there hadn’t really been anything she felt strongly enough about to argue with him.
And somehow, imperceptibly, that had slipped into a situation where he dominated the relationship, assumed she would agree with whatever he wanted, and got petulant if she disagreed.
And she had been letting him get away with it. But no more. It was time to stand up for herself, refuse to be manipulated. Tell him that their relationship, their engagement, was over. Start a new life.
It was a scary thought — it would alter the whole course of her life.
The image in the mirror above the sink gazed back at her. “Come on,” it scolded. “You’re a grown woman. You’re twenty-six-years-old — you’re intelligent, you’re not bad looking even if you’re a bit on the skinny side and your hair isn’t quite blonde. You can do this.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Oh Lord, as if it wasn’t bad enough arguing with her satnav — now she was arguing with her own reflection. Was that worse?
A tap on the door brought an end to the debate. “Vicky? How much longer are you going to be in there?”
“Just coming.” She flushed the loo, washed her hands, and opened the door. “Sorry. It’s all yours.”
Jeremy merely grunted and stepped past her. He was never at his best first thing in the morning.
* * *
They met again at the breakfast table. Jeremy was wearing a clean white shirt — he always wore a clean shirt every day, perfectly ironed. He ironed them himself, being very particular that it was done correctly.
“Good morning.” He bent to drop a brief kiss on her cheek, and took the seat opposite her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” How formal, how polite! Beneath the table she twisted the diamond ring on her finger. Should she take it off now, hand it to him, end their engagement — quick and clean?
“What’s for breakfast?”
