Page 100 of Wilder at Heart
‘She said she’d think about it. That she had a lot on her mind, and a few moving parts. But she seemed willing to consider it, at least.’
Damn right she has a lot on her mind. I’m pretty sure she would have told me if Holmes had approached her yet. Maybe he won’t bite. Maybe he’s happy with Titty McTitsalot and he’ll throw away his chance to be with this incredible woman.
I hope he does. I hope he fucking does the decent thing and stays away. For the first time since I spoke to him, I regret giving him an opening with Nora. Evelyn’s news, and the phone call I just made, have given me hope. Hope that I could be in with a chance. That I could possibly, eventually, be worthy of her.
That I could give her what she wants.
And that green shoot of hope is enough to make me want to fight for her. Even if Holmes turns up at her door with flowers and begs her for a second chance. Because I swear to God, I know Nora better than she knows herself, and she’s smoking crack if she thinks he can make her happy. She may be deluding herself that what we have is just sex.
Fine.
Whatever.
She’s fuckingwrong.
But even if she thinks that, there’s no way she can realistically walk away from the way I detonate her in bed and go back to him.
It’d be like her going to bed with a fucking minivan. Taking God knows how long to get her from nought to sixty. Slow. Steady. Same old routine, every time, I bet.
Boring.
As.
Fuck.
God’s sake, Theo. Stop thinking about her in bed with him. About that huge, oafish body on her. Slobbering over her.
Jesus Christ.Stop it.
I’ve played fair. I’ve led Jonathan Holmes, that bloody carthorse, to water. Whether he drinks is on him. But for the first time, I wonder why the fuck I’ve played fair.
I’m a Montague.
I play dirty.
I’ve faked a relationship to get what I want, for fuck’s sake.
So why I’ve rolled over and taken Nora at her word and faded politely away into the background, I have no clue.
That needs to change.
The gloves need to come off.
I lean forward. I have no right to be here, talking to Evelyn Macleod with my Montague Group hat on. It’s a hat I’m not even entitled to wear. Not really. Not yet. This is a conversation I’m not mandated to have. But who gives a fuck? My older brother believes in the end justifying the means. He always chooses to seek forgiveness over asking permission.
It’s about time I took a leaf out of his book.
‘I’d love to know more about the farm,’ I ask her. ‘Specifically, the resort. Miles and I are fascinated by it. You seem to be doing everything right, from where I’m standing, at least.’
‘You’ve got to understand,’ she says, ‘the farm and resort have a symbiotic relationship. You can’t have one without the other. And lockdown showed us that. The resort suffered—a lot, obviously—and the farm’s corporate business suffered, but the home delivery service of fresh produce went through the roof. We couldn’t meet the demand. It was crazy. So that helped us weather the storm.
‘But now, things are flying again. More than ever, because of the huge shift towards staycations. We’re booked out for most of the next year, and we really should be looking at doubling our accommodation. And with fewer people having gone back to working full time in an office, our members have gone through the roof too. We’ve maxed out our memberships and we have a huge waiting list.’
It’s music to my ears, and exactly what I suspected. A thriving, established business. A brand brimming with potential. And presumably, time and capital constraints preventing the necessary investment to reap further rewards.
‘Cards on the table,’ I say. ‘In a perfect world, what would you do next? And what’s stopping you? Because my girlfriend is a huge fan of yours,’—this earns me a dazzling smile—‘and from what she tells me, you’re not the type of person to rest on your laurels. You want more. You came in to grow this place, and you’ve done it, and we’re all in awe. But I bet you always have one eye on the horizon.’
She stirs her coffee and eyes me thoughtfully. ‘No bullshit. I like that a lot. You’re so like your brother, you know.’
