She lowered her eyes to her lap, to where her hands now were, and he knew she twisted them together just as she had in the car.
He reached across the table, his hand resting beside her wine glass, and her eyes came back to him.
‘They must miss you,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine losing Lily, to know that she is somewhere in the world and not be close to her.’
‘I’m not sure.’ She looked back to her hands as she paused. ‘I think I’m a constant reminder of what they lost.’
He shook his head, but she wasn’t looking at him.
‘We don’t really talk. We used to, before... Everything was different then, but after... I just couldn’t face them, I didn’t want to see the blame in their eyes, you know.’ She gave a shrug and looked to him, her tormented gaze tugging at him.
‘They wouldn’t have blamed you,’ he said softly.
She gave a shake of her head and reached out for her wine glass. ‘It’s how it felt. It was far easier to stay out of their way.’
‘And so you locked yourself away?’
‘Pretty much. Now it’s just the norm.’
‘Don’t you have any other brothers, sisters?’
‘No. Just me.’
Her voice was strained. His own, low and husky as he asked, ‘Is that why you work so hard?’
Her eyes flicked to his, a surprising smile playing about her lips. ‘Are you psychoanalysing me, Jack?’
His chest tightened. ‘I guess I am.’
She shook her head some more, her smile indulging him. ‘I have a need to prove myself, to succeed, to make my life worthy, if the therapist in you needs to know...’ She looked away from him and her smile fell, her voice turning distant. ‘I was the one who survived after all. I owe it to Amy to achieve.’
‘There’s achievement and then there’s happiness, Sophia.’ He pulled her attention back to him, his eyes searching hers and looking for the truth. ‘Are you happy?’
She shrugged but he knew it was a front for what was really happening beneath the surface, behind her swirling blues.
‘What’s not to be happy about?’ Her voice was steady, level, defiant. ‘I’m the youngest hotel manager Devereaux Leisure has ever seen; I can afford my own apartment in London and I don’t need a man or flatmate to do it. There aren’t many twenty-four-year-olds who can claim the same.’
‘But are you happy?’
He knew the answer; he could read it in her forced nonchalance, the way her fingers shook a little as she raised the glass to her lips and finished her wine.
‘I’m happy enough.’
‘I think Amy would want you to be happy above all else... Your parents too.’
Her throat bobbed, her eyes glistened, and he suddenly felt like the worst man in the world to make her suffer. He’d gone too far.
‘Okay, Mr Know-It-All,’ she suddenly fired at him. ‘Tell me, are you happy?’
He should have expected it, her turning the tables on him. But he felt no more prepared, no more capable of giving an honest answer. And he didn’t need to give one as the bill arrived. He placed his card on the small metal tray without looking, his eyes locked with her probing ones.
And he realised, for the first time in a long time, he did feel a sense of happiness, of being where he belonged, sitting across from a woman who sparked such feelings that he was torn between running for the hills and taking her home. And the latter could only ever end badly. She deserved more than what he could ever give her.
So why aren’t you bringing an end to it now? Why aren’t you walking away?
He couldn’t explain it. It was impulsive—the need to be with her, to get to know her—and impossible to resis
t.