I thought dinner might mean eating out but, instead, they cooked and I watched in awe as the Hart family became like something out of a telemovie, the kind I used to watch an inch from the set as a kid, unable to believe the quick conversation, the affectionate ribbing, the sentences not finished because it wasn’t necessary—they understood what they were saying without voicing all the words. I watched while they cooked and we ate together, and the whole evening was surreal and wonderful but also it existed in a kind of dream state because Barrett was there and I found my eyes tracking him constantly, watching him and how well he fit in with this family—if I didn’t know differently, I would have thought he was one of them, but he’s not; he’s an outsider like me.
Except neither of us is an outsider really. He grew up with them, and knows them intimately. And I’m their sister. My heart begins to pound as that explodes through me—no longer just an abstract concept I can weigh in my hands and decide if I want to grab hold of it. I am their sister—fact, reality, my existence. My pulse rushes. Trying to deny this was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Did I really think I could pretend this wasn’t happening?
My eyes dart to Barrett. He’s talking to Asha—Theo’s wife—and she’s laughing at something he said, leaning close conspiratorially. I watch with curiosity. It would be stupid to be jealous—she’s married to Theo and clearly adores him. But I’m reminded of Barrett’s universal appeal, his charisma and charm, of how completely he stood out that night in the bar.
My gaze lingers on them for a moment, my pulse a deafening tone in my ears, but not because I’m jealous. No, it’s because I’m seeing everything so much more clearly, like accepting the reality of this—that I have a family, whether I want them or not, makes it impossible to keep pretending certain other things aren’t a part of who I am.
I’ve been trying to control every aspect of my life, including my feelings, but that doesn’t make them any less real. Not wanting to get hurt doesn’t make me any less likely to love—it just makes me a coward for not acting on it. What was it my mom used to say? Only fools don’t feel fear. Only fools let that fear control them.
Was that what I was doing?
He lifts his gaze to me and for a moment there is just him and me in this gorgeous penthouse, our eyes locked, our breathing in unison. And then I look away because I’m terrified of the strength of my feelings—and I have no idea if I’m going to let that keep controlling me or not.
* * *
‘I’ll walk you down.’ It’s Jagger, his smile kind, his wife Grace busy tending to their baby Felicity, who’s just woken with a bad dream.
‘Oh, you don’t have to—’
‘It’s fine.’
I look past him to Barrett, who’s sitting watching me, his expression guarded as though he’s waiting for me to say something, but I have no idea what. My stomach loops.
I want Barrett to come with me—to walk me down so we can talk. But I don’t know how to manoeuvre that and he’s not offering. Uncertainty rushes through me. He said goodbye to me with the others—just a general goodbye, nothing special, nothing to indicate he feels anything at all for me now, except for kindness—the same kindness he’d feel for anyone.
Someone says something to Barrett but he keeps looking at me for a couple of seconds, offering a small smile that is laced with resignation and farewell, and then turns towards Theo and Asha.
My gut swoops to my toes.
‘So we’ll see you tomorrow?’
It takes me a couple of seconds to catch what Jagger’s said, let alone what he means. Then I remember—we’re having dinner again.
My heart speeds up. Barrett.
‘Yeah, sounds good. Let me know what I can bring.’
‘We’ve got it covered.’
The elevator doors ping open; we step inside. I mull over this, looking at him a little uncertainly then focusing on the shiny metallic doors.
‘How long did you say you’re in town for?’
‘Just a week.’
I nod. ‘All of you?’
‘Holden and Theo might stay a few days longer—we’ve got to get back to Sydney for Grace’s dad’s birthday.’
Despite the knots in my tummy, I smile at that—at the picture of happy domesticity and normality it paints, the idea that, even after a childhood marred by the mistakes of Ryan Hart, Jagger has found his way to a happiness that is real and genuine, to an extended family that is full of love.
But the knots in my tummy don’t dissipate; if anything, the fast movement of the elevator makes them worse, so when the elevator lands on the ground floor and the doors ping open to the lobby, I rush the question, ‘And Barrett?’
If Jagger thinks it’s odd, he doesn’t show that at all. ‘He flies out tomorrow morning.’
My chest feels as though it’s being split wide open. ‘Oh? So soon?’
‘He’s got a meeting in Amsterdam.’