Page 100 of Unbind

We’ve both already done an IV bag of electrolytes and vitamins to preempt dehydration on the flight, and we’ll do more when we get to our hotel.

‘Brie?’ I enquire. We’ve been grazing on a delicious platter of smoked salmon and all the usual accoutrements, various cheeses, and gluten-free charcoal crackers.

She shakes her head at me. ‘No thanks. I’m stuffed.’

Hmm. I’m not sure the amount she’s eaten would ‘stuff’ anyone.

‘Is your stomach still in knots?’ I ask her, leaning my forehead against hers and sliding a hand around the back of her neck.

‘A bit, yeah. Is it weird that I wish I could be a fly on the wall during dinner tonight and that I’m also really glad I’m putting thousands of miles between us?’

‘No,’ I tell her. ‘It’s not weird in the slightest.’

Stephen and his wife, Anna, have been essentially summoned for an early supper tonight when they pick Chloe up from his parents’ place, and Adelaide appears intent on letting rip a few truth bombs—though none surrounding any meddling I’ve done in Stephen’s life in recent years, thankfully.

I’ve been clear since my earliest days in therapy—in prison, actually—that Stephen Bennett’s forgiveness is not only a gift I can never hope or deserve to ask for, but a validation I shouldn’t need. The only way to move from hatingto liking yourself is to accept yourself. So there is no part of me at all that craves anything from him.

This is about Nat, and her relationship with her brother, and the injustice that she should feel judged or even resented by him because of me.

‘The good thing is we’ll be five hours behind,’ I tell her now, tipping my face up so I can brush my lips over her forehead. ‘I’m sure your mum will update you when they’ve gone.’ I really hope for her sake that’s true. I’d love to see her enjoying everything I have planned for tomorrow and beyond with the weight of all this gone from her shoulders.

‘Mmm-hmm,’ she says. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘New York should be very Christmassy,’ I say, hoping for a subject change. ‘Hopefully it should get you in the mood.’

I pull away enough to see a genuine smile flash across her beautiful face. ‘Oh my God, I’m going to die from excitement.’

‘What do you usually do for Christmas?’

She shrugs. ‘I just spend it with my folks. Stephen and Anna tend to alternate between seeing our family and hers, but her parents are going on a cruise this year, which is great for us—it’s Chloe’s first Christmas.’

I grin. ‘Sweet. Christmas is always a lot more fun with kids around.’

‘Yeah.’ She snuggles against me on the spacious cream leather sofa. ‘I can’t wait. I have a feeling Mum’ll go crazy on the present front.’

I laugh. Adelaide definitely will.

‘What do you do?’ she asks. There’s a quiet, tentative tone to her voice as if she’s treading carefully.

‘I usually have Dad and Quinn over for dinner, and then they stay the night. I cook, and it’s usually pretty quiet.’

Quietis a euphemism for sombre. There are far toomany ghosts at our Christmas dinner table. Ellen loved Christmas so much. One Christmas Eve, she got herself so overexcited that she threw up.

‘Do you ever hear from your mum at Christmas?’

‘No. She knows that’s not an option.’

She snakes an arm over my stomach and around my waist. Considering how light and delicate it is, it feels wonderfully anchoring. ‘Do you know where she is?’

‘No.’ I hesitate. ‘She’s in Scotland, I think. I was so worried she’d come looking for Quinn when she got out of prison, but she didn’t. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, when I had enough money, I hired an investigator to track her down and keep an eye on her. She was in Aberdeen when he found her, working odd jobs. She’d been fired from a job in a hotel bar, shock horror.

‘Anyway, he’s on an annual retainer. He knows where she is, and he knows not to tell me unless he sees her making a move anywhere near London—then he’ll call me straight away. I never want to see her again, and I know Dad and Quinn don’t, either.’ I stroke the arm on my stomach over her cashmere sleeve. ‘It’s best this way.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmurs. ‘It’s so shitty, but I get it.’

I hesitate. ‘You know, if you wanted to come by over Christmas, then I’d love you to meet them. I don’t want to drag you away from your family, but maybe when you come back to London—Boxing Day? No pressure,’ I add hastily. We usually trek down to Croydon to visit Ellen’s grave on Boxing Day, but maybe we can move things around this year. Try to make some new memories, and even, if Nat’s up for it, bring her along on our little pilgrimage.

I’d likebothmy sisters to meet the woman I’m falling hard for.

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