Page 122 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

Whenhad it happened?

She rubbed her forehead. The ache had started to dig in behind her eyes.

‘Shall we go inside?’ he asked.

She nodded.

At the doorway Clemmie braced herself; she always felt a tangle of emotions when she walked into her old home, and today the tangles were way more complex than usual.

It was a stupid situation. It hadn’t been her home for a long time and it was just stupid sentimentality. So what if generations of her family had lived here? She knew you couldn’t really feel aconnection toa building, bricks and mortar, but it always took a few seconds for logic to reassert itself.

She remembered the look of surprise on her mum’s face when she had asked her how she coped with the fact that she saw this place every day—saw other people living here, in what had once been her home.

Her mum had laughed and said that all she felt was relief, explaining that she’d never felt like lady of the manor material, and that, to be honest, she’d felt a sense of freedom the day she handed over the keys.

It was also a massively inconvenient house, she had added.

Not as inconvenient now as it once had been, of course. The ancient plumbing was gone, and there were no leaks in the roof, but the new interior design was not exactly to Clemmie’s taste. To her, it made no sense to buy an ancient building and then try and make it look like a new build.

‘Luckily the historical listing and the conservancy people stopped her rippingeverythingout.’

Clemmie blinked; he had tuned into her thoughts so exactly that for a split-second she thought she had voiced her criticisms out loud. She realised he had not lost his uncanny ability to read her mind.

Did he read her mind when they were in bed, too?

The question came from nowhere, and opened a door to a subject she’d been carefully tiptoeing around. She still couldn’t get her head around the idea that they were intimate. That he knew her body, that she knew his, that they had lain together in a sweaty, breathless, post-coital tangle of limbs.

The images in her head made the panic she was keeping at bay by sheer force of will threaten to overwhelm her.

‘You all right?’

Her eyes skittered away from the concern in his.

‘I’m not qualified to give an opinion on interior design, but everything looks...expensive.’

Her choice of words dragged a laugh from him. ‘You hate it, don’t you? Admit it. Don’t worry—I won’t be offended. The wallpaper in my bedroom makes me feel that I’ve woken up in a jungle populated by purple silk zebras. But at least the fabric of the building is intact, and the new refurb might be an improvement.’

‘New refurb?’

‘Apparently this is all “dreadfully dated” now, but the real reason is the that my father gave his last girlfriend an apartment as a parting gift. This refurb is my mother’s way of hitting him where it hurts—his wallet. Oh, the joys of matrimony.’

His cynicism and distaste for marriage seemed intact—which made her wonder why they were engaged. Was he already regretting it?

His phone buzzed, and after glancing at the screen he grimaced. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’

‘No problem.’

By the time he’d finished his call, Clemmie had vanished.

He called her name, but all he got back was an echo. After a short search he eventually found her standing outside a bedroom door on the second floor.

She turned her head, sensing his approach. ‘This used to be our room—mine and Chrissie’s.’

‘I know. It was mine for a while. You must have resented me.’

She shook her head. ‘No, not really. I wasn’t very happy when I lived here, but in this room we couldn’t hear Mum and Dad arguing.’ A sad smile tugged a corner of her mouth upwards. ‘Once Chrissie took her piggybank down and told them they could have all her money if they stopped yelling.’ Her smile faded when she saw his expression. ‘Have I already told you that?’

‘No.’

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