Page 76 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

I’msure there’s some irony in the fact I spent my first private jet flight too miserable to enjoy it, but that’s no comfort. Hugo and I make it to the tiny airfield and find that Fraser has been working the phones; we settle into a small six-seater plane with matching expressions of heartache.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” I offer listlessly. “Then all this will be over.”

He nods back, wordless, just as forlorn.

“In a hurry to leave, eh?” The huge, burly pilot bustles aboard, dressed in a full Scottish regalia. “Don’t mind the kilt, I was performing with my bagpiping troupe when I got the call. And the money they were offering, well, I’d have to be a fool to turn it down. Did ye have a chance to check out the festival?’

“Yes. Thank you,” I manage.

He looks back and forth between us, registering the general gloom. “The silent types. Got it. Well, don’t you worry, I’ll have you back in England in no time.”

He settles in the cockpit, and soon, the Isle of Man is just a green dot disappearing outside the tiny windows, the festival grounds still crowded and visible from the air.

“You’re in luck, we’ve got smooth skies ahead,” our pilot calls back to us, giving a thumbs-up. “Enjoy the view!”

Hugo pulls an eye-mask and his headphones on instead, leaving me to gaze numbly out of the window, watching the rugged Highlands get smaller as we bank, and turn south along the coastline, leaving Scotland behind for good.

What the hell just happened?

I’m still reeling from that awful fight with Fraser, but more than that, the growing truth that we can’t just gloss over everything that happened the last time around. As much as I wanted to pretend like everything was fine now after our night of heartfelt confessions and tender, intimate sex, it’s clear: It won’t be that simple. It’s going to take work for us to heal the wounds that last time around left on both of our hearts.

So what happens now? I wrap my arms around myself, chilled to realize that I just don’t know. I don’t know whether Fraser will come after me, back to England, and try to find a way to work through this mess and build a future together—or if I’ll literally never hear from him again.

Just like last time.

Tears well in my eyes. I feel a light nudge against my foot and look up to find Hugo silently offering me a tissue. I take it with a sniffle.

“We’ll be back soon,” he says, and I nod, as if that will make me feel any better.

My whirlwind adventure is well and truly over.

* * *

After spendingthe better part of three days getting up to the Isle of Man, it seems absurd that the flight home is only two hours, but when Hugo and I land at the small airstrip in Sussex, it’s still light out; barely eight p.m.

“We’ve got company,” Hugo nods as we disembark. There’s a driver waiting for us on the tarmac—and he’s not the only one.

“You made it!” Reeve cheers, and then winces. He’s standing by the car in dark sunglasses and baggy clothing and looks like a total mess.

“Oh no, have you been stressing over us all weekend?” I ask, as he comes to greets us.

“No, that’s the food poisoning,” Hazel says, moving to give me a hug. “The man went wild on the shrimp cocktail—”

“Don’t say it!” Reeve begs, turning pale. “I never want to look at a crustacean again.”

“No more lobster rolls for you!” Hazel teases merrily. Reeve groans.

“Is everyone on the mend?” I ask, concerned, as our bags are loaded in the trunk.

Hazel nods. “They’re all back on their feet again. He’s just being a drama queen,” she adds, giving her brother a nudge.

He musters a faint smile. “It’s good to see you, though.Bothof you.”

Hugo clears his throat. “I, uh, owe you both a rather big apology, I fear. I’m sorry, for causing such a drama. It was unforgivable, truly.”

“He even apologizes like Darcy,” Hazel whispers with a grin.

“I hope you know it’s not a reflection of my excitement to play the role,” Hugo continues. “I just got caught up in…”

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