‘Read it, Leo,’ she said gruffly. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you...want to talk.’

Kaya waited over an hour. She made coffee, wondered what was happening with Leo, tipped out the coffee undrunk, made some more and did the same.

She’d opened that box, expecting the usual—some trinkets, maybe some photos or else just the usual assortment of sentimental bits and pieces which Julie Anne had been fond of keeping.

The last thing she’d expected was that journal and, the second she had flipped it open and begun reading, she’d known that it was a story Leo would have to read, whatever the contents.

For it had been written by a seventeen-year-old Julie Anne, living with her parents and pregnant.

I can’t believe what Mama and Papa want me to do. This is the worst day of my life. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. Diego and I are going to run away. We can’t think of anything else to do.

That had been the opening entry. Kaya had snapped shut the journal and rocked back on her heels, deep in thought, heart beating fast, knowing that what she held in her hands would be a story neither she, and more importantly Leo, had ever thought they would get.

Would either of them want to hear this story? Would it be better left untold? Sometimes the truth was far less kind than all the wild tricks the imagination could play.

Lost in thought, she was barely aware of his approach until she glanced up to see him framed in the doorway.

Under the rich bronze of his skin, he was ashen.

‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ she said quickly.

‘You should read it.’

‘It’s...it’s none of my business.’

‘It’s both our business, even if the reasons behind that aren’t the same. Jesus, it’s still morning, but if I could, I’d hit the whisky.’

He looked at her levelly, his dark eyes deep and unfathomable, and she wished she knew what he was thinking. The chasm that had begun to yawn between them grew bigger.

‘That journal...those keepsakes...’ He shook his head and prowled through the kitchen, coming to rest in front of her but almost immediately moving to sit. ‘A shock.’

‘Life’s full of them, I’ve discovered.’

‘Yes, you had your share when you found out about me.’

Kaya wanted to ask what happened next but she knew, just as she knew that she wasn’t going to hang around and wait for him to deliver the final blow to what they’d enjoyed.

‘You need to...think about whatever it is you’ve learned, and you won’t be able to do that while you’re here.’

The silence stretched to breaking point, then he said quietly, ‘Agreed. I don’t... I don’t need reminders of a past that’s suddenly taken shape and come to life. I see the bigger picture now. I see the canvas that was painted over thirty years ago and...yes... I need to digest that. Away from here.’

‘Then go. It’s what you need to do.’

‘I still want you.’

‘That’s not how this goes.’

‘There’s no recipe for how relationships go or how they end. I have a place in the Bahamas. I would have space to think. Read the journal, Kaya, and come with me. We have a connection that can’t be replicated with anyone else. And, even though my head’s telling me it’s time to go, my body is telling me we need to continue this or else we’ll both regret cutting it short too soon.’

‘I don’t think so, Leo.’ Kaya barely recognised the tough, hard edge in her voice but she could feel the barriers falling into place. ‘It’s been fun, and now we need to call it a day.’

‘Is that what you really want? You really want us to walk away from one another before this thing has run its course?’

‘I prefer to leave things on a high.’ She forced a smile. ‘Instead of it fizzling away into disappointment and boredom.’

Leo lowered his eyes, shielding his expression, and Kaya could sense his withdrawal. She was already missing him, missing the easy familiarity that had crept up on them from nowhere. How desperately she wanted that back, but for what? A week or two more of falling even deeper and harder for him? She’d learnt too many lessons in disappointment from her mother to go down that road.

‘Your choice,’ was what he drawled when he raised his eyes to look at her. ‘And no need to rush with packing. I can wrap things up here remotely, I imagine.’ His expression gentled. ‘And, Kaya, the halfway house? You were worried—don’t be. It won’t be sold. I will hold it in a safe trust and, rest assured, whatever investment is needed to keep it afloat, to expand it, will be undertaken. Whatever has happened in the past, and whatever my feelings about my mother, her legacy there will be protected.’