The Billionaire from Her Past (17 page)

But now—thanks to a beautiful dress and some scribbly sketches—Mila realised that all of that had done nothing to minimise their friendship.

Their friendship
had
changed. It had been reshaped, repositioned. But it had endured—and, given time, it would have been reinvented.

And now Mila knew for sure that Steph had known that too.

The two kids and their Frisbee had left, and the park was now empty again.

‘I love you, Steph,' Mila said to the park, to the tree and to the sky.

And Mila knew, more certainly than anything else in her life, that Steph had loved her too.

* * *

Seb had taken the afternoon off work to head to Cottesloe Beach.

Steph had loved this beach. Most people in Perth loved this beach. And today that was evident in the sheer number of people absolutely everywhere: inside the bars and restaurants along Marine Parade, walking along the street, scattered across the pure white sand and within the crashing waves.

This was where Seb—along with Steph's parents—had released Steph's ashes. So it was the obvious place to come if he wanted to feel close to Steph. And today he did—on her birthday. Twenty-nine today.

Happy Birthday, Stephanie.

Seb navigated the patchwork of towels and bodies on the sand to find a space for himself. He laid out his towel, then sat, his forearms resting on his bent knees, gazing out to the ocean.

I've mucked things up, haven't I, Steph?

With Steph, and now with Mila.

They'd had so much fun out here, the three of them. They'd used to catch the bus, sharing one big beach bag, stuffed with towels and sunscreen. Seb had always been lumped with carrying it—not that he'd really minded.

It had never quite seemed right that a rather nerdy, weedy, computer-obsessed guy got to spend so much time with such beautiful girls. But as soon as they'd all got old enough to start noticing each other beyond who was hogging all the Play Dough it had always been Mila Seb had been drawn to...

‘You are so full of it, Seb!' Mila said, turning on her heel. ‘You didn't hear the ice cream van. What a waste of time.'

Seb stepped in front of her, delaying her stalk from the surf club and back to the beach. ‘Just wait a sec.'

‘Why?' She crossed her arms in front of herself. She was wearing the two-piece bathers she'd got for Christmas—red with lime green polka dots. Her skin was a lovely olive tan, her hair wet and slicked back after a morning of body-boarding in the ocean.

‘I want to talk to you,' he said.

Mila's eyes narrowed. Her gaze flicked over him—his bare chest, board shorts and bare feet—as if searching for whatever she thought he was hiding.

‘Okay,' she said. ‘Talk to me.'

But he hadn't really planned what to say. ‘It's a nice day, isn't it?'

Really? Surely he could do better than that.

Mila rolled her eyes. ‘Steph is going to be annoyed we didn't get any ice-cream.' She went to walk away.

‘I like your bikini,' he blurted out. ‘It matches your eyes.'

She went still, her gaze dropping to her feet. ‘My eyes aren't red,' she said. ‘Or green.'

‘I meant...' he said, scrambling. ‘I meant they complement them. Or something.'

Mila looked up, squinting a little in the bright sun. ‘Thank you,' she said.

For a long moment she met Seb's gaze.

What did he do now?

He took too long.

‘Well—' Mila began.

But in a rush of panic—or adrenalin, or hormones—he seized the moment.

Seized Mila, really.

He gripped her arms, just lightly, and bent his head towards her.

She blinked and looked stunned. But then she smiled—just a little—and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Her lips were soft and tasted of the ocean. He'd never kissed a girl before, so he didn't really do anything else but press his lips to hers, while his mind madly ran in circles, wondering if he should do something with his tongue.

Worried he was doing it wrong, he ended the kiss. He stepped back, releasing Mila from his grasp.

She lifted her hand and touched her lips.

Seb couldn't work out her expression. Had she liked the kiss? Had he done it right?

‘I need to go,' she said, very suddenly.

Then she skirted around him and ran away—back to Steph and their towels...

He hadn't thought about that day in sixteen years. He'd been so embarrassed, and her rejection had stung. He'd read it all wrong.

He'd been so sure—until that kiss—that Mila had liked him. And, from what Mila had said a few nights ago, she
had
. But he'd been oblivious.

What would've happened if he'd known? Would he have ended up with Mila instead?

And did that mean that Steph wouldn't have moved to London with him, fallen in with the wrong crowd, and died?

He'd been staring out at the waves but now he lowered his head, burying it against his knees.

He been through this in the months after Steph's death. He'd blamed himself a million ways—and now he'd found yet another. If he hadn't been so stupid to not realise Mila loved him...

No
.

He couldn't do this. He'd dealt with this.

I'm sorry, Steph
.
For being a crappy husband. For not being there for you. But not for loving you. Not for marrying you.

He hadn't bought the drugs.

Steph had done that. Steph had chosen to take them.

‘Steph's choices are not your responsibility.'

He hadn't believed Mila when she'd said that. He hadn't been ready to believe it. But these past few weeks something had shifted...

When he was with Mila there was a lightness to his life. A rightness. There was laughter, and silliness, and rambling conversations and
connection
. A connection to the present—to living every day to the best of his ability. A connection to Mila—intimacy, trust, passion. And a connection to his future...

And that was what had scared him.

The future was what had made him walk away. Because in the future things could go wrong.
Very
wrong. He could make mistakes. He could ruin everything. He could hurt Mila.

‘Steph's choices are not your responsibility.'

He believed that now.

He did.

Her death hadn't been his fault.

As if you could
make
me do anything!

He could almost hear Steph's voice, and her laughter, caught up in the ocean breeze.

It wasn't his fault.

He'd told himself this a hundred times, and for the first time it seemed to sink in. For the first time he realised he believed it.

It wasn't his fault.

‘Steph's choices are not your responsibility.'

They were hers.

And he sat there alone, on a beach full of memories, without the two women most important to him.

Because of Steph's choices.

And because of his.

The only reason Mila was not sitting beside him, right this second, was because of his own choices. His own decisions.

He
was responsible for that.

Seb lifted his head from his knees as a seagull landed at his feet, pecking hopefully at his towel for food. Around him the beach practically heaved with activity and colour—with
life
.

Why wasn't Mila here with him? Sharing this with him?

Because he didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want their relationship to deteriorate as his relationship with Steph had.

But...

He didn't shirk from the role he'd played in his marriage falling apart. In fact he embraced it. He knew he was responsible for the mistakes he'd made. For the choices he'd made...

And of course that was it.
He
was responsible for his choices. Just as Steph had been for hers. Just as Mila was.

And Mila—unbelievably, amazingly—had chosen
him
. She'd chosen Sebastian Fyfe, with all his flaws and messy emotions.

And Seb—
he'd
chosen to run away from a Technicolor future with Mila. Out of fear.

Fear that when it came to relationships he was broken. Unfixable. That a relationship with Mila would inevitably lead to hurt and to pain. That he'd make the same mistakes as before.

As if he was just some helpless pawn in his own life, predestined to follow exactly the same path.

His ridiculous. How stupid.

He
was responsible for his future.
He
was responsible for his choices—in life and in his relationship with Mila. He was responsible for learning from his mistakes.

So Mila had chosen Seb—despite the pain of her past, despite everything. Despite probably knowing that he was so caught up in his past that he'd reject her. She'd chosen courage.

While Seb had chosen fear.

That ended now.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
was Saturday. It had been
crazy
busy at Mila's Nest—the busiest day Mila had ever had. She'd even sat down and worked that out on her laptop. Online sales were through the roof, too—in fact she'd needed to close for new orders as she just couldn't keep up with demand.

Next year she'd need to work something out—maybe make some slip cast moulds, or even look into getting some of her designs commercially produced. The prospect was both exciting and a little sad—it felt like the end of an era. No longer would everything she sold be made with her own hands.

But tonight she was definitely using her own hands. She sat at her potter's wheel, the radio humming in the background, wet clay beneath her fingertips.

She was completely absorbed in her creation—gently manipulating the clay from featureless lump into an elegant, elongated vase—when there was a knock at the workshop door.

It was a warm December evening, so she'd left the door open. Only the security screen separated Mila from her visitor, and it rattled under the definite tap of Seb's knuckles.

‘Hey,' he said.

Not sure what to do with Seb's unexpected appearance, Mila momentarily lost her focus—and under her wayward fingers the vase collapsed.

‘Dammit!' She brought the wheel to a stop.

Seb swore. ‘Sorry—I didn't mean—'

‘I'm a bit busy at the moment,' Mila interrupted, as she patted the ruined vase back into a lump. ‘Please leave.'

That had been incredibly hard to say—which Mila didn't like.

She kept her gaze downwards as she slapped a new mound of clay onto the wheel head, then dipped her fingers into the adjacent bowl of water so she could dampen the clay.

‘I'm not going anywhere,' he said.

Mila closed her eyes. ‘It's a lovely night,' she said. ‘There are thousands of better things you could be doing than watching me work.'

‘I can't think of any.'

Mila shook her head. No, he didn't get to be charming.

She stood up and went to the sink to wash her hands, her back to Seb. She dried her hands on her apron, twisting her fingers in the fabric.

Why
didn't this get easier? It had been a week. Shouldn't it not hurt so much by now? But instead Mila felt as raw as when he'd told her no
.

He didn't want her. Why was he here?

She took a deep breath before turning and walking to the door. He looked as handsome as always—in a dark grey T-shirt and black board shorts—his shoulders broad, his calves muscular.

Maybe Seb had thought she was going to let him in—but he rapidly realised his mistake as she reached for the heavy workshop door.

‘Wait, Mila,' he said. ‘Please let me in.'

She shook her head again.

No, no, no.

‘You know,' she said, quite conversationally from her side of the fly screen, ‘I was thinking about Steph yesterday.'

She didn't need to clarify why.

He nodded. Of course he had been, too.

‘I was thinking about how much I miss her. How I'd love to hear her laugh just one more time.' She took a deep breath. ‘And then I started wondering what would have happened if you and I
had
started going out. If the other night you'd said yes instead of no.'

‘Mila—'

‘And I thought...I wonder if he would've compared me to Steph? And if he did how would I have stacked up? Would I have been just the substitute, or the consolation prize, or simply his second choice?'

Seb was furious. ‘Let me in, Mila. You are—'

‘But then,' Mila said, ‘I realised I was being an idiot.'

Seb went still.

‘Because when I'm with you...' A pause. ‘When I
was
with you, you never made me feel like that. You never made me feel like anything but the focus of your attention. When I was with you, you made me feel like the centre of your universe. You made me feel special, and treasured, and
valued.
Just for being me, nothing more.' She swallowed. ‘I haven't felt like that before. I've never felt like someone's most important person. I liked it. I loved it, really.'

He was letting her talk now.

‘I'm sorry it's over, but that's okay. I'm okay—really. You didn't need to check up on me, or whatever it is you're doing. Thank you for making me feel like that, and for helping me realise that I want that feeling again. That I deserve to feel like that.' Another long pause. ‘But I don't want to see you again, Seb. It's too hard.'

She reached for the door, needing to close it quickly, so she no longer had to look at Sebastian.

‘Let me in, Mila—please.'

She shook her head silently and gripped the door handle.

‘Dammit, Mila, I don't want to say this through a fly screen. Let me in.'

There was nothing he could possibly say. She swung the door shut.

Seb spoke again, a split second before the door clicked shut.

‘I love you, Mila!'

But the door was closed.

‘I love you!'

He was shouting. She could hear him clearly through the door. She should walk away—he'd only clarify those words if she let him in: he loved her
as a friend
.

But when it came to Sebastian Fyfe, as always, she was weak. She opened the door, but not the security screen.

‘I love you,' he said again. ‘You
are
my most important person.'

‘And you don't want to lose our friendship—blah-blah-blah. Haven't we been through this before? It's kind of old.'

‘No,'
he said. ‘I've been an idiot. Please hear me out.'

She nodded, but sharply. ‘Be quick. I have a vase to make.'

Mila crossed her arms, refusing to be anything but sceptical.

‘I loved Steph,' he said. ‘You know that. We loved each other like people do in books and movies, I thought it was perfect. I thought our relationship was perfect. But then we got married, we moved overseas, our businesses took off...and everything changed. I don't really know if it changed fast or slow—but one day our relationship had broken and it never stopped breaking. Our marriage was over in every way but officially. We were done.'

He stood there, on the other side of the security screen, watching Mila with a measured intensity.

‘And that was the thing. Steph and I started with so much and ended up with nothing.
Worse
than nothing, actually. It was like we'd created a vacuum between us, which swallowed up all our hopes and plans for a future together and left us each alone in the darkness. It was miserable.' He swallowed. ‘I made a lot of mistakes in my marriage. I prioritised my work over Steph. I prioritised my work over everything. And I shoved my head in the sand when it came to Steph and I. I hurt her—a lot. I hate that I did that. And I was terrified that I'd do that to you.'

Mila had uncrossed her arms, and her fingers were now tangling again in her apron.

‘So when you started talking about love the other night I did panic. It's hard for me to believe in love, given what happened in my marriage. It isn't really an emotion that I trust. But mostly I was worried about you. I don't ever want to hurt anyone the way I hurt Steph. I believed I was beyond repair. That loving me meant that hurt was guaranteed. I couldn't do that to you.'

‘What's changed?' Mila asked.

Seb nodded. ‘You,' he said. ‘You've changed me, Mila. You've shown me that I need to leave the past behind. That, while I need to learn from my mistakes, I need to move forward. You told me once about your plans to protect yourself from hurt in relationships—and I know how much you've been hurt in the past. And yet you threw all that away. For
me
. You risked hurt—hurt that you're all too familiar with—for a man you knew was all kinds of messed up and likely to throw it in your face.'

Because I love you
—Mila thought. But she was wasn't ready to say it aloud. Not yet.

‘Life is all about choices, Mila. I finally get that. And I promise you right now I choose
not
to be a selfish, distant workaholic ever again.'

Mila's lips quirked upwards, despite the swirling and still uncertain emotion between them.

‘But I know that I'm not the only one with choices in a relationship. You have them too. And I think maybe it was those choices that I was most fearful of. What if you choose to hurt me? To walk away from me? To stop loving me?'

Seb's voice was strong, but raw. Mila's heart beat like a drum against her chest...her fingers twisted in knots inside her apron.

‘But you know what? I can't control your choices. I can't control anything but my own. And, as scary as that is for me to realise, I've decided to run with it. To be—for the first time in way too long—truly, properly brave.'

He swallowed, his gaze exploring her face.

‘So, Mila—I choose
you
. I choose to love you. I love you, Mila Molyneux, and that won't change—whatever you decide. Whatever you choose. I came here tonight because I thought you deserved to hear that—but also because I needed to say it.' A long, long pause. ‘I came here with no expectations. I
will
leave, with no regrets and no bad feelings—I promise—if you don't want me. If you don't love me. If you don't choose—'

‘Oh,
God
, Seb, shut up!' Mila said with laughter—and with love. ‘Of
course
I choose you!'

With rapid, desperate movements, Mila opened the security screen. Instantly she was in Seb's arms and his lips were at her neck, her jaw, her mouth.

Her hands threaded through his hair. ‘I love you,' Mila said softly against his lips.

‘I love you, too, Mila,' he said, his lips against her ear, his breath hot against her skin. ‘I've loved you since I was fourteen—in a million different ways. But the way I love you
now
is my favourite.'

‘This
is
pretty good,' she teased, and then squealed as he lifted her into his arms.

‘Can that vase wait?' Seb asked, nodding in the direction of the forgotten pottery wheel.

‘That had better not be a serious question,' Mila replied, her mouth against his neck, her laughter only slightly muffled against his skin.

‘Of course not,' Seb said, and he practically leapt up the stairs, putting his months of physical labour—Mila thought—to very good use.

At the top of the stairs, he paused. It was dark in Mila's apartment, lit only by the glow of the streetlight and a hint of the moon. But still, in the almost darkness, their gazes met and locked.

Seb was waiting, Mila realised.

Then she smiled.

‘Carry me to bed,' she said, so softly.

‘Every night?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘For ever, please.'

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
STEPPING INTO THE PRINCE'S WORLD
by Marion Lennox.

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