The Billionaire from Her Past (8 page)

‘What happened with Ben?' Seb asked.

Mila had been looking into the darkness beyond Seb's shoulder and the court fencing, but now she forced herself to meet his gaze.

Maybe Seb was grasping at the opportunity to talk about absolutely anything. Or more likely he felt nothing when they touched and was simply having a perfectly reasonable conversation.

‘He cheated on me,' Mila said baldly. There was really no other way to say it.

‘Oh, Mila—' Seb began.

But Mila wasn't about to let him continue. She didn't need to see the pity in his gaze as he realised that—yes—yet another man had
not
chosen Mila.

‘It's old news, Seb, I'd rather not talk about it.'

She grabbed her water bottle from beside her bag and took a long, long drink. She made sure she was smiling by the time she packed her racquet back in its bag and as they walked together back to their cars. Their conversation moved on to the trivial, and by the time Mila was in her car and driving home she'd just about convinced herself that she'd imagined her reaction to Seb's touch.

And besides—it didn't really matter, did it? They were just friends.

* * *

It was the perfect summer evening—warm, but with a sea breeze cooling their skin. The Fremantle beach was dotted with open-sided tents and food trucks, and a busker sang beneath a zig-zag of festoon lights—although the sun was still yet to complete its descent. Beneath the purple and red sky children ran and laughed, and their parents held cardboard trays piled high with food. Tourists took photos with bulky cameras and teenagers took phone selfies against the backdrop of surf and sand and towering Norfolk pines.

‘Cool, huh?' Mila smiled up at Seb, her lovely eyes covered by her oversized sunglasses.

Seb nodded his agreement. He'd invited her for a drink after work, but Mila had suggested the beach markets instead. It was a good idea—more casual, more people.

Although that had been why Seb had suggested a drink in the first place: because it
shouldn't
matter if he and Mila had a drink in a bar—it shouldn't feel like anything but two friends catching up after work. It shouldn't feel private, or intimate, or date-like.

But it seemed that maybe Mila had thought it would. Maybe Seb did, too. It didn't really matter—the important thing was that he and Mila were hanging out together, just as he'd wanted. As friends.

Over the past couple of weeks, since the film premiere, it had become clear that they were both on the same page, that they wanted to remain within firm ‘friends only' boundaries. There'd been a few blips—that first, post-kiss tennis game, for example.

He'd been quite pleased at how well that match had gone, despite the distraction of Mila, and her obvious gorgeousness in her tennis gear, and her legs that went on for ever. He'd just about convinced himself that he was back to being objective Seb, capable of simply admiring the attractiveness of his
friend
without it meaning anything more, and then they'd shaken hands...

How stupid that such a G-rated touch had robbed him of his ability to think. For long moments, Seb hadn't been able to grasp at even one reason why he and Mila couldn't be much, much more than friends.

Fortunately he'd come to his senses, and Mila had seemed utterly unaware. But Seb had made sure there'd been no handshake at the end of their match the following week, though—just to be safe.

And now here they were, on a postcard-perfect beach, surrounded by the scents of falafel and satay and pizza. Mila was a few steps ahead, scouting out their dinner options. It was exactly what he wanted—the easy, comfortable, reliable friendship of his past.

Because he'd realised, when faced with losing Mila, that she was the only constant in his now topsy-turvy life. Everything had changed, Everything was no longer how it was meant to be. His friendships—in London and at Fyfe Technology—had drifted, and floated away, not strong enough to sustain his international relocation. He didn't mind—he'd eventually make new friends, find new mates to go cycling with, to invite over for a beer. But he wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't ready to share his history with just anyone, or to invite others into this new and uncertain phase of his life.

Mila already knew him. Not the details of the past few years—and certainly not the mess of his marriage—but she did know
him
. He didn't have to explain himself to her. He didn't have to be anyone else for her. He just got to
be
with her.

Except when he was derailed by this continued, unwanted attraction.

But he could handle it. Surely it would pass with time.

Mila pointed at a tent to their right, then looked back at Seb over her shoulder. She wore a pale blue summer dress, her shoulders golden in the setting sun.

‘Oh,
look—
crêpes!'

They ended up completing a full lap of all the food options before spotting a park bench, shaded by the outstretched boughs of a Norfolk pine, which they promptly claimed. In order to sample most of the food up for offer, they'd agreed to share—with one of them heading out for food while the other saved the seat.

Seb set out, returning with a shredded beef burger, topped with a shiny brioche bun. Mila finished her half first, and headed back out into the crowd for their second course.

The sun continued its gradual fall into the ocean, where two container ships interrupted the perfect line of the horizon. As Seb sat there, wiping barbecue sauce from his fingers with a napkin, he felt for the first time as if...

‘Is this seat taken?'

Seb looked up at the sound of a soft, very female voice. The woman was short, blonde, and very pretty, with long tumbling hair and warm brown eyes.

Unthinkingly, he ran his thumb over the place where his wedding band had once been—but of course it wasn't there.

‘Oh,' he said, wondering if he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe she genuinely just needed somewhere to sit?

‘Seb?'

It was Mila, cradling a neatly closed white cardboard box and a tray with two forks stabbed into a mound of paella.

‘Oh!' the blonde woman said. ‘I'm so sorry. I thought—' She was blushing, her gaze darting to her feet. ‘Have a lovely day!'

Then she was gone.

‘Who was that?' Mila asked, settling onto the bench. She put the box down beside her—away from Seb. ‘Dessert,' she said with a grin. ‘It's a surprise.'

Then she carefully served out the paella into the second tray that had been hiding beneath the first.

‘I have no idea,' Seb said, and then had his first mouthful of paella—all spicy and delicious.

‘So she was hitting on you?'

Seb coughed, a piece of rice stuck in his throat. ‘I guess,' he said, really not wanting to have this conversation with Mila.

‘She was pretty. Do you want to go talk to her? I won't mind.'

‘What?'

Mila shrugged, waving a piece of chorizo on the end of her fork. ‘Go on. Don't let me stop you.'

She was still wearing her sunglasses, so it was impossible to read her expression.

‘Don't you remember what I said? About how I'm terrible at relationships?'

‘That was just to make me feel—' But she didn't finish the sentence, instead taking off her sunglasses and meeting his gaze. ‘
That
wasn't a relationship. That was a woman angling to ask you out. You could do that.'

‘No,' he said, unequivocally. ‘I could not.'

‘Why not?'

Mila was focused on her paella now, chasing pieces of meat and vegetables about in the rice. She sounded completely relaxed.

Seb had lost his appetite.

‘I wasn't a very good husband, Mila. I don't want to put someone else through that again.'

‘That doesn't mean you can't date again. Have some fun.'

He honestly hadn't really thought about it. In London, his one-night stands had left him empty. And now, back in Perth, there was Mila...

No
. He simply wasn't ready.

He said so.

‘I get that,' Mila said. ‘That's understandable. I just wanted to make sure your decision wasn't anything to do with me.'

She met his gaze now, absolutely direct. It was almost as if she was daring him to agree. Or disagree. Seb had no idea.

‘It isn't,' Seb said.

‘Good,' she said, looking out to the ocean. ‘You know, I kind of get it... After what happened with Ben I didn't think I ever wanted to do that again.' A pause. ‘
Ever
.' She finished her paella. ‘But, you know, that is pretty unrealistic. I've been to both my sisters' weddings over the past couple of years. I know I want that too. To be in love like that. To be loved like that. I think the trick will be to work out a way to protect myself.'

‘From what?' he said.

‘You know...' she said, with half a smile. ‘The messy bits that hurt. Like your ex-fiancé hooking up with a girl from work. They're engaged now.'

‘Ouch,' Seb said.

‘Yup.' A grin. ‘But that's okay. I think I fought too long for that relationship to work. The signs were there. Kind of like my dad, in a way. I let hope drive my delusions...illusions...whatever. I won't do
that
again.'

‘So how will you do it? How will you protect yourself?'

Mila shook her head. ‘I'm working on it,' she said.

They were both quiet for a while. Two little girls with fairies painted on their cheeks came running past them, squealing and waving sequined wands.

‘Can you hurry up and finish your dinner, Seb?' Mila said suddenly—and brightly. ‘Because we
have
to try these cupcakes. One is triple choc
and
salted caramel. How is that even
possible
?'

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
EB
WAS
ON
the phone when Mila walked into his shop on Tuesday.

He stood at the back, a shoulder propped against the bare brick wall. The new first floor was in, although the rafters were still exposed. Mila could hear the activity of tradesmen upstairs: the murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional whir of a drill.

Aaron, one of the labourers, was sweeping up a pile of rubble and sawdust near the shop window. He smiled a greeting. He was young and tall, with his red-blond hair arranged in a man bun and a cheeky glint to his eye.

They'd spoken once before, when Mila had asked if she could retrieve some old coloured glass bottles from the skip. She'd thought maybe she could use the glass in some of her pieces. Or just use them as skinny vases. She wasn't sure—she just thought they were pretty.

Mila found herself smoothing her T-shirt against her hips as she walked towards Seb, but she stopped herself. She didn't have to worry about looking nice for Seb. Besides, she was wearing a variation of what she wore every day—skinny jeans and a loose T-shirt with a loud print. Today the print was of nasturtiums. She wasn't trying to impress
anyone
. Certainly not Seb.

He'd seen her as soon as she'd walked in, his smile wide and welcoming. Mila grinned back.
See. This was nice
.

She'd popped over to see if he was free for lunch. She'd made too much pasta last night, so thought she'd invite him up to her place for leftovers. Surely you couldn't get more relaxed and friend-like than
that
.

Although with the way her heart accelerated as she took in his work shirt, shorts and heavy boots...which she still wasn't used to and still really rather liked...she decided that maybe she'd bring their bowls of penne downstairs, and they could eat in the workshop—with Sheri as a chaperon, of sorts.

Oh, God
. She was being ridiculous. Because what had happened on Friday at the beach markets had been a
good
thing. She was at pains to remind herself of that. Was there any better way to define their friendship then to bring another women into the equation? Seb should have gone after her, and spoken to her. She'd looked nice. Very pretty, too.

There was simply no reason why he shouldn't have. Least of all because of the way Mila had felt when she'd spotted them, her arms full with paella and a box of cupcakes.

She should probably have expected that seeing Seb with another woman would feel like a knife to her heart. That seemed dramatic now, but it was how she'd felt. She'd stood there for a moment, utterly still, her insides all sliced up with pain.

Which was silly. She had no right.

Seb had made it clear—for him, being with Mila was wrong, even though for her it had felt right. And she just couldn't argue with that. He could wrap it up in talk of being
‘terrible at relationships'
, blah-blah-blah. But how stupid—as if Seb would never be with anyone else after Steph.

He just didn't want to be with
her
.

Seb asked the person on the phone to hold on for a moment, before holding his phone against his chest. ‘Sorry, Mila, I'll only be another minute. I'm having a major issue with this supplier—'

‘That's fine,' she said with another smile. She wasn't in a hurry.

‘How are you, Mila?' Aaron asked, behind her.

Glad for something to do, she turned to face him. He really was quite handsome, although in a surfer, music festival kind of way.

‘I'm good,' she said. ‘Busy day?'

They chatted for a few minutes. Aaron had recently bought a new car that he described enthusiastically. Cars weren't really Mila's thing, but then she'd told all and sundry when she'd first got her new kiln, so she understood the excitement of a big, shiny toy.

From the corner of her eye Mila saw Seb turn slightly away from them. His words were still calm, but there was definitely a layer of steel in what he said.

‘So I was wondering...would you like to go see it? With me?'

‘Pardon me?' Mila said, suddenly realising the conversation had moved on from cars and their stereo systems.

Aaron's gaze was confident and his lips quirked upwards. ‘I asked if you wanted to see
Agent X
—you know, that spy movie? It's cheap night tonight.' He paused. ‘Not that I'd mind paying for full-priced tickets for you, of course.'

Mila laughed at his aplomb, then realised he was being serious.

‘Oh,' she said.

‘Unless,' Aaron said, ‘you've got something going with my boss? Only I heard him tell one of the other guys you were just friends, so I thought—'

Ouch.

But it was true—once again, she really had nothing to be upset about.

‘No,' she said. ‘We
are
just friends.'

Aaron grinned.

Mila was flattered, and Aaron did seem very nice—if young—but...

‘Thanks for the invite, but—'

Seb had finished his call and turned back to face them. She couldn't read his expression—not at all. He was just watching them. Waiting for Mila to finish her conversation.

What had she expected? Jealousy?

‘Actually,' Mila said, ‘that sounds great. What time?'

They swapped phone numbers before Aaron went back to his work and Mila walked over to Seb.

‘Hot date?' he asked with a grin.

Maybe
his smile was forced.
Maybe
he didn't meet her gaze. Or maybe he was simply pleased for her.

It didn't matter.

‘Something like that,' she said, with a deliberately broad smile. ‘So, do you feel like some penne marinara? I made it and, without a word of a lie, it's awesome.'

* * *

Seb went for a really long walk after dinner. His apartment was in East Perth, so he went past the cricket ground and down to the Swan River. He shared the path with late-night dog walkers, joggers and cyclists—the latter's headlights blinding in the darkness.

He hadn't bothered to dress appropriately, so he was still wearing what he'd changed into after work—jeans, flip flops, a faded old T-shirt. So he didn't really fit in with all the Lycra and the neon running shoes—but then, he wasn't here to exercise. Although his pace wasn't completely sedate. He found himself walking faster and faster, his shoes slapping on the bitumen in an attempt to outpace his thoughts.

Maybe.

Until now it had been easy to fill his brain and his day with stuff that didn't involve Mila. With work, mostly. A new site purchase, an investor meeting, a marketing consultant. Then, later, with food. He must have perused every possible home delivery option, and then spent way too long reading online reviews before finally ordering. When his food had eventually arrived he hadn't been hungry. Instead he'd just pushed it around with a fork before eventually conceding defeat and constructing a little tower of plastic containers in his fridge.

So now he'd run out of things to distract his brain with. All that was left was Mila. Mila on her date. With Aaron.

He thought he'd handled things quite well in his shop. He'd teased her, as was appropriate given he was her
friend
. And Aaron seemed to be a good guy. He was hard-working, reliable and enthusiastic about his job—all reasons why Seb should like him. Until today he had. Tonight...he didn't.

He didn't like him at all.

He'd tried telling himself that he was worried about Mila. That after Ben cheating on her, and her father letting her down—after losing Steph—the last thing she needed was to be hurt again.

After all, that was why he'd ended their kiss. Why he'd realised it was wrong. He just couldn't be responsible for Mila being hurt again. He would not allow it.

But that wasn't the only reason he didn't like Mila's date. This wasn't brotherly-type concern.

Far from it.

Maybe Mila was okay with him talking to other women—as she'd said at the markets. With him having relationships with other women.

As they'd talked that night he'd agreed with everything she'd said: in theory.

Because it was one thing for them both to talk about their hypothetical relationships in a hypothetical future. It was another for the future to be here right now.

And right this instant Mila was on a date with another man. A man who wasn't him.

He
hated
that.

The sea breeze was cool against Seb's skin. He headed towards the new Elizabeth Quay and the bell tower, where restaurants perched along the water. Even on a Tuesday night people bustled about—it was a perfect early summer evening, before the weather became too hot to do anything but swim.

Seb slowed his pace to a dawdle, and then came to a complete stop just to the side of the footpath. He stood on the grass, watching the small white caps on the river's tiny waves.

He wanted Mila.

But he couldn't have her.

He couldn't risk hurting her and losing her.

Because she was all he had left.

He couldn't face the idea of his world without Mila.

On the beach, she'd been so very wrong to label herself a substitute for Steph. That was doing a disservice to both women. Steph had irreplaceably been Steph, while Mila was irreplaceably Mila.

He'd never imagined a world without either of them—even as he'd known his marriage was failing and that his relationship with Steph had become irreparable.

For Steph to be gone was still impossible—she'd been so full of life, so full of dreams. She'd deserved a future no longer married to him. She'd deserved a future, full stop.

But Mila was still here. She was real, alive, and still part of his world. He was not going to ruin that. He
would
not.

A splash in the inky black river drew Seb's attention. But the river was calm. Then again—a subtle splash, this time in Seb's line of vision, a shift in the shadows beneath the moonlight.

A dolphin. Two. Swimming together, their fins appearing and disappearing amongst the waves, a pair perfectly in sync.

His phone vibrated in his back pocket, and by the time he'd retrieved it the dolphins were gone.

A text message—from Mila.

I need to see you.