Zoe's Lesson

Uncertainty—and fear—gnawed at her.

She gazed around, the sheet slipping slightly, pooling in inky satin around her feet, and then she saw him.

Of course, he was outside. She’d glanced out at the terrace when she’d first entered the living room and hadn’t seen him, but now she saw it wrapped around the entire apartment, and he was on the other side, through the dining room.

She crossed the two rooms, the sheet trailing behind her in a dark river, and opened the doors that led out to the terrace.

‘There you are.’ She spoke lightly, but still she heard—and felt—the uncertain wobble in her tone. Felt the flutter of fear in her heart. Max was seated at a wrought-iron table, a thick ceramic mug of coffee cradled between his palms. He looked lost in thought, and he glanced up only as she came to stand near him, feeling a bit ridiculous wrapped in a sheet.

Why on earth hadn’t she put her clothes on?

‘Here I am,’ he agreed, and Zoe couldn’t tell a thing from his tone.

‘Did you make coffee?’ she asked, making sure to keep her voice light. ‘I didn’t smell any in the kitchen, but I’m gasping for a—’

‘I made it hours ago. It’s cold.’ Now she was able to recognise his tone, and it was frighteningly flat.

‘Oh.’ She paused, hitching the sheet more firmly around her. ‘Well, perhaps I could make another pot. And maybe borrow one of your shirts?’ She raised her eyebrows, tossing her hair over her shoulders, determined to seem far more insouciant and confident than she felt. What man could resist a woman wrapped in a sheet after all?

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

Apparently Max could. Zoe’s hand clenched on the sheet, and the satin slipped under her fingers. Max regarded her with a remote coolness that made her throat dry and her eyes sting.

No. No, please, no. Not this. Not this utter rejection, the look in his eyes one of…annoyance? Zoe feared that was the humiliating emotion she saw there. She was no more than an irritation to be dealt with before he got on with his day.

Or was she overreacting? Battle scarred from all the trashy tabloid talk, the stares and whispers?

‘Why?’ she finally asked, and forced herself to smile. ‘Are you out of coffee?’

‘No, I’m not,’ Max replied. ‘But I don’t think you should stay long enough to warrant coffee or clothes.’

Zoe blinked. She felt as if she’d been slapped. She opened her mouth but for once any witty retort or rejoinder deserted her. Her mind was blank, numb, and she looked away, blinking hard.

‘I can’t say much for your hospitality,’ she finally managed. Her voice sounded scratchy, and her throat felt sore.

‘No,’ Max agreed. His mouth was set in a hard line, the expression in his eyes chilly and so terribly resolute.

‘Did last night not mean anything to you?’ Zoe asked, wincing even as the words came out of her mouth. What a stupid question to ask. Obviously it didn’t; he really couldn’t make it any plainer. Was she a glutton for punishment, demanding the torture of him explaining himself even more?

‘No,’ Max said again, and Zoe bit her lip. ‘And I don’t think it meant much to you either.’

How could he say that, Zoe wondered, when she’d felt so different, so new? How could he believe it? Pride forced herself to smile coolly and toss her hair over her shoulders. ‘Well, even so, a parting cup of coffee would be a courtesy, at least.’

‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry at all.