The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(128)

If only . . .

Christopher told me who he really was one minute before the car pulled up because he knew I wouldn’t cause a scene in front of the driver.

It didn’t sit well with me at the time, but I let it slide because I understood his reasoning for wanting to be anonymous, especially now that the press is hounding me day and night. I get why he needed that break from reality, and I respect him for taking it. Now that I know him, it would have taken a lot of guts to do what he did.

He wanted to find someone who loved him for him. Mission accomplished: I love him.

With everything.

But what about my choices . . . and do they even matter anymore?

I had everything mapped out, and now my hopes and dreams are just . . . gone.

Christopher is the love of my life—I’m talking soul mate shit—but I know that to be with him I have to give up who I am.

For him to move to be with me . . . he would have to give up who he is.

There’s no fucking winner. One of us has to lose everything in order for the other to be happy.

And I want it to be me. I don’t want him to suffer like this . . . but it’s harder than I thought it would be.

Lonelier.

I screw up my face in tears.

If I want to be my true self, then I can’t stay living in a city. If I want a life with Christopher, then I have to stay.

It’s not fair that I have to choose one over the other.

I can’t lose either.

Tears slowly run down my face.

“Hey, babe,” Christopher’s voice says from behind me.

I turn, startled.

“Everything all right?” he asks.

I turn away from him and quickly wipe my eyes. Damn it, how did he know I was here? “Yep.”

He sits down beside me and stares out over the park. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I try to hide my tears. “I’m okay.”

He raises his eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t.”

We fall silent, and I troll my brain for the right thing to say.

“Hayden . . . you need to talk to me . . . I can’t fix this if you won’t talk to me.”

Be honest.

“I think I’m going to go home to the States for a few weeks,” I say softly.

“What?” He frowns. “Why?”

“You’re so busy, and I . . . just need some fresh air . . . and . . .”

His eyes hold mine.

I steel myself to say the dreaded words out loud. “I’m struggling . . . and not entirely sure that city life is for me.”

“My life is in the city, Hayden,” he replies curtly.

My eyes well with tears. “I know.”

“You said you would give it three months.”

“I know I did.”

“It’s been only weeks. Of course you aren’t settled in yet. Give it some time. You’ll come around.”

Come around?

He just doesn’t get it.

“I don’t want to come around, Christopher,” I snap in frustration. “I’m thinking long term.”

“Meaning what?”

“There’s no way I could raise a family here in these conditions.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” he barks angrily.

I shrug.

“A shrug?” he snaps. “You tell me you don’t want to ever raise a family here, and then you answer it with a shrug? You’ve been here for two fucking minutes, Hayden.”

“Don’t get angry.”

“How could I not?” He raises his voice. “These conditions happen to be the best of the best in London. You have a driver, you have a guard, you live in a forty-million-dollar penthouse and can do whatever you like, and it’s still not fucking enough?”

“I don’t have the cleaner I fell in love with, though, do I?” I snap back. “I hate this workaholic version of you. If I met you as you are now, we wouldn’t even be together.”

He sits back in the chair and gives me a sarcastic smile. “And there it is.”

“There what is?”

“I wondered how long it would be until you threw that in my face.”

My temper begins to rise. “Am I not allowed to bring it up? You’re done with that topic, so that’s the end of it? Is that how this relationship works? It’s your way or the highway.”

“Don’t be fucking cute, Hayden. I don’t like it.”

“I beg your pardon.” Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream. “I will not apologize for feeling let down by you. You brought this all onto yourself when you lied to me for twelve months, so don’t you dare fucking sit there and defend your actions like I’m the one with the problem.”

He rolls his eyes, and I see red.

“I’m going home to the farm for a while.”

“No. You’re not,” he snaps.

“What do you mean, no, I’m not?”

“You told me that you would give it three months, and damn it, you will give them to me. You’re having a bad day. Are you going to run back home to Mommy and Daddy every time you have a bad fucking day?”

Unbelievable.

“Proof that you are not fucking listening to a thing I’m saying,” I yell.