Page 100 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

A slight tremor shook her hands as she put on her sunglasses. “You know, my life’s great! I have zero emotional drama, no distractions. I can channel all my energy and passion into Frill-Seekers, which is thriving, by the way! Why would I gamble that on you—on anyone?”

Throw it out there. Fighting the nerves rolling in his belly, he took a chance. “Because you love me.”

Her mouth fell open and her sunglasses glinted back, cold, detached. “Oh, dream on, rich boy.” She crossed her arms and glanced away, shaking her head.

She’s in denial. He licked his lips and stepped closer. “Leia, I know we shared something real in London. I felt it. You did, too.”

A hard swallow bobbed her throat. “It’s called sexual chemistry, Tarquin. It’s great sex, nothing more.”

“But don’t you crave, you know, intimacy? Kissing? My god, Ginger, our kisses…” Tarquin leaned in. “Don’t you miss feeling so fucking good—with me?”

She pouted downward, her hands seeking refuge in her dress’s pockets. “No.”

I don’t believe her. Fuck, I wish she’d take those bloody shades off! His eyes narrowed. “But our last night in London, our dinner, back at mine…you wanted to stay over, have breakfast—obviously, you felt something for me if you broke your own rules—”

“Tarquin!” Leia looked up. “I didn’t come here for a deep dive into my sex life, okay? Or to profess my undying love for you!” Her chest rose and fell, her breaths short and fast. “I came here to wish you well and say goodbye.”

Goodbye? The word twisted and knotted in his throat. He sputtered, the heat and crowds suffocating. I can’t lose her again. He gently touched her arm. “Leia, let’s find some shade, somewhere air-conditioned. We can grab a bite, talk—”

“Don’t you have a plane to catch?” she blurted, brushing his hand away.

“I’ll rebook, move my meetings. Nothing is as important as you.”

Leia’s lip quivered. She dropped her chin, trading Tarquin’s earnest expression for the safety of her sandals. Perspiration glistened on her skin and her fingers poked erratically through the lace of her dress’s sleeve, unable to settle. “Look, I’m sorry if yesterday made you nostalgic for”—her voice cracked as her sunglasses slipped down her nose—“whatever you think we had, but…it’s over.”

NO! It can’t be! Her declaration twisted like a knife through his heart. “Leia, please!” Tarquin caught her eyes softening behind her frames. “You don’t mean that.” He forced out a staggered breath.

In a single swoop, her fingers evacuated her sleeve and prodded her shades, whisking them up her nose. She sniffed, skirting his gaze.

Wait… is she tearing up? Tarquin bent his neck, closing the distance. “Leia, don’t do this.”

She cleared her throat. “You see, Tarquin, like you, I’m not fucking around either. But the difference is, I like being single. I don’t want a serious relationship or, god forbid, another wedding.” She lifted her chin, defiant. “Go back to London and forget about us, okay?”

This can’t be happening! A breath-stealing ache squeezed his heart. He edged closer, keeping his hands to himself. “Leia, please.” He gasped, fighting back tears. “Don’t do this! I know you feel something for me. Why won’t you let me in? You deserve to be—”

“I deserve to live my life on my terms—not yours!” She hiked the strap of her purse up her shoulder, her tone all business. “I need to get back to work, and you have a plane to catch. Have a safe flight.” Without pause, she dashed into the crowd of iced coffee-toting office workers heading toward the glass skyscrapers overlooking Hudson Yards.

Eyes stinging, Tarquin stood dizzy and defeated. Leia’s ponytail bobbed farther and farther away until she vanished from view. The day we met, Leia said she was bad at decision-making. Turns out, where I’m concerned, she’s brutally efficient.

Twenty-Three

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”

George Addair

LEIA

London, six weeks later, Friday, October 4, 2019

Wide-eyed guests oohed over elegant finger sandwiches and warm scones as Sarah, sat alone with a second cup of Wedding Breakfast tea in hand, glanced over her shoulder and nudged Leia’s phone across the white linen tablecloth. The sisters’ visit to Fortnum & Mason’s Diamond Jubilee Tea Salon was part of Leia’s ‘return to London bucket list’ and, following their hectic morning at Madame Tussauds, offered a refined respite from waxy royals and pushy tourists.

Leia swooped around Sarah’s chair, fresh from her reconnaissance mission across the sun-filled room. She slid into her seat, breathlessly sharing her discovery. “So, that table over there—they call it a cake carriage! How British is that?” Tucking her hair behind an ear, she weaved subtly to Elton John’s “Your Song” tinkling from the tea salon’s grand piano. “There’s a Battenberg, a flourless chocolate cake, a Victorian sponge, and something pineappley. They all look decadent and delicious. I can’t choose!”

“Try these first.” Sarah swooned over the melt-in-your-mouth mini patisseries on the third (and top) tier of their bone china cake stands. A dark chocolate tart, a mini ginger loaf with a generous swirl of thick icing, a square of raspberry mousse topped with a plump berry, and a tartlet with a green apple crémeux dome competed for taste bud approval. “I thought they were the dessert.” She laughed. “Which one do you want, Ley?”

“Hmm, not sure. You pick.” Leia plucked her linen napkin off the table, noticing her phone’s new location beside the low vase of red roses. “Oh! Did you take a photo of me with the cakes?”

“Ah, I didn’t. Sorry.” Sarah added the tartlet to her plate where it mingled with a half-eaten coronation chicken finger sandwich. “But you did get a text from London Fields Brewery.”