Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
He should have known after his bread-crumb trail search for Iris this morning—going from her flat, to her parents’ house where a nosy neighbor had informed Chance that the family was at this address in Wandsworth—that she’d probably be helping out her parents today. But in his eagerness to see her, he’d totally ignored Chance’s warnings when they’d pulled up to this restored manor with the dozens of cars parked outside, and had unknowingly gate-crashed a wedding.
There’d been no security to speak of and he’d simply walked in, expecting to see Iris having lunch or something with her family. He'd had a moment of disorienting confusion when he’d walked into a massive hall full of milling, jovial people, all so focused on their food that they hadn’t even realized that he didn’t belong there.
And then he’d spotted her—in that sexy form-fitting tuxedo-like uniform— across the room, hands laden with platters of food. By the time he’d reached her, she was turning away toward the doors at the back of the room, and he’d hurried to get ahead of her, only to have her walk right into him. He’d known immediately that confronting her while she was working was wrong, but seeing and touching her after all this time had renewed his sense of urgency. Now it felt like he’d—once again—fucked everything up. Approached her in the wrong setting, pleaded his case at the worst time. He’d had one shot and he’d blown it. He knew it. And when she’d hastened away from him after they’d finished with the champagne, it had confirmed his worst fears.
She’d been gone for nearly five minutes and—not sure what to do about the filled glasses—Trystan wiped his hands, straightened his cuffs, and tugged at the hem of the snug waistcoat, before throwing back his shoulders and making his way to Jason Hughes.
“The champagne is ready for service,” he informed the man quietly. “What else do you need me to do?”
The man, who’d been inspecting the clipboard in his hand, met Trystan’s eyes in a long, uncomfortable stare.
“Why did you come here?” Blunt. Trystan liked that.
“To beg Iris to take me back.” The older man’s eyes narrowed on his face. It was evident that he wasn’t remotely impressed by Trystan’s words.
“And why should she do that? After what happened the last time?”
“She probably shouldn’t,” Trystan admitted. Jason Hughes’s gray eyes flared in surprise at Trystan’s words. “She deserves better than a foolish arsehole like me. But I believe that she loves me… and if she’s been even half as miserable as I have without her these last few weeks, then she’s in a lot of pain. We’re stronger together and happier together, but we didn’t get a fair shot at making a success of our relationship. I just wanted—hoped for—another chance.”
“From what I gather it won’t be the first time you’ve needed another chance. What makes this time different?”
“What I had with Iris always seemed too good to be true… and I reckon I—subconsciously—was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I should have known better., I should’ve trusted her, but after everything I’d just been through with the press after Trish’s death—” He scrubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “It felt inevitable. Like I’d been waiting for the betrayal since day one. I have the same fears and doubts and insecurities as every other man, and I succumbed to my fear in that moment. My fear of being hurt and betrayed. I went on the defensive and I said and did the most unforgivable things.”
“And yet you expect to be forgiven?” the man said, his face unreadable.
“It’s not expectation. It’s hope.”
Jason Hughes’s eyes drifted away from Trystan’s face and a gentle smile tilted the corners of his lips as he nodded at whomever was behind Trystan.
“Iris, why don’t you and Trystan go someplace private to talk? We can manage here. There’s not much more left to do.”
Trystan spun around and found Iris standing a few feet behind him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. The sight of those tears tore at his heart and he stumbled toward her, hand outstretched—his instinct to comfort her—before he came to an uncertain halt. Knowing that he didn’t have that right.
Instead, he stood before her, shoulders hunched, hands hanging limply by his sides, as he waited.
“Are you sure?” For a second Trystan was almost certain her question was for him, until she averted her gaze to her father’s face.
“I’m sure. Between the gawking and the eavesdropping, this lot isn’t going to be much use to me unless you and Trystan get out of sight while you talk.”
Iris nodded and turned those beautiful, bright eyes back to Trystan. It was like being brushed by the sun, and he could bask in her gaze all day long.