The doorbell rang, a loud, unexpected chime that caused Farrah to jump and knock her coffee to the ground. The ceramic mug hit the carpet with a loud thud.
She issued a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.
“Coming!” She checked to make sure none of the liquid had spilled onto her sketches. It hadn’t, thank God. She would die if she had to start all over again.
Farrah had finished Yuliya’s apartment and was now designing the magazine editor’s Soho flat. The editor, a French woman so glamorous she gave a young Brigitte Bardot a run for her money, had relocated from Paris to take the editor-in-chief position at…well, Farrah wasn’t sure. She hadn’t asked. But it must be a high-profile publication if she could afford an apartment in Soho. Magazines weren’t known for their lucrative paychecks.
The doorbell rang again.
“I said I’m coming!”
Farrah skidded across the apartment toward the door, wondering who it could be. Olivia was at work. Delivery guys left their packages in the lobby, and her neighbors never dropped by. Heck, she didn’t know what half of them looked like.
She peered through the peephole. Her heart stuttered when she saw a familiar flash of golden locks and…was that a teddy bear? It was hard to tell, considering the object was so large it filled up half the peephole. Farrah could only make out what appeared to be a furry brown hand holding a red balloon.
Still, there was no mistaking that blond hair. She knew only one person with hair like that.
Farrah’s sweaty palms slipped off the doorknob. She could pretend she wasn’t home. But no, she’d already yelled and alerted him to her presence.
Damn.
Olivia was always berating her for giving away her presence before she saw who was on the other side of the door. Farrah had dismissed it as paranoia, but now she understood where her friend was coming from.
She took a deep breath, rearranged her expression into a mask of indifference, and opened the door.
Despite her vow to remain indifferent, Farrah couldn’t help but gape at the spectacle in front of her. Blake was holding a teddy bear—a massive, adorable teddy bear that covered most of his six-foot-three frame. The teddy smiled at her, holding a shiny red heart-shaped balloon and wearing a white T-shirt that said, “I’m sorry, Farrah” in red script with a little heart beneath the words. Blake’s other hand clutched the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen. The floral arrangement burst with purple hydrangea, lavender roses, lavender spray orchids—her favorite—and large green echeveria succulents.
Blake poked his head out from behind the fur and flowers. His cheeks dimpled nervously. “Hi.”
Farrah slammed the door in his face.
“Farrah.” A plea crept into his voice and seeped through the door, wrapping itself around her traitorous heart, which whimpered with excitement at how close its other half was. “I just want to talk.”
“We have nothing to say to each other.”
There was no way in hell Farrah was opening that door again. Her heart and her body were her enemies. Her mind was the only sane one of the trio, but majority rules, and she didn’t trust herself in Blake’s presence. No matter how many times he broke her heart, he had a way of melting her down like a candle beneath a hot flame.
Farrah was starting to think the organ pumping in her chest was a bit of a masochist.
“I have a lot to say,” Blake protested. “Don’t make me do it through the door. Your neighbor just passed by, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m a crazed stalker. They’ll probably call the police.”
“Good.”
There was a shuffling sound, and just when Farrah thought he’d left, he spoke again. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I acted like such a jerk the other night, and I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry I keep fucking things up. I’m—” Blake’s tone changed. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen anyone apologize before?” he growled.
Farrah’s mouth tugged up into a smile before she squashed it.
Someone said something in the distance, followed by the slamming of a door, and she heard Blake huff before his voice turned pleading again. “I’m sorry for everything. Please forgive me.”
She was a cheap birthday candle, disintegrating into a puddle of wax.
Don’t do it, her brain warned. He has a way with words, but he can’t be trusted.
Do it, her heart urged. He’s right there! Go to him. You know that’s what you want.
Meanwhile, her body purred, choosing to show instead of tell by peppering goosebumps all over Farrah’s skin and stoking the fire in her belly.
Farrah grit her teeth. After an eternity of indecision, she flung open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I want to talk.”
“You didn’t want to talk when you kicked me out of your apartment. You said I should walk away from you and that I deserved better. So, what changed?” She tightened her grip on the doorknob. “Do I not deserve better anymore?”
Blake swallowed. “I messed up. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. But—”
“You were a complete asshole to me and Paul.”
Blake’s lips thinned at the mention of the other man. “He deserved it.”
His foot shot out and wedged itself between the door and doorframe before she could shut it again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I was a complete asshole, but—” His jaw tensed. “Are you really dating him?”
No. Farrah and Paul never had their talk. He’d stopped contacting her after the night they ran into Blake, and Farrah didn’t blame him. She’d been selfish and manipulative and used him to further her own petty agenda. She would’ve kicked herself to the curb had she been in his shoes.
Not that Farrah was going to tell Blake this. He didn’t deserve to know.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Frost wrapped around each word. “You let me go, remember? I can date whoever I want.”
Blake’s shoulders drooped. “I know.” He resembled a puppy who’d just been kicked, and dammit if her heart didn’t squeeze at the sight.
Farrah tapped her foot against the floor. Finally, unable to take it any longer, she opened the door wider. “Come in. The last thing I want is to be my floor’s subject of gossip for the next month,” she muttered. “You already made enough of a scene.”
Blake perked up at the small sign of her relenting. Confidence returned to his eyes, and he flashed her a dazzling grin as he breezed inside and placed the teddy bear and flowers in the living room. The bear was so large it made the nearby armchair look like a piece of dollhouse furniture.
Farrah stroked the bear’s soft fur. “How did you get this here? It’s almost as tall as you.”
Pink stained Blake’s cheekbones. “Uber XL. They closed off your street for construction, so I carried it the rest of the way. I almost knocked over an old lady coming out of your building. I’m lucky I made it here alive—for someone who was probably born before World War II, she’s quite aggressive with her cane.”
Farrah couldn’t hide a smile at the mental image of Blake dodging a sweet old lady’s cane while balancing a giant stuffed animal and flowers.
Blake saw it and pounced. “That’s how sorry I am. I almost died for you.” His teasing smile melted into a puppy dog stare. “Can you please give me—”
“No.” Her mirth disappeared, and she stepped back, the frantic little beats of her pulse dancing along her skin before he could finish his sentence.
She knew what he was going to ask her.
She wasn’t sure she could deny him.
Despite everything that had happened, Farrah still loved Blake. She could build the walls around her heart so high they reached the heavens, she could arm it with a thousand soldiers firing flame-tipped arrows, and she could surround it with a moat filled with crocodiles, but if Blake persisted—if he got close enough—those defenses would crumble faster than a sandcastle at high tide.
Once, he was her greatest savior. Now, he was her greatest downfall.
The only way Farrah could protect herself was to keep him so far away he couldn’t touch even the outermost perimeter of her defense.
“Don’t finish that question.” Her words were bullets, shot point-blank at Blake’s chest. “I made myself clear—our second chance is over. If you think a couple of gifts will change that, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I know. I’m not asking you for another chance,” Blake said softly. “I’m asking you for an opportunity to explain. I’ll tell you everything. What happened in Texas, why I pushed you away. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“It’s too late.”
They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Unless Farrah wanted a nice long stint in an insane asylum, she needed to stop believing Blake. How many times was she going to let him hurt her until she got the hint?
Blake’s eyes darkened. “Is it Paul?” He spat out the name like it was a rotten piece of fruit. “Are you in love with him?”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Disbelief and anger replaced the humor in Farrah’s laugh. “Get out of my house.”
Instead of leaving, Blake moved closer. Farrah stepped back, he stepped forward, until her back hit the wall and there was nowhere left to go. He was all she could see, and his presence was so powerful, so all-encompassing, she drowned in it.
“What is it about him?” Blake demanded. “How could you move on so quickly? From me? From us?”
Farrah’s blood hissed in her veins. “I’m serious, Blake. Get the fuck out.”
“I need to know!”
“I’m not in love with him, you idiot!” she yelled. “I’m not even dating him! God, how dense can you be?”
Blake looked thunderstruck. “You’re not?”
“No.” Farrah shoved him off her. “We met on a dating app. I’d only known him for two weeks. That night you ran into us? It was our third date. Do you think I’m so fickle that I could turn around and fall in love with someone else just like that?” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
The paleness of Blake’s face could’ve given Edward Cullen a run for his money. “Does that—you fell in love with me again?”
Farrah wanted to bang her head against the wall. “I was always in love with you. Even when I thought I forgot you. Even when I thought I was over you.” Her voice trembled. “From the day I met you, you chipped away at my heart, piece by piece, until you took the entire thing. And you never gave it back, you bastard.”
Blake grasped her chin and tilted it until his eyes bored into hers. “And I’m not giving it back. Ever,” he said fiercely. “It’s mine, and mine is yours. A heart for a heart. It’s only fair.”
If only that were true.
A chill settled in Farrah’s chest, fortifying her defenses and keeping her standing until she did what she had to do.
“Here’s the difference between you and me,” she whispered. “I saw you taking my heart, and I let you. I gave it to you unconditionally. You gave me yours in a locked glass box—beautiful, close enough for me to believe I could touch it, but every time I came close, you pushed me away. Because you didn’t trust me, or you thought I couldn’t handle it, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. In the end, you kept the key, and you ran. Even though you said you loved me. Even though I was right here, all this time.”
Blake trembled against her, tiny, barely imperceptible shudders that belied the stony set of his jaw. He ripped his hand from her chin and grasped her palm, pressing it flat against his chest. “There is no glass box,” he said, the storm in his eyes intensifying into a hurricane. “This is my heart. Feel it. It’s there, and it’s beating. For you. Only for you.”
Silence.
“We can make this work.” Quiet desperation leaked from Blake’s voice and crackled in the air. “I’ve fucked up more times than I can count but tell me how I can make it up to you. You want the key? I’ll give you the key. I’ll give you ten keys. I’ll give you the whole goddamned house! Just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”
“I don’t want anything.” Farrah slipped her hand out of his grasp, as calm as if they were sipping tea on a summer porch in the Hamptons. “You see, there’s only so many times you can push a person away before they never come back.”
“Farrah…”
“The key is useless because I’ve given up trying to unlock what’s inside.”
“Don’t do this.”
“You can keep my heart.” She blinked up at Blake, trying to feel something beyond the numbness spreading through her limbs. She couldn’t. “But I no longer want yours.”
Until today, Farrah didn’t think it was possible to see a person actually die inside. Now, she witnessed it in slow motion as the light bled out of Blake’s eyes, turning the crystal pools into flat, empty swaths of ice. His strong, muscular frame crumpled, and devastation lined his face. He was no longer Apollo but a fallen god, mortal and bleeding, and she couldn’t bear to watch any longer.
Farrah closed her eyes. Apparently, there was a limit to her numbness.
Blake’s laugh was short, rueful, and laced with pain. “For someone who claims never to have touched my heart, you have an uncanny ability to rip it out and tear it apart.”
His footsteps stopped at the door. She felt rather than saw him look at her. “It’s still yours, you know. It will never belong to anyone else. Not in this life, and not in the next thousand lives. You have my heart until the earth stops spinning and the stars turn to dust. You can love it or hate it or forget all about it. But it will always be yours.”
