After leaving her life with me, Alice had travelled around the world for two years, visiting all the weird and wonderful corners of the earth and experiencing life through the eyes of a hundred different cultures. She came alive as she relived the tales of her time in Thailand, Bali, New Zealand, Australia, South America… Jesus, the woman had been everywhere. The more she spoke that night, the more I realised that her leaving hadn’t really been about me. She hadn’t lied when she’d told me that she’d wanted to be young before she was old. Alice had needed that life of adventure to figure out who she was when she was alone. If it had been possible, I would have said she was even more beautiful because of her freedom than she ever had been with me.

It was hard to feel sorry for myself when I saw how much better off she’d become by doing her own thing.

The real shock was when she lifted her top to show me a small tattoo that ran across her ribs reading Wanderlust. If there was one girl I hadn’t expected to ink her skin, it was Alice. But she was a different woman now. Just like I was a slightly different man.

We’d parted ways later that evening, promising to stay in touch. When I walked away, I wasn’t sure if she meant it when she said she wanted to remain friends, but in the weeks that followed, Alice proved that now, more than ever, she liked to keep her promises.

We did more than stay in touch. We became friends, checking in on one another most days, using each other to complain about work, bad food, or our Viking-like friends.

She nagged me endlessly to update my social media. Eventually, I conceded, allowing myself to upload just three pictures that would have to keep her satisfied. One was of me on my own. The second was of me with my arm around Sammy. The third was a picture of my four-person family unit. Alice’s messages never stopped, and before long, a few weeks had passed of me settling into an odd routine of working, coming home to my parents’ place, drinking at the weekend with Cam, then having Sunday lunch out with Alice. It was only ever a couple of hours in each other’s company, but it felt nice to have a little piece of something to myself again. Something nobody was aware of and could destroy.

Just two friends having lunch. Every week.

Totally innocent.

Even if one of those friends was ridiculously beautiful to look at.

Before I knew what was happening, time had whizzed right past me with the autumn leaves of October fading away until all that was left of the trees were the bare bones of trunks and twigs. No matter how much time passed, though, I was very aware that I’d yet to do the one thing I’d promised myself I would.

Call Natalie.

The last time I’d spoken to her, she’d been off on her own adventures with Alex, and I wanted things to stay that way. I knew the burden a girl like her would carry every time she looked at me in the future. She’d feel the lies she’d told staring back at her. She’d remember the time when she was at her friends’ wedding and was trying to fight her natural instincts to go to her ex. She’d be miserable. Damn, the girl had only spoken to me over the phone after we broke up and I could hear the sadness in her voice.

I didn’t want that for her.

I selfishly didn’t want that for myself.

Her attempts to get Sammy to convince me to talk to her had finally dried up, and I hoped Natalie had gotten the hint I was trying to make without twisting it the wrong way around. I didn’t need her to check up on me. I needed her to live and to be happy. I needed her to stop trying to fix things.

But when the cold mist and fog of the first day in December arrived, something else drifted into my life, too. It was a Saturday and despite there being no real need for me to be awake at eight o’clock in the morning—especially considering how many beers I’d sunk with Cam the night before at some backstreet pub in Tong—I couldn’t seem to sleep. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring out of the window onto my parents’ back garden and admiring the untouched frost that rested like a layer of sparkles on top of the grass, when I heard the knock at the door.

Sammy was out. Where, I had no idea. All I’d been told the night before was to not expect her home all weekend. I waited for my parents deal with whatever moron thought the early hours of a Saturday morning were an acceptable time to visit us, but all I heard was an eerie silence flowing through the house as I continued to stare out of my window.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

It was the last set of desperate knuckle taps that had me pushing up from my bed with a groan and taking charge of the situation myself. It took me just a few seconds to throw on some jogging bottoms before I scooped a T-shirt up in my hand, pushing it down over my head as I ran down the stairs barefoot just as the knocking started up again.

“Alright, alright, alright,” I called out, squinting as the remnants of sleep lingered in my eyes. “Keep your hair on.”

I’d barely pulled the T-shirt down over my stomach when I yanked the front door with my free hand and froze in place—an action that had nothing to do with the icy temperature that brutally attacked every single part of my warm body.

“Natalie,” I whispered, my mouth barely moving as a stream of cold air became visible in front of me.

The second love of my life, Natalie Vincent, was standing there looking more outrageously perfect than ever before. With a backdrop of the beginnings of winter framing her body like she was on the front of a damn Hallmark card, she wore a knee-length plum-coloured coat, her arms folded across her chest, pushing up the autumn-coloured scarf that she had wrapped around her neck.

It took me forever to focus on her face, but when I did, it was like staring down the barrel of a gun. She was, by all accounts, dangerously stunning. I guess she always had been, but there was something different about her now.

Happiness suited her. She wore it like an expensive twinkling necklace that made her whole face sparkle.

“Marcus,” she said through a coy smile.

“What are you—?”

“So, you are alive then?”

“Why do people keep asking me that question?” I said roughly, sleep still tainting my voice.

“Oh, let me think.” She bounced on the balls of her feet and shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe because you’re the worst person at returning calls? Or maybe because you ignore every text someone sends you? Or maybe it’s just because you’re so thoughtless to the fact that people around you care, you don’t feel the need to let them know you’re doing okay.”

“Technically, you haven't been around me. Soooo…”

“I could literally slap you.”

“Whoooa,” I said, dragging it out and keeping my mouth open as my brows rose high. “Someone got ballsy.”

“You have no idea,” she replied, smiling her incredible smile.

“Should I be scared?”

“Terrified. Especially if you don’t let me in.”

“Shit, sorry. Yeah. Sure. Right.” I shook my head and pushed the door open wider, standing to the side to allow her to walk past me.

Even though Nat knew this house like it was her own, she didn’t go too far inside until I led the way. I shouldn’t have been surprised. No matter how mad she was, she always did put her manners to the forefront of her mind. Waltzing in and making herself at home just wasn’t Nat’s style.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked in the nicest way possible as I led her through the hallway and to the kitchen at the back of the house. My parents had worked on this house of theirs constantly over the years, and this part of it was possibly my favourite. I loved the open-plan feel and the island in the centre where we spent the majority of the time catching up after busy days of living.

Pulling out a stool, I waved a hand for Nat to take a seat before I walked around the other side of the island, my cold feet slapping against the cool tiles as I made my way over to the kettle. I had a feeling I was going to need caffeine for this. Or whiskey.

“I had to come and see you.”

“Missed me, huh?”

“More like the silent treatment you’ve been giving me was getting ridiculous.”

I could hear her shuffling out of her coat as I filled the kettle with water, and when I turned back around, she was sitting there in a white, long-sleeved T-shirt, her scarf still around her neck, fanning out the long, slightly curled lengths of her bright blonde hair.

“Silent treatment?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Anderson.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I gave her a half smile and a wink while I busied myself making the coffees.

“Sure you don’t.”

“It wasn’t silent treatment. It’s called moving on.”

“What was all that about us being friends? Staying in each other’s lives?” I looked up at her to see that face I’d seen a thousand times before. The confusion was there, as was something new: Betrayal.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“That look that’s telling me I’m a bastard for wanting you to move on.”

“Wanting me to move on or wanting me to forget you ever existed?”

“For now, you just need to concentrate on yourself, Nat.”

“And I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Marcus.”

Turning to face her fully, I planted my hands on the counter of the island and leaned over it. “Nothing’s changed there. We can still be friends… when you’re not travelling around the world.”

“What difference does it make where I am?”

“To me? None. To you? Everything. Listen…” I paused and inhaled slowly, taking a moment to cast my eyes down at my feet before I looked back up at her with my thoughts more in order. “Fuck, it’s too early for this conversation, but fine, let’s go there. Nat, I didn’t have a pair of arms to run into to make things better for me. I didn’t want that, either, can I just add? But I needed some time. I lasted a few shitty weeks before I ended up back here with my parents. It was just four weeks before I cracked. That took away a lot of man points from me. There were only so many times I could speak to you and lie. Say Hey, little Nat. Yeah, my world is fucking awesome, without you realising it wasn’t and going into some kind of Vincent special.”

“Vincent special?” she asked, raising a brow.

“You know.” I waved a hand in the air dismissively. “That thing you do where you go into a guilt-induced meltdown over things you can’t control.”

“You named my guilt chip?” she gasped, clearly trying to hide the twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“I’ve had quite a bit of free time on my hands lately.”

“But… I could have helped. I wanted to help.”

“Maybe I didn’t want you to help me.”

Her mouth twitched as she swallowed down whatever emotion had been clawing its way out of her throat.

“I wanted to figure a few things out on my own. I was always going to call you when the time was right… if you’d have let me figure out when that was before you stormed round here with that face on you.” I smirked.

“What’s wrong with my face?” Her hands reached up to her cheeks, the tips of her fingers caressing them as she began to blush.

“Nothing,” I told her honestly. “You’ve never looked better.”

The kettle boiled right on time, giving me a reason to avoid any impending awkward silence. I didn’t have to ask her how she took her coffee. I’d practically lived with her for twelve months. I knew everything about her. Most things, anyway. The things she showed. The inside of Natalie Vincent was still a mystery to everyone who wasn’t Alexander Law.

Speaking of which…

“So, how are things with Peter?” I asked, chuckling to myself before I turned around and slid a coffee her way while I leaned against the island and held mine in both hands.

“Who?”

“Andrew. How are things with Andrew?”

“Alex is fine.” Nat wrapped her fingers around her mug, bringing it to her lips before blowing on the hot liquid. Her eyes never left mine.

“Fine? Fucking fine? Is that it? Donald just swoops on in and takes my woman only to live a fine life?”

“Donald?” She laughed, trying to control the sudden shaking of her body, which made her drink slosh in her cup.

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s too buff to be a Donald.” I rolled my eyes at myself, grateful she wasn’t being too protective of Alex and allowing me to at least be a little bit playful.

“Alex,” she repeated a little firmer, “is…” She trailed off, her eyes suddenly glancing down into her coffee as a small, almost invisible scowl pulled her brows together.

“Is…? What? Still in Rome? Venice? France? Italy? A lot smaller in the trouser department than you remembered him?”

“Marcus…” She chuckled with a slight warning in her voice.

“Sorry.” I grinned.

“No, you’re not.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“To answer your original question, he’s at my parents’ house.”

I didn’t want to pry, but this was Natalie in front of me, and I knew when something was wrong. The very thought of Alex hurting her made my shoulders tense and my nostrils flare.

“What’s happened?” Her eyes met mine slowly. “Has he hurt you again?”

“No!” she let out with a combination of assurance and protection. “No. Not once.”

“Jesus, Nat. You scared me.”

“It's nothing like that. We spent some time in Greece with Danni, as you know. She says hi, by the way. Told me to tell you to stop being miserable and go get laid.”

“That sounds like Danni.” I chuckled.

“Then we moved on to Rome. Italy was beautiful. We decided to backpack a little bit there. Nothing too down to the ground and dirty but, you know, see the other side of Italian living while it wasn’t exactly holiday season. We wanted to open our eyes and see the stuff that isn’t always shown in the brochures. We were just about to head to this place that the Italians themselves had told us about. It’s meant to be stunning. The Egadi Islands, just a small boat ride from Sicily,” she told me in a dream-like voice as her eyes became lost in her drink.

“Just about to? Why didn’t you?”

“We had to come back home. It was the right thing to do. Alex’s dad… He… He’s never going to stop ruining things. He’s never going to let Alex live in peace.”

“He can if you choose to ignore him.”

She shook her head. “There are some things we can’t ignore, no matter how badly we want to.”

“I don’t understand.”

Natalie sucked in a breath, steeling herself before she let out her next words in a rush. “While we were away, Nicholas was arrested.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

“What has he done this time?”

She blinked once. “Marcus… They think he killed someone.”