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“Don’t do it,” he said. “She’s happy. She made her choice. Don’t ruin it for her.”

I stared at him, shocked that he’d seen what I was about to do. I looked at her, pain tearing through me at the thought of her promising to love Jayden for the rest of her life.

But I listened to him. I didn’t say anything. The wedding went ahead, and the rest is history.

And now he’s saying he was wrong… why? Does he think I should have stopped the wedding?

“No wedding would have meant no Millie.” My voice sounds hoarse with emotion. “That’s unthinkable.”

He studies his feet. “I know.”

“And there’s no guarantee Vix would have listened to me. She loved him, not me. It wouldn’t have meant I’d have taken Jayden’s place. It wouldn’t have guaranteed a happily ever after for me and her.”

“I know.” His words are gentle. “But I’m sorry, nevertheless. She married the wrong guy. I know that now.”

I can’t think what to say. His apology should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. If anything, I feel worse. I made the sacrifice. It was incredibly hard, but I walked away, because he asked me to. And now he’s saying he was wrong?

“It’s too late,” I say bitterly. “It’s done, and it’s pointless to think about what ifs. Like you said back then, she made her choice. It’s not my fault if it didn’t work out.”

I walk past him, into the house, go up to my room, close the door, and throw myself on my bed. Suddenly I wish I wasn’t staying there. Being close to Vix, to Millie, is a mistake.

I need to sort the shop and the flat, sell it, and get the hell out of town, before I do or say something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

Chapter Thirteen

Vix

I’m making Millie her packed lunch when Mitch finally comes down to breakfast the next morning.

He’s on his phone, and I hear him finishing up the call out in the hallway before he comes in.

“Sorry,” he says. “That was Annabel.” He glances at me. “My principal.”

“Oh, right.”

“She’s trying to sort out next year’s classes.” He rolls his eyes and goes to pull out a chair.

“Sit next to me!” Millie demands.

“Please,” I remind her.

“Please,” she says.

Mitch pulls out the chair next to her. “Morning,” he says to my father.

Dad turns a page of his book without looking up. “Morning.”

I frown. Last night, when I came down from seeing to Millie, Mitch had disappeared into his room. I asked Dad where he’d gone, and he’d looked uncharacteristically shifty, declared he had emails to write, and had disappeared into his study.

Clearly, something transpired between the two of them. I turn back to the chicken sandwich, cut it into four, and tuck the pieces into the box. I wonder what that was about?

“Have this cereal,” Millie tells Mitch, pushing the box towards him. “It’s what I’m having.”

“Thank you,” Mitch says, “but I prefer Weet-Bix.” He reaches for the box.

“No.” She pushes it away. “I want you to have the same as me.”

“Millie.” I turn and give her a hard stare. She drops her hand and stares sulkily at her bowl.