Playing for Keeps: A fun, flirty romantic comedy perfect for summer reading. Rosa Temple

Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

       Chapter Thirty

       Epilogue: After

       Excerpt

       Endpages

THEN

      It was the hottest day of the year. He stood on the top step at the front of my house. I didn’t dare cross the threshold, put my arms around him, apologise one last time. He had desperation in his eyes. He really loved me, I knew that, but the way he stood there, not moving an inch, I became scared he might pick me up, carry me away and I’d never see my friends and family again. I was wearing a top from Primark (don’t ask), and I didn’t want to spend years as an abduction victim in a £1.99 T-shirt for goodness’ sake. If the police ever found me the press would be there to take pictures of me in that T-shirt. Anya would be mortified and I’d never live it down.

      I looked down at the mat, breaking his intense gaze by tracing the well-worn pattern with the toe of my Converse trainer. I wondered if a plan for my abduction had entered his mind and would he have thought to buy face cream, shampoo or conditioner for my life in captivity.

      ‘Magenta! Say something. You can’t just glaze over. This is important.’ He raised his voice and I snapped back to reality with a jolt. ‘This is our life we’re talking about.’

      Making decisions. Something I thought I’d become a bit of an expert at. Any woman having a choice between two fantastic men would be happy, and I had been more than happy with the choice I’d made. But there, on the doorstep of the house, on a leafy, sweltering street in Holland Park, was the man I’d let go. And he wasn’t taking it well.

      ‘What if you regret this… this decision of yours? How can you tell me one thing one day and suddenly, out of the blue, you just change your mind? I went back, sold up practically everything to be with you, Magenta. You expect me to just go home? We were supposed to be starting something… together. This is just unbelievable.’ He didn’t drop his gaze, not once. Piercing blue eyes boring into mine. Of course, he deserved an explanation.

      ‘I’ll always hate myself for this,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t fair on you but I can’t keep apologising. I made my decision and it was a life-changing one, you know that, and it wasn’t easy. I promise you. I’m still reeling.’

      ‘Exactly. That’s why I want you to think about it. Think about what you’re throwing away. I told you before I went away – I need you, Magenta. You’re my life. I don’t know what happened in the few weeks I was gone for you to stop loving me. I never stopped loving you from the day I met you, you have to believe me.’

      ‘But you still left me. Ten years you were out of my life.’ I took a breath, stopped myself getting worked up again. This was no time to apportion blame. ‘Look, I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end… how it feels not to be the one.’ I was just about keeping it together. I didn’t want to cry. Not again.

      ‘So is this your revenge? You’re leaving me because I was the one who walked away the first time? Magenta, that was ten years ago and I was an idiot back then. Since we got together again, you can see, I’m a different person.’

      I shook my head and folded my arms around my body.

      ‘I don’t know what to say any more. It’s over. You have to believe me. I can’t go on doing this with you, having the same conversation over and over again. Anthony has no idea you’re even in London.’

      I had chosen Anthony over him. This was supposed to be the exciting start to a new life with him. It was fortunate that Anthony had had to fly out to Italy for work, which meant I only saw him on occasional weekends, so the fact I was being pursued by my ex could be hidden from him. I was a wreck. Here was I, trying to find a new flat in London for Anthony and me to move into when he returned from Italy, and here was Hugo, my ex, not taking no for an answer.

      I couldn’t count how many sleepless nights I’d had, how hard it had been to tell him I’d chosen Anthony and was leaving him, after promising him so much. I’d promised him me, my heart, my love, but one kiss from Anthony after Hugo left temporarily for Brazil to sell up his business and I knew I’d made a mistake. Anthony was the one for me.

      Hugo being back in London all the time Anthony wasn’t – it was flattering, it was heartbreaking, annoying and so totally, totally wrong.

      As my best friend, Anya, would say, ‘This is messed up, Madge.’ And she’d be right.

      Needless to say, the messed up-ness of it all went on for the whole time Anthony was out of the country – three months to be exact.

      I never came clean to Anthony about the phone calls, letters, texts and virtual stalking during those three months. And just when Anya had convinced me to take out a restraining order, Hugo disappeared. Gone. Poof. I could finally exhale.

      I assumed he’d gone back to his life in Brazil and I hoped that, after having sold his business to be with me, he could somehow put his life back together, forget me, forget the plans we’d made. I assumed that’s what must have happened, that he was in Brazil, that he’d stay there. And so a week went by and there was no Hugo, and then a whole month. Nothing. I’d not heard a word from Hugo and I thought I never would again.

      That was over three years ago and I remember thinking to myself at the time, now my life with Anthony can finally begin. It was such a relief not to have to look over my shoulder any more.

      NOW

Chapter 1

      It was crazy really, or simply hard to imagine: my best friend was having a baby and I was opening a shop on London’s King’s Road. If you’d asked me three years ago if I’d thought such a thing was possible I would have laughed in your face. In fact, I would have been holding a Margarita and laughing in your face because I would have been swinging off a stool in a cocktail bar, half cut, sipping an endless stream of cocktails with my best friend, the now very pregnant supermodel, Anya Stankovic.

      I turned the corner into Anya’s street, driving the flashy red Ferrari she’d brought back as a souvenir for me after one of her many trips abroad. Only weeks ago, or so it seemed, pink and lilac blossoms had filled every branch of every tree along the long, quiet road. And then, in the blink of an eye, the blossoms were scattered along the entirety of the pavement and road like a carpet of confetti. Now they’d been swept away by the breeze, disappearing as if they’d never taken pride of place on the overhanging trees. In no time we’d been catapulted from spring to mid-summer. It was hot, and I had the roof down in the car. The road gleamed with the heat.

      Each time I’d visited Anya at her four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bathroom house I’d found her flicking through old copies of Vogue, luxuriating on the sumptuous sofa in the lounge, her dazzling green eyes made larger behind pale skin and chiselled features, her pencil thin body (bar the five-month baby bulge), unwilling to leave the house. She was mourning her life as an international model and spent the days ignoring calls from her agent and personal manager.