The Dare Collection November 2019. Anne Marsh

to the man after all these years depresses me. I hide the heavy feeling dragging at my feet with an unconvincing smile. ‘A two-fingered gesture, eh? I get it.’

      Her nod is hesitant, as if she’s remembering our fight over Contempt of Court, but four-carat diamond earrings…a racehorse… They may as well be the same. She squeezes my hand, because now she knows I’ve made enough of my own two-fingered gestures while we’ve known each other. ‘My father never gave me anything—not a birthday card, or a pat on the back, or even a phone call. Trust me, you know I understand the impulse.’

      She looks down and then tucks herself closer to my side as we walk. ‘I’m not bringing that up again. I just wanted you to understand why I wear these.’ She touches a stud, which may as well be a padlock to the cage she’s constructed around herself.

      A daily reminder. There every time she looks in the mirror. A reminder she has something to prove.

      I’ve never met her father, but I already know the guy is an asshole. She’s worth ten of him, except somehow, despite all her success, all the billions, she still feels she needs to prove to him that she’s worthy.

      I tug her to a standstill, the exotic scents of Singapore around us reminding me we are far from home. But we’re together, and I want to be there for her. ‘You know you don’t need to prove anything to me, right?’

      Her eyes dart. ‘Of course.’ She lifts her chin, the way she does when she’s cornered and comes out fighting. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I don’t care if you don’t wear my earrings, but isn’t it time you took these off?’ I touch the stud with one cautious fingertip. ‘You’re the most driven and successful woman I’ve ever met. You’ve already bested him, made it on your own, won a major client from him. You have nothing to prove.’ I hadn’t planned the serious turn in the conversation, but as I see it, we both need to face our fears, to conquer our demons and move on. How else can we focus on what’s really important in life? How can we focus on any sort of a relationship?

      ‘I know that.’

      ‘Do you? Really? Because from what I’ve seen you’ll never stop. Ten billion, twenty, thirty. When is enough enough, Orla?’

      ‘That’s different—I…don’t do it for the money. You know how frugal I am. I love my job. I’m good at it. I’m happy.’

      Her statements feel like blows. I want to dismiss them, to call her a liar. But part of me is scared that if she’s right, if she has everything she needs, life all figured out, completely self-sufficient, is there any room for an ordinary guy like me?

      ‘Would you ask that question if I were a successful man?’ she says, her guard now fully up.

      I grip the back of my neck in frustration. ‘I’m not some sexist idiot. It’s got nothing to do with your gender.’

      ‘So despite saying I have nothing to prove, you’re trying to change me. Is that it?’

      ‘No.’ I cup her face. ‘I wouldn’t change a thing. I just… I care about you. I see how hard you work, how hard you push yourself, and I’m just worried that you feel you have something to prove, which you absolutely do not.’

      Some of the anger in her deflates. She places her hand over mine, pressing it closer to her cheek. ‘I care about you too, Cam. That’s what I tried to say in Dubai. That’s why I’m offering to help you invest, to help you see that perhaps your father had no other choice, no other way of apologising than to leave you that money, the money he abandoned you and your mum for.’

      The tables turning knocks the wind from me. ‘You’re talking about forgiveness again.’ I tug my hand away and shove both in my pockets.

      ‘Perhaps it might help.’ She crosses her arms over her chest.

      How did we get here? And why can’t she see that she’s enough, just the way she is? Enough for me, at least.

      ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for that. What about you?’

      My question, my challenge, falls on deaf ears. We complete the walk in silence, but it turns out that race cars and fireworks aren’t as thrilling when you’ve glimpsed the finishing line but find yourself somehow right back at the start.