Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

She sat in life-drawing class looking at a phenomenally proportioned naked male model and all she could think about was Zander’s proportions. The curve of his strong shoulder. The gentle undulation of his throat. If her drawings never looked like the man she was sketching it was because they generally looked more like Zander.

      Having asked Casey to strip her schedule of anything resembling Egyptian stone therapy and deep muscle massage, she begged Zander’s assistant to put them back in. If only to relieve the new tension she lived with these days.

      They helped, but only for an hour or so each week. Then the lingering dissatisfaction and un-rightness returned and troubled her until the following week.

      Float tanks, hypnosis, Bowen therapy—she tried something new every week for months. And nothing helped quite like the moment Zander walked into her class. The precious seconds before her brain reminded her not to get so excited. For those few breaths all the tension drained from her body.

      She lived for those moments.

      His garden was progressing, he’d told her one week, before passing her his phone to have a look at the design that flourished under the care of his landscaper. Irrational, blazing envy tormented her that she didn’t get to prune it or mow it or love it herself.

      But she just smiled and said, ‘That’s great,’ and handed the phone back.

      Another week he played her the completed Cappadocia segment and her heart squeezed both for the memories of Turkey and for the sublimely neutral expression on his face. Totally untroubled.

      She equally envied and grew infuriated by his lack of concern.

      Turning it off like that was a gift. Just not a very nice one.

      ‘Nice shot,’ Zander murmured, off to one side as a helper ran in and pried her arrow from the target.

      Nice condescension, she thought. But aloud she only thanked him. She lined up another arrow. The Amazons must have had some serious upper-body muscles because doing this just once a week had given her a perpetual muscle ache in her chest.

      Unless that was just her heart.

      ‘To the left,’ he murmured from her right side. She ignored him. ‘Your left, not my left.’

      She lowered her bow and turned. ‘Seriously, Zander? You’re going to back-seat drive?’

      ‘Here...’

      He stepped in behind her and told her to assume the firing position. Then he slid one hand along her extended bow arm and curled the other around her pulled back firing arm. And he reoriented her the tiniest bit to the left.

      ‘Just a smidge.’

      ‘Is that a professional archery measure?’ she muttered through tight teeth.

      His laugh was a puff of warm air against her ear and her whole neck broke out in gooseflesh.

      ‘Yes, it is.’

      ‘You know this because of your many years of competition in the sport.’ At the very last second she realised he could have archery experience. It was a solo enough sport to be right up his alley.

      ‘I miss you,’ he said, as though that was exactly what they’d just been talking about. And maybe they had.

      ‘You miss the sex.’

      ‘No. I could get that anywhere.’ Charming. ‘I miss you. I miss your conversation and your snark. I just wanted to feel you. Just for a moment.’

      She stood stiff and unyielding in his arms. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Even her eyes didn’t waver from the target across the room. ‘And have you had your fill of feeling me up?’

      ‘George—’

      The way he said her name...it caused her bow arm to tremble. She forced it to stillness.

      ‘—do you have to drag it down to such a level?’

      ‘What level should it be at? You’re not interested in a relationship but you’re not above a bit of casual sport at my expense?’

      His arms dropped. Not scorched, but definitely not relaxed. ‘I hate this.’

      ‘Not my fault. You set the rules.’

      ‘I don’t recall making any rules.’

      ‘By implication.’ She lowered her bow. There was no way it was safe to fire an arrow while she was this distracted. But she didn’t turn around. ‘Or have you changed your mind about relationships?’

      ‘Why can’t we just...feel our way?’

      She turned. ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

      Instantly he stiffened. ‘I’m... No. Aren’t we a bit beyond dates?’

      ‘So you’re asking me just to sleep with you at your request?’

      His brow folded. ‘No. George—’

      ‘You’re offering me sex with no commitment, Zander,’ she pointed out. ‘And that can’t work.’

      And, astonishingly, she saw clearly for the first time why.

      But he couldn’t. ‘Why not?’

      An insane kind of lightness flooded her. ‘Because I know who I am, now. And I know why I proposed to Dan.’ Even though it had been unconscious. To bring his lack of commitment to a head. And sure enough the very next relationship she walked into was the same. Worse.

      ‘What’s Dan got to do with this?’

      ‘Nothing. And everything. Dan had a dozen little ways of keeping me at emotional arm’s length. You have a hundred.’

      He lowered his head.

      ‘I don’t want to beg and scrounge for scraps of emotional intimacy,’ she said. ‘I’m worth more than that.’

      ‘No one’s going to promise you a ring before you even begin exploring who you are as a couple, George.’

      His words cut deep. But she stayed strong. ‘You’ve ruled a commitment out right from the start. Why would I set myself up for that?’

      ‘Because of what we have?’

      ‘What do we have? Cracking chemistry? Intellectual compatibility?’ She started packing up her gear. ‘You’re either condemning me to still be waiting for you to throw me a bone when I’m eighty or a courteous breakup in two years when you tire of me. Either way I lose.’

      ‘You’re losing now.’

      It wasn’t conceit. She absolutely was losing. ‘I’m cutting my losses.’

      ‘So that’s it? New improved Georgia wants all or nothing?’

      ‘No.’ She looked up at him. ‘I definitely want it all. But I’ll choose nothing if I have to.’

      He stared, thinking. ‘Maybe I’ll change my mind?’

      ‘Really, Zander? Based on what? Give me some criteria for what will mean you can get over what happened to you in the past.’

      His lips thinned.

      ‘Because otherwise you’re expecting me to just limp along hoping I’m being the kind of girlfriend that a man like you changes his mind for. That I’m saying the right things, doing the right things, wearing the right things. Dying a thousand deaths every time I find that maybe I’m not.’

      ‘George—’

      ‘I’m not negotiating, Zander, I’m explaining. I’m telling you why I’m choosing nothing, because everything is not on the cards with you.’

      He hissed his displeasure.

      She took a long breath. ‘I’ll come back for the Valentine’s show but you should have enough audio to carry you through Christmas and