Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

head for two beat-up white plastic sun chairs at the very bottom of the garden.

I suppose this is where Dita and Mandek sit and relax after work. I notice there are two old-fashioned tartan travel blankets slung over the backs of the chairs. It’s not the most peaceful place on earth, with trains thundering by, but I can see the appeal of looking out over the urban scene: train tracks, factories and warehouses. It reminds me a little of London. Maybe Dita and Mandek came from cities and miss them.

As we reach the bottom of the garden, Toma is still holding my hand. I glance at our fingers interlocked and then wish I hadn’t because he suddenly seems to notice and lets go. We sit down. Side by side, but with a proper distance between us. I pull one of the blankets over my lap. It could be the wine, the balmy night, the varied company—I could find any number of excuses—but I can’t pretend to myself there isn’t an atmosphere between us. Something shimmering, stretching between us, because there most definitely is. There was drink at my party, it was the same balmy night and, yes, there was varied company—I felt I hardly knew a soul—yet I did not feel this sense of alertness when I was with Jake. I did not feel my skin prickle, the sky did not seem so black, the stars so bright.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks in a tone of voice that suggests this is the most important thing on earth for him right now. That I am his priority. My happiness is his obsession.

“Very much so.”

“Don’t you have to get back to your own party?”

“I should, yes.” For a few moments we don’t say anything else. It’s half past eleven. I ought to reach for my phone. I should call an Uber. Not so much to transport me back to reality, but to take me back to the unreality that is now my world. Instead, I comment, “I liked your friends.”

“I’ve met some good people. Some recently, some from my days with Reveka and Benke. I wanted them all here tonight.” I nod.

“What time are you flying out tomorrow?”

“Eight a.m.”

“All packed?”

“Yes.” Toma turns to me and leans very close. For a mad moment I think he is going to kiss me, and I wonder what I will do if he does. Will I kiss him back? I have been completely faithful to Jake since the moment our eyes collided in the student union, over twenty years ago. This isn’t a matter of self-discipline or even an admirable and conscious act of loyalty. It simply hasn’t ever crossed my mind to be unfaithful. I haven’t found anyone else attractive enough to be disruptive. I have only ever seen Jake. And, yes, I made vows and promises.

So did Jake.

I don’t think a broken promise can ever be mended. Not really. And I do find Toma attractive. However, he does not kiss me. My hair falls in front of my eyes and he leans forward, tucks the strand behind my ear. He stares at me for a length of time that should be embarrassing; it’s not. It’s nice. “I have to ask you again, Lexi, before I commit the money to the trust. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I say firmly.

“Because I haven’t spent any of it yet. It’s done a job already, without being spent. Already I have life again. I don’t have to take the money.”

“But you are going to do such good with it,” I urge.

“And your husband is in agreement?”

I consider lying to him and can’t. There are too many lies swilling about my life as is. I can’t add another. “He doesn’t know.”

“Isn’t that going to be a problem when he finds out?”

“Maybe,” I admit with a sigh. “But we’re facing a number of problems at the moment.”

“I don’t want to be an extra one.”

I take a deep and determined breath in. “The way I see it, worst-case scenario is we have nine million each to spend as we like. This is what I wanted to do with my portion. I’m most likely going to give more away. I don’t really know what to do with it. Other people need it more than I do. That much is clear.” Toma stares at me with unadulterated admiration. It’s the best look one human being can give another. He looks at me with respect, approval, gratitude and eagerness. As though I have shown him something new in the world. It’s embarrassing and also wonderful. Something flickers, boils and melts beneath my breastbone.

“How do you manage it?” he asks.

“Manage what?”

“Caring so much for people you don’t even know? In my experience, it’s cruel enough caring for those you do.”

“I know you, Toma,” I reply. My voice comes out as a whisper although I didn’t mean this to be a secret.

He replies in a bolder tone. One that shakes and sobers me a little. I think maybe because of the alcohol I’m having a moment here, but he is not. I’m being dreamy and romantic. He wants to check that he’s not going to get sued for accepting my gift of three million pounds. “Yes, but it’s not just me. You care for everyone. I’m just one in a long line of people,” he insists firmly. I find his comment infuriating, hurtful.

“How can you say that? I didn’t split my winnings with everyone. In fact, I didn’t split my winnings with anyone other than you.”

“You gave me 2.976 million exactly.”

“Yes.”

“A very particular number.”

“Precisely a sixth of what we won. Your share.”

“My share?”

I need to change the subject. “You are going to make a new life, Toma. You are going to give many people a new life.”

“For a long, long time all I could think of was my old life. The one I lost. I imagined Benke growing up. Playing football with him in a park, walking him to school, sitting with his teachers whilst they tell