She stared at him, then shook her head wearily and started to walk back towards the hotel. Emile caught her hand.
“Don’t walk away. Please.” He’d never seen her look so defeated. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he’d make everything all right.
“It has to happen one day. Now’s as good a time as any.”
That damn contract. He should never have let her talk him into signing it. “No, Thérèse. Don’t say that. Not tonight.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Did you ask Prada to come to Brazil?”
“No!”
“But you weren’t exactly fighting her off. If you want her, you might as well go back to her now, Emile. We always knew this had to end sometime. Might as well be now.”
He was shaking his head. “I can’t believe you would think I want Prada.”
“I didn’t until I saw you having such a cozy chat earlier.”
“You’re jealous.” That must mean she cared. Hope rose inside him.
“I’m not a fool, Emile. I’m not interested in sharing, either. I thought I’d made that clear.”
“I’m not asking you to share.”
“No. Well, I suppose that’s something.”
He took hold of her hands. He had to try again. Get her to understand what he was trying to say. “Look, I know I’ve been selfish lately and I haven’t spent enough time with you.”
Theresa watched in horror as he slid his hand into his pocket and brought out the ring again. She wouldn’t touch the box, so he opened it for her and showed her. It was stunning. A simple platinum band set with square cut stones that graduated in color from palest pink to darkest purple. Sapphires, perhaps. Maybe even diamonds. She shuddered to think how much he must have spent on it.
“It’s an eternity ring. I want eternity, Thérèse. With you, forever. No more contracts. No more divorce. I just want you.”
She kept her eyes focused on the ring. She didn’t trust herself to look at Emile. Out here in the Brazilian moonlight, she might let herself start believing him.
“It’s a lovely ring.”
He took it out of the box and held out a hand to her.
She took a step backwards. “I can’t let you give it to me.”
“There’s nothing going on with Prada, I promise.”
For tonight, she believed that was true. But he was Emile Renaud. World Cup hero. Paparazzi’s wet dream. She’d seen him tonight, surrounded by women and loving it. For him, there would always be other women. Other Pradas. The last few months were an aberration, while he was recovering from his injury and training for the World Cup. But the playboy player wouldn’t be satisfied with the kind of life she was comfortable in, or at least not for long.
“You can’t give me an eternity ring. We have a contract. We’re getting divorced in October.”
“We don’t have to. Thérèse, I want to rip up that ridiculous contract and forget the talk of divorce. I want to give you this and for us to be together. Always.”
“There isn’t any us, Emile, don’t you see? There’s you in your world, and me over here in the real world. It’s never going to work.” It didn’t matter how much she wanted him to be right, somehow, she had to make him see the truth. She held his hard gaze without blinking, until eventually, his eyes flickered and his lips twisted.
“What if I want the real world? What if I need you to tell me when I’m out of line? God, Thérèse, what if I waste the rest of my life playing poker with the guys, because you’re not there to tell me not to?”
What if she let herself believe him? What if he broke her heart?
“I’m not your guardian, Emile. You have to make those choices yourself.”
“I choose you. I choose us. You and me. A family.”
There was another thing she’d almost forgotten about. He’d been upfront about his desire to have children. To make a family like the one he’d never had. She couldn’t give him that.
“We both have to choose, Emile. And I’m sorry, but I can’t choose that. I can’t choose you.” She twisted her head away so that he wouldn’t see the tears escaping from the corners of her eyes.
“I see.” He snapped the ring box shut and slid it back into his pocket.
“You’ll thank me one day,” she said.
The red-hot glare he sent her made her flinch. “Just shut up now. I think you’ve said enough.”
The walk back to their hotel was excruciating. Theresa wanted to be alone, but Emile insisted that she needed an escort.
“If something happened to you now, how do you think I’d feel?” he said bluntly.
So they walked in parallel, a few feet apart, not touching and not speaking. She’d ruined the happiest day of his life and she hated herself for doing it.
He saw her safely to the hotel, then he turned and walked back into the night. Theresa watched him go until he’d completely disappeared into the crowds that still filled the streets of Rio. Not only French supporters, but the whole city had taken the final as an opportunity for celebration. Theresa turned into the relative quiet of the hotel lobby and went up to their room. She was booked onto a lunchtime flight, and it hardly seemed worth trying to get a couple of hours sleep. She packed swiftly, then took her bikini and went for one last early morning swim in the hotel pool.
Emile still hadn’t returned by the time her taxi arrived to take her to the airport. She’d contemplated leaving him a note but she had no idea what to write. Instead, she phoned when she was back in London. To apologize and thank him, but mostly just to hear his voice and know that he was okay. He didn’t answer, and the message she managed to leave was stilted and awkward. She wasn’t surprised not to hear back from him.
A week later, she called again, and this time he picked up the phone.
“Hi.”
“Hello, Emile.”
There was a pause. She tried to work out what to say next. She should have planned it before she phoned. Written it down, even.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye,” she said.
He didn’t reply. He wasn’t going to make it easy, but at least he hadn’t hung up on her. Yet. She took a deep breath.
“You took me by surprise that last night. I’m sorry I spoiled it for you when you should have been celebrating.” It had been cruel to walk away then, even though she was still convinced it was the right thing to have done.
“Have you changed your mind?” He said the words curtly, but he couldn’t wholly disguise the hope she heard behind them.
“It wasn’t supposed to last, Emile. We agreed that. Just for as long as we both wanted it.”
“And you don’t want it anymore?”
She had to be honest. As honest as she could be, at any rate. “It was never going to work between us. I don’t fit in your world, and you don’t understand mine. We don’t want the same things.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to be with me?”
“You’d be so much better off with a different sort of woman, Emile. Someone who shares your priorities. Someone who can be there when you need her.”
“You’re breaking up with me because you don’t like football?” He sounded incredulous.
She almost laughed, only the tears in her eyes made it come out more like a sob. “It’s not about the damned football.”