She gazes up at me, tears glittering behind the mask, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that sunny day at boarding school when a younger Victoria looked at me with the same expression. But I know better now.
“Because he deserves it,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she pulls off her mask. “For the last decade, he’s made me feel like I was second-best, like his work and ambition mattered more than our marriage, more than me. He forced me away, Liam. He broke my heart. And now . . . now I want him to feel that same pain. To know that the one man he’s always seen as a threat had me first. Has always had me.”
I close my eyes, bile rising in my throat. Because I get it. I do. The need to lash out, to make someone hurt as badly as they’ve hurt you . . . it’s a fucking poison, eating you alive from the inside out.
But this? It’s too far. Too fucking far.
Vicky lets out a hollow, brittle laugh. “Why else do you think we came back to London? It was a last-ditch effort to save something that died years ago. I should’ve chosen you, Liam. I should’ve been with you from the start.”
“I was never a choice, Vicky,” I say flatly, dropping her wrist and stepping back.
“You were my first,” she whispers, as if that confession might still hold some power over me. “That means something.”
I scoff, the sound devoid of any real emotion. “That’s ancient history. We’ve both moved on.”
“Have you, though? You never married, Liam. You’ve stayed single all these years.”
“I did.” A low, anguished growl rumbles in my chest as I feel the weight of every word. “I moved on with someone incredible—a woman who is smart, funny, amazing. Everything I ever wanted. It might have taken me years, but I got there. I finally found something real.”
My fist clenches at my side. “And then I find out Alastair thought you and I were fucking around behind his back. Here, of all places. I canceled my membership weeks ago. Right after the last time I saw you, when you spun me some sob story about your loveless marriage.”
Right before Gemma betrayed me. And now I know why. I turned up at her flat, and Lizzie told me in a number of colorful profanities all the things I had apparently done wrong.
I pace the room, agitation churning in the pit of my stomach. “I couldn’t understand why Alastair would think that about us. But then it hit me. Youwantedhim to know. You were perfectly happy letting him believe we were having an affair. Well, congratulations. Gemma found out, and now she hates me.”
Vicky stumbles back, her eyes glistening with tears. “Liam, please . . . I just needed him to see me again. Towantme again. I thought if he believed you and I were together, he’d finally wake up and fight for me.”
I’m breathing hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Well, I hope you got what you wanted, Vicky. Alastair’s attention, his jealousy, his pain. But you know what else you got?Mypain.Myfucking misery.”
I turn away, shoulders rigid with tension. “Go back to your husband. Or don’t. I couldn’t give a damn at this point. Just leave me out of your toxic bullshit from now on.”
I stride to the door, yanking it open with my good shoulder.
Looks like Alastair and I both lost more than just TLS. And I don’t know about him . . . but for me? Losing Gemma hurts a hell of a lot more than losing some company.
CHAPTER 46
Gemma
I lie in thehammock, my body aching in ways I never thought possible. When I signed up for this farming gig, I was sitting on my couch, sipping a glass of wine, thinking I was about to embark on some sort of spiritual journey back to nature. Ha. If only I’d known that farming is basically an extreme sport.
It feels like I’ve been run over by a tractor, and then the driver decided to reverse to make sure the job was done. It’s a good ache, though. A satisfying ache from a hard day’s work under the Costa Rican sun, elbow-deep in cow shit. The view of the endless trees across the mountain is breathtaking, almost enough to distract me from anything else on my mind.
But hey, it’s better than drowning my sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with Winnie and cyberstalking my ex-boss. That’s what I keep telling myself as I pluck yet another unidentified creature out of my hair. The insects here have apparently decided that I’m their own personal buffet, and they’re not shy about helping themselves. I’m starting to think they have secret meetings to discuss which parts of me taste best, because it’s always the same damn spots they go for.
I’ve been here for a month now, volunteering on a local farm in the Osa Peninsula, southern Costa Rica. It’s breathtakinglybeautiful, with lush rainforests that make me feel like I’m in a scene fromJurassic Park. The beach is just twenty miles away, and I’m planning to head there in a few days.
I miss living with Winnie and Lizzie, though. I miss London. At least Lizzie’s sending me regular photos to prove that Winnie is still alive. I appreciate the updates, even if half of them are just blurry shots of Winnie’s butt as she runs away from the camera.
Keeping myself occupied with something foreign has been a great distraction. I’ve even tried zip-lining and white-water rafting.
Every morning, I wake up at an ungodly hour to the sound of roosters crowing and the fresh smell of dew. Then, I drag my sorry ass out of bed, my muscles screaming in protest, and stumble my way to the activity center to meet with the project coordinator for a rundown of the day’s tasks. Which usually involves helping with planting and maintaining trees and shrubs, with the occasional heart-stopping encounter with a spider the size of my face.
The work is brutal, back-breaking even. Hours spent bent over, planting, weeding, with the sun beating down mercilessly. Sweat stings my eyes, mixing with the dirt to create a lovely mud mask.
But as exhausting as it is, there’s something satisfying about the work. It’s a tangible accomplishment, unlike the endless paperwork and office politics of my old job. No more pushing papers, now I’m pushing seeds into the ground and navigating cow pats.
I’m staying in a house with six other volunteers, a crew of gap year students and lost souls like me. I’m the oldest of the bunch, feeling like a granny as I listen to the youngsters chatter about their big plans and even bigger dreams. Four of them are fresh out of university, taking a break before diving into the real world. Then there’s Jake, thirty-two, on a sabbatical from his job as a software engineer, here to “find himself” and “reconnect withnature.” I’m pretty surenatureis just a fancy way of sayingsmoking a ton of weed, but I’m not judging. He confided in me that his girlfriend recently dumped him, and I’m pretty sure the others are whispering behind our backs about the two sad, lonely old folks trying to recapture their youth in the jungle.
