I nod against his chest.
“Everything is going to be a risky strategy though where Heath Mason is concerned. We’d have to tell them at some point. Imagine if they just found out, without us bringing them in on the loop at all.”
“That’s true.”
“We can’t keep things from them. Transparency will be important. If and when…”
My voice trails off. My stomach lurching.
“I know, baby.” He strokes my hair. “But we don’t have the roadmap for if and when yet. None of us.”
He must be exhausted, sighing as he rests his chin on my head. I hold him tight, squeezing to let him know how much I adore him.
“Let’s forget it now,” he says. “Let’s get some sleep, and think through things in the morning. We’re going to see Heath soon. He might have some ideas of his own.”
“We’re going to have to tell him I blurted and spoke to Orla. He might be really fucked off with me.”
“Yes, we will have to tell him, but I’m sure he’ll be as forgiving as me. He loves you to bits, just like I do.”
I smile at that. Yes, he does. We all love each other. It’s a triangle of adoration and respect, and it was me who took matters into my own clumsy hands and proceeded without caution.
Josh kisses my head, then glugs a glass of water. It’s going to be a very welcome sensation to have his warm radiator body pressed next to mine.
It’s been a long night with him on a proposal, and me waiting on eggshells for him to D&S and finally get home after my Orla blurt out.
I cosy up under the covers with him, thanking my lucky stars all over again at the greatness of what I have.
So many women from his party earlier would be jumping with glee at the chance to be here with him right now. He’s got a personality that easily equals the horny magnificence they’d have seen from him tonight.
But I’m the one he comes home to.
I’m the one who gets all the wonderful sides of him, even when I’ve pissed him off.
We’re still in bed, the sun bright around the blinds when Josh’s ringtone sounds out loudly from his bedside table.
He scuffles around, half asleep, patting the table to find it. When he does, he sits up in bed, staring at the screen with a look of shock.
“It’s Tiff,” he says, then answers with ahello.
Jesus. I can hear the frantic sound of sobbing through the handset as I lie beside him. My heart lurches.
“Tiff?” Josh asks. “Tiff? Are you alright? Tiff?! What’s happened?! Do you need help? I’m coming now. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there.”
He’s already leaping from bed, dashing towards the wardrobe, and I prop myself up, ready to dash along with him if need be.
I can’t hear her side of the conversation, only his.
“Ok, butyouneed tocomeright here, right now, understand me? Straight to Belgravia and up to ours. No excuses, Tiff. Just get here.”
He hangs up and turns to face me.
“This isn’t good,” Josh says. “She sounds an absolute wreck.”
I look at him in horror.
“What’s happened?”
“No idea. She was too fucked up to say.”
