“You can do it,” Josh says, straightening his purple bow tie. “It’s a celebration. Final night of freedom, so let’s hit it hard.”
I’m in a gown I haven’t worn in months. A deep purple slip dress, with a split to the thigh. It matches my lipstick, accentuated by my smoky eyes, and my black hair is in long flowing waves down my back.
This isn’t low key. Not for either of us.
Still, I take his arm as we leave our apartment, and assure myself I can do this.Wecan do this. Together.
It’s a relief when we get welcomed into the restaurant without drama. Not so much as a raised eyebrow. Nothing but top-class service as the maître d’ shows us to our table upstairs, with the beauty of the indoor fountain in clear view over the balcony railings.
Their menu has changed, but it still has our staples. I have my regular side of fries with my smoked salmon, and Josh has his pepper seasoned salad with his tenderloin steak. We clink champagne glasses like we’ve never been away.
“Cheers to us, and how far we’ve come on this journey. I’m so proud of you, Ells.”
“Cheers to us, Josh. Thanks for everything. I couldn’t ask for more. Everything is –”
“Amazing!” we say at once, and laugh.
“You’reamazing, Ells.”
“Touche.”
The ambience is wonderful as we chat and laugh, oblivious to the diners around us. My nerves die down to nothing, and my anxiety fades away. It’s a reawakening. A new beginning. The next stage in our tumultuous, fantastic, crazy filthy life together. I feel it.
How bizarre that life being back to normal can feel like such a turning point.
Josh has already got the bill when he reaches in his pocket for his phone, ready to order a cab. He smirks as he looks at his screen.
“More proposals?” I ask.
“I’m quite a popular guy, it seems. People can’t get enough.”
He’s scrolling with a smirk on his face until he stops dead. I watch the colour drain from his cheeks, and my steady Joshua starts shaking. His fingers fumble.
Shit.
“What is it?” I ask him, dashing to his side of the table. “What’s happening? Are you ok?”
My heart pumps, anxiety returning like a beast as my chest tightens. Terrified.
Until Josh hands me his phone so I can see the screen.
No fucking way.
My fingers shake as bad as his. I suck in a breath as I try to take in the message.
User 1543. Male. 34.
Please, don’t decline again.
I need to see you. Both of you.
Typhoon of shit, or not, I don’t fucking care.
Duration: Four hours.
Proposal price: Whatever you want. Just accept, please.
“What are you going to do?” I ask Josh, trying not to let my own screaming emotions take hold. This is his proposal. His client. His call.
