Anna and Gemma exchange a glance that screams guilt.
“Oh, bloody hell,” I mutter. “Please tell me this isn’t another disaster like Bali. I was shitting through the eye of a needle for aweek, Gemma!” I groan, clutching my stomach at the thought.
“No,” Gemma says with an unsettling grin. “It’s way better—we’ll help you pack!”
I’ve got no idea what they have in store for me, but I don’t have the energy to argue.
“Wait—” I ask, panic creeping in, “What about Basil?”
Gemma and Anna exchange another suspicious look, one I donotlike.
“What?” I press, narrowing my eyes.
“Umm … well,” Gemma says, shifting uncomfortably. “We kind of didn’t know who else to call …”
My stomach falls out of my ass. “Who did you call?” I ask.
Before they can answer, the doorbell buzzes again. I shoot to my feet, scanning the train wreck around me. I frantically beginbrushing down my clothes like that’ll somehow make me look less of a disaster. “Who’s here?” I demand.
Anna blows out a long breath before finally answering, “James.”
“What?!” I gape at her in horror. “You couldn’t findanyoneelse? You had to ask my ex’sbrother?” I throw my hands in the air.
They both flinch guiltily.
“Oh my God,” I groan, looking down at my rumpled clothes. “He can’t see me like this!” I’m bolting towards the staircase before either of them can open the door.
“April!” Anna shouts after me.
“What?” I spin halfway up the stairs, gripping the railing as if my life depends on it.
“Please, for the love of all things holy,wash your hair! You could host a family of birds in there.”
I shoot her a murderous glare but know she’s right.
I jump into the shower and scrub my hair with extra vigour—it’s amazing what a little panic-induced motivation can do. I still can’t believe they invited James.Here. Tomyhouse. To take care ofmycat. The thought sends me spiralling. I have no idea how I’m supposed to face him, but at least I won’t be alone. Small mercies, I guess.
Then my brain shifts gears, landing on the clutter downstairs. The sheets on my bed are only a week old—thank God—but the rest of the place is an absolute disaster. Normally, I keep everything spotless. I’m proud of my space. But this week? It’s been chaos. Just dragging myself out of bed has felt likeclimbing Everest, and cleaning the kitchen or keeping the place in order hasn’t even been a consideration.
I turn off the water and step out of the shower. After pulling on a pair of clean trousers and a fluffy hoodie, I slip into some white trainers and tell myself I look presentable enough. I grab my toothbrush, running it over my teeth twice for good measure, then swish with mouthwash.
I tug a brush through the wet strands of my hair, wincing as I comb through the knots. I work quickly, untangling my long tresses as best I can before wrapping them in a towel and rubbing furiously, trying to dry them out. I don’t have time for perfection—justnot looking like a complete messwill have to do.
I lean closer to the mirror, studying my reflection. Dark shadows frame my eyes, and my skin looks sallow and lifeless, as if all the light had been drained from me. Anna’s right.I lookawful.
Letting out a long breath, I open the top drawer and rummage through it until I find my fruity lip mask. I swipe it on, smacking my lips together. Then, I quickly pinch my cheeks, hoping to coax some colour into them. I look more put together than I did before, and I have to admit—it feels considerably better to have clean, fresh hair.
Now, all that’s left is to face my ex-fiancé’s brother.
Basil saunters into the bathroom, brushing himself lazily against my leg. I crouch down, running my fingers over his soft fur, and he purrs like an MG under my touch.
“You be a good boy for James,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. He closes his eyes slowly. “I love you too,” I tell him. I press a firm kiss to Basil’s forehead before straightening up. I pull open the wardrobe doors and grab my overnight bag, not caring what goes in there. The faster I get packed, the less time I have to dwell on what’s waiting downstairs.
Their chatter drifts into the room, and I catch the distinct low, raspy timbre of James’s voice. My anxiety rapidly returns. I wonder what Lucas told him—what version of events he spun. I wonder what James knows, what he thinks. Do his parents know the full story? Or just Lucas’s version? Which, I’m sure, he edited carefully.
James and I barely exchanged more than a few words when Lucas and I were together, and whenever we were in the same room alone … well, I don’t even knowhowto describe it. It was tense, maybe. Charged. Like there was always something simmering beneath the surface that I could never quite put my finger on. Like at the engagement party—he kept looking at me in a way I couldn’t decipher, as if he was studying me. Even when I caught him watching, he’d never look away. He’d never lookinterested, but still, he never looked away. James has always been a bit of a mystery; I’ve never been able to read him.
I straighten my sheets and scoop up any stray clothes, tossing them into the washing basket. Satisfied that things look somewhat tidy—or at least not entirely disastrous—I gather myself and head downstairs on shaky legs.
