There was a queue as I left the stall, and I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes in case I bumped into someone I knew. Not that it was likely. My parents might be well-known in Edinburgh, but they didn’t attend things like these anymore unless absolutely necessary.
After splashing cold water on my wrists, I left the restroom in search of Iain. I saw him chatting and smiling with an attractive brunette and felt not even a twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive or that past me wouldn’t consider a May-December affair.
He wasn’t Callan.
And until I was over him, I couldn’t be with anyone. Not even in the casual sense.
I approached Iain and despite the brunette’s obvious flirting, he turned into me as soon as I reached him. Iain slipped his arm around my waist, drawing me into his side. “There you are.”
I smiled awkwardly at the brunette who sneered in disappointment and strolled off.
“Let’s leave.” Iain picked up my braid, his knuckles brushing my breast in a move that might have been deliberate. “We can talk … business.”
“I’d like to talk business.” I stepped out of his hold. “But this was a mistake coming here as your date. I’m not … I can’t. Business, great. This”—I gestured between us—“I’m just … someone hurt me recently, and I’m not in a place?—”
“Beth.” Iain lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s fine. I understand.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have agreed. I?—”
“Stop it.” He ducked his head, giving me a kind smile. “I got to put in an appearance here with a beautiful, poised woman on my arm. If that’s all I get from you, I still feel very lucky.”
Wow.
That was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me. “You’re a gentleman.”
He gave me another kind smile and raised his arm for me to take. “Let me drive you home. We’ll set up a meeting another time.”
Relief and sadness crashed over me as I took his arm.
The limo pulled away, leaving me outside the flats.
I wanted to burst into tears.
Part of me wanted the numbness to come back, but another part of me was scared shitless of it.
Feeling, no matter how badly, was better than not feeling.
It had to be.
I let myself into the building, lifting my pretty dress so I could climb the stairs. My sandals clacked annoyingly with every slow, heavy step upward. For the first time in ages, I longed for a bathtub. I only had a shower in my flat. But a soak in a tub with a glass of wine sounded like the right kind of end to this strange evening. Callan had a bathtub.
Arsehole.
Not one word from him all week!
He didn’t give a flying feck about me.
I should have slept with Iain. It wouldn’t have mattered to Callan. I wouldn’t have been betraying anyone. Callan was probably off shagging the first woman who threw herself at his cock! One of the many reasons I had deliberately avoided his routine this week was because I did not want to bump into him and one of his one-night stands.
Ooh, the anger felt good.
Much, much better than heartache.
I found myself stomping up the last flight of stairs, imagining him at a pub tonight with Baird and John, flirting with some strange lassie and deciding to bring her back to his bed.
To the bed we’d made love in.
We’d. Made. Love.
