Now that’s a message I don’t relay.
I’m scoffingdown pasta at family lunch the next day when I get a call from Zayn. I excuse myself to answer it in the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Gianna, I know you’re at lunch but I have some news.”
“Okay?” I say slowly. His tone makes me lower the cutlet I was about to bite into.
“Daniel’s lawyers have reached out. They’ve scheduled a mediation session for tomorrow morning. Does this work for you?”
My stomach drops. “Do I have to be there? Will Daniel be there?”
“Yes and yes,” Zayn says, losing the briskness in his tone. He knows this will be difficult for me, but there’s also something else underlying his words I can’t quite place while I’m having an internal meltdown.
“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly to myself. I can do this. “I have the morning free.”
My heart rate quickens. Me, Zayn and Daniel all in a room together? Honestly, I’d rather take my chances skinny-dipping in a shark-tank. Which is what tomorrow’s meeting will feel like anyway.
“Good. I’ll call you when I have further details. And Gianna?”
“Yeah?” I say weakly.
“You’ll be fine. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”
It’s not until after he hangs up and I’m left alone in the quiet kitchen that I realise what it was I could hear in his voice. It sounded an awful lot like revenge.
31
Iwake up twisted in soaked sheets.
I haven’t dreamt about that last day with Daniel in months, but the stress of knowing I’ll be in a room with him again must have triggered something in me. I lay panting, trying to shrug the nightmare and the sweat off me.
I’ve lived through him raping me once. Why must my subconscious make me relive it over and over again? It’s fucking unfair.
I kick off my covers and take a cold shower. Today will be fine. I won’t be alone with Daniel. Zayn will be with me.
Zayn.
I told him not to come over last night, knowing I wouldn’t be in a great headspace. He respected my wishes even though I could tell he wanted to fight me on it.
It’s been three days since we’ve seen each other, and I can admit to myself that I really miss him.
I wish I wasn’t seeing him again in the presence of Daniel.
It starts to sink in now that Zayn and Daniel know each other. Surely Daniel won’t recognise Zayn when even Ididn’t? I can only imagine what he would have to say about Zayn being the one to represent me in our divorce when he was a continuous sore spot for Daniel throughout our marriage, even though Zayn was long gone by then. I think we both knew, deep down, that Daniel wasn’t my first choice.
I dress modestly for the meeting in jeans, a coat and high-heeled ankle-boots and arrive at Zayn’s office twenty minutes earlier than expected.
I also receive an unexpected, unwanted surprise when I walk into his space. Although, judging by how quickly Scabby sent me back here, I should have known what was awaiting me.
Zayn is nowhere to be found, but Monica is perched on the edge of his desk looking way too comfortable in a tight pencil skirt and white blouse, shuffling through papers like she’s done it from this position a hundred times before.
Her eyes widen when she glances up and sees that it’s me who’s come in, not Zayn. “Hi, Gianna,” she says, stumbling her papers, but then she recovers quickly. “Nice to see you again.”
She has the decency to slip off Zayn’s desk and into one of the soft leather chairs instead, but not enough to stay off his desk in the first place.
“Where’s Zayn?” I ask, fighting the urge to take all my building frustration out on her, no matter how badly I want to. My morning was already looking to be shit enough without having to walk in on my boyfriend’s ex fuck-buddy with her ass on his desk.
