‘No.’ I shake my head, maybe a little too emphatically. We both know I’m lying and that knowledge settles between us like a heavy weight.
‘You’ve been acting weirdly ever since you said “I do”.’
‘Actually, it’s “I will” in England. People always get that wrong—’
Gil pushes himself back from the table slightly, making the silverware clatter. ‘You know what, Erin? I really don’t care what the wording of the service is. That’s not the point.’
‘Then whatisthe point?’
He looks at me. I mean, really looks at me. ‘The point is,’he begins smoothly, ‘as you rightly say, we’re on day three of our honeymoon, but my bride seems to be doing her best to avoid me.’ He flicks a glance at the couple behind us, who are lovingly spooning dessert into each other’s mouths. ‘Not only that, but she can’t seem to stand being in the same room as me.’
He says this last bit a little too loudly, which causes the female half of the other couple to stop slurping chocolate mousse off her husband’s spoon and turn to give us … well, Gil … a pitying look. I’m suddenly furious with her. And with him.
I roll my eyes. ‘Oh, of course … It’s about sex. I should have known!’
Gil gives me a withering look. It seems I wasn’t quiet with my reply either, as the people at the table on our left all turn their heads. I’d planned on having a nice dinner tonight. I hadn’t factored in there’d be a floor show – and that Gil and I might be the headline act.
He catches my gaze and holds it, but this time it’s not irritation or frustration I see. He’s begging me to understand. ‘OfcourseI want to make love with you, Erin. I love you … and it’s our honeymoon!’
I swallow and look down at my lap, aware that in most circumstances, this would not be an unrealistic or unreasonable expectation. If I weren’t so traumatized by navigating my way through this never-ending nightmare, I might even feel sorry for him. But I can’t let myself.
‘But it’s more than that … isn’t it? Something’s up. I’m worried about you.’
For some reason, his words bring tears to my eyes. But I don’t need him to worry about me. I don’t needanyoneto worry about me. I can take care of myself. I always have. And I don’t like him thinking I’m weak.It shores up my resolve to see this thing through. I can’t let him win.
‘It’s just … It’s just the aftermath of the wedding, all that stress. I’m fine. We’re fine.’
Gil shakes his head slowly. ‘No, we’re not. You’re not. You haven’t been right since our wedding day.’
‘You’ve said nothing until now, so it can’t have bothered you that much.’
‘I’ve asked you countless times if you’re okay.’
I give a one-shouldered shrug, conceding his point.
‘I was hoping you’d open up to me. I know the run-up to the wedding was busy and stressful. And I know the day itself wasn’t a hundred per cent easy, not with your mum, your brother … And I don’t know what’s going on with you and Anjali, but I saw her being really cold with you at one point. Have you guys had a fight? Has that got something to do with this?’
My stomach swoops and all the butter my Dover sole was drenched in seems to congeal in my intestines. Gil noticed that? He was paying more attention than I realized. And if he saw that, maybe he also saw …
There’s another swoop, stronger this time. What if Gil suspectseverything?
I look back at him in panic. Is it there? Can I see it in his eyes?
But even if I do, I’m not going to open that can of worms. I can’t.
‘I’m honestly fine. Me and Anjali … It was … It was a misunderstanding. And you’re right – it wasa lotrunning up to the wedding.’ I laugh, but instead of coming out light and breezy, it sounds as if I’ve got a fishbone stuck in my throat. ‘I’m just … I don’t know what I am at the moment. But I’m sure I’ll be back to normal again soon.’I smile at Gil, try to replicate what the honeymoon bride behind me has been doing all night with her partner. ‘Honestly.’
Gil’s jaw hardens. He shakes his head and looks away, and then he raises a hand to catch a waiter’s attention and asks for the bill. We haven’t even had dessert.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Five years ago
It’s late when he sees the phone light up with a message notification. Past midnight, in fact. A knot forms in his stomach.
It’s her. Again.
He knows he should ignore it, delete it without looking at it. He stares at the screen for a few seconds, his limbs momentarily paralyzed, but eventually he reaches out and picks the phone up from the kitchen counter. His thumbs move and swipe almost without conscious decision, bypassing the heartfelt resolve he is trying to stick to.
