Simon? Are you there?
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. She deserves the truth, but …
The phone dings again.
You haven’t replied to any of my messages for almost two weeks. Is something wrong? Are you okay?
And then two more arrive.
I’m not angry.
I’m just worried about you.
Oh, God. He can feel himself weakening. He knows it’s the wrong thing to do, but he can’t tell her it’s all over like this, not through a message. This is a conversation that should be had face to face.
But that isn’t possible. She’s thousands of miles away.
He presses the phone to his chest, hoping that hiding the bright screen will dampen the twitch in his fingers to reply.
It doesn’t work.
He misses her so much. It’s like an ache … But he can’t tell her that.
Inhaling again, he places the phone face down on the counter and walks to the other side of the kitchen, where he pulls a random mug off the crowded drainer and presses a button on the fancy coffee machine one of his flatmates brought with them to their new shared flat. Who cares about the caffeine? He won’t sleep for hours now, anyway.
The phone buzzes. He flinches.
No, he tells himself as he puts his cup down and takes four strides across the kitchen. This is a bad idea.
It doesn’t stop him typing,I’m here.
He almost hears her sigh of relief as he waits for her reply, which arrives only a second or two later.
Oh, thank God! Are you okay?
He stares at the screen for a moment before replying. He’s already in so deep. What’s one more lie?
I’m fine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Present Day
The resort provides golf buggies to ferry guests up and down the steep hills to the villas and cottages and we ride one back to our love nest in silence. When we pull up, Gil jumps out and strides inside, slamming the door behind him. I smile weakly at the driver, whisper my thanks, and slide from my seat.
I stare at the closed door for a few seconds and then decide to use my key fob to open the side gate and walk around to the deck and pool area at the back. My way is lit by a string of lightbulbs and when I turn the corner, I spot a champagne bucket and two glasses on the table near the railing. Oh, God … Gil must have set this up earlier.
I wince.
Beads of condensation drip down the neck of the champagne. I swallow. After the night I’ve had, I could really do with a glass. Would it be … would it be bad if I opened it? Or should I wait for Gil?
But if Gil’s anything like Simon, he’s got to the sulking stage of an argument, which means I won’t hear anything more from him until morning. I breathe out in relief. Not the way I’d planned to ensure my honour stayed intact tonight,but I’ll take it. And if Gil is anything like Simon, he’ll be ready to gloss over it and move on in the morning, which means we could possibly do the rainforest trip as planned. I was really looking forward to that.
And, yes, I know thinking this way makes me seem like a heartless bitch, but I wouldn’t be worrying about riding gondolas through the rain forest if this was myrealhoneymoon. I’d be running inside and doing anything and everything I could to save my marriage. But that’s the point, isn’t it? This isn’t my marriage. It isn’t even my real life.
But then I look at how perfect the arrangement is, how romantic, and I weaken. After staring at the bottle for a few seconds, I pull it from the bucket and unwrap the foil. I pop it quietly and pour some into both glasses, then I pick one up and head to the French doors that lead into the bedroom. Gil is sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from me, staring at nothing.
I put the flute down on the console under the window. ‘Peace offering,’ I say quietly, and he looks up.
