“You’re welcome.”
She grasped her handbag and gift bags and opened the car door—silly her took a second to remember where the doorhandle was—then she escaped. How dumb to use that word, even if it felt right. Being in that car with Eric had felt a little bit like a mouse caught in a cage with a tiger. And there was no mistaking who the mouse was.
She shivered, huddling into her leather jacket, her smile fixed as she waved from her front door. But he hadn’t gone yet, was holding something up out through the window.
“Did you want this?” Eric held the little blue box that Jordan had given her earlier.
Did she want it? No. How could Jordan possibly give anything like what the others had? Their gifts had been expensive; his would no doubt make her feel cheap. And after their horrendous argument before, she had no desire to think about Jordan Knight ever again!
“Catch.” He gently lobbed it to her, and wonder of wonders, she caught it.
“Nice catch,” he called.
“Better throw,” she responded, stuffing the battered box in the top of her bag. See? Jordan’s present meant nothing to her. Not like the gift of a day of luxury with people she’d long looked up to. “Thanks again for a wonderful day.”
“You’re very welcome. Good night.”
He smiled; then, in the roar of the car, he soon disappeared.
She turned, shoulders slumped, and went indoors, then upstairs to her apartment.
Inside, Aunty Marion’s flat felt cold and sterile, everything a wash of blue and grey. No sign of Charlie, either. She turned on the lights, but they did little to cheer her. Her heart felt battered, bruised. And not just from Jordan’s awful reprimands, taking her to task like that.
She’d felt trampled on by Gwen too, taking Jordan off in the way she had when he’d first arrived. Maybe if EJ had had a chance to talk with him, she might not be in this mess right now.She had also felt trampled by Eric just now, with that unasked-for kiss. She rubbed her lips. Did that count as sexual assault? It was hard to know what the rules were these days about things like that, as everything seemed to change. Long-standing social values and standards seemed a lot more fluid in the city, and she was conscious that in this sphere she’d entered, people didn’t bother too much about what others might consider wrong and right. Morals seemed optional, and if it didn’t hurt a business deal, then it didn’t matter too much. It was funny—and not in a humorous way—that this society she’d long longed to live in held values that made her squirm. Nothing was fixed, everything had a price.
Even, apparently, her.
Nausea rose, alongside a sharp spike of fear. If she and Eric fell out, what would that mean for Dream Match?
No. Eric wouldn’t be petty like that. Would he?
She wiped at her mouth, then went to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap. Splashed water on her face, on her mouth, and smeared away—scrubbed away—every last speck of where his mouth had been. Ugh. She hadn’t liked that. At all. Far from being romantic, she’d felt used. And that she’d been within a whisper of being used in a far more appalling way.
A tear slipped down her nose, then another, then another. Thank God she’d held it together long enough in front of the others today, that she’d managed somehow to find the strength to pretend to have fun and that Jordan’s tantrum didn’t matter, that Jordan’s words hadn’t lashed her heart.
Oh, why had today turned out to be so awful? Why couldn’t she simply have had a nice time? Others seemed to pull that off okay, and post about it on Instagram and TikTok and the like, but her special day now felt spoilt. Because of Eric. Because of Jordan.
Her fingers clenched, and she tugged a blanket free from the end of the couch, wrapping it around her. Shivers wafted down her spine as her stomach tensed. Why had Jordan come today when he’d seemed determined to spoil things? She glanced back at the gift bag, where his present taunted her from the top. What could he have gotten her?
The box was the size of a jeweller’s box. But it wasn’t Tiffany blue, so it wouldn’t be like one of the other special pieces of jewellery she’d received today. Luxury brands. Expensive items.
“Cheapskate,” she muttered, before finally giving in and unwrapping the paper.
To discover—yes, indeed—a square black velvet jeweller’s box. For a second her heart pounded as if wanting a very specific thing inside a jeweller’s box, then—
“You’re insane, EJ,” she muttered, then opened the lid to stare at the contents. Contents that made her heart flip again.
It was a pendant. Heart shaped, about the size of a fifty-cent coin, made of clear resin but with specks of gold and dried flowers within. She’d seen it months ago when they’d been wandering through the Queen Victoria Building, the grand historic shopping palace next to Sydney Town Hall. She’d been wanting to visit the luxury brands when Jordan had paused by a pop-up stall and showed her this.
“Look, it’s your heart. Filled with gold and fancies.”
She’d thought it so poetic of him that she’d wanted to buy it as a keepsake to remember this moment of whimsy. He’d denied it, then bought it, saying she’d have to wait, that she’d get it when she needed it.
That had been months ago. So why had he suddenly thought she needed it now? Was Gwen right and Jordan was jealous, and this was a last-ditch attempt for EJ to notice him?
She traced the shape, her eyes blurring as regrets panged afresh. Oh, she’d been so awful to him lately. She’d taken him forgranted so many times. How could she let the others mock him when he’d always been the one looking out for her best interests? The same couldn’t be said of them.
“Jordan, why did you have to do this?”
