“Sorry boss.” I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket, then slide my gloves and goggles back on.
Zander runs a hand over the thick walnut surface we’re installing in the kitchen of some bigwig attorney in Mayfair. “This is good.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d be up for another trip to France.”
I pause, my hand hovering over the orbital sander resting next to me.
“When?”
“In a few weeks. The new bathrooms are being fitted and once they’re done, I need someone out there to do the cabinetry.”
Darius flashes in my mind and the thought of being even further away from him has my stomach sinking like a weight to the bottom of the ocean.
“Can I let you know?”
Zander nods.
“Of course. Let me know by next week, yeah?”
“Sure. And thank you. For the opportunity.”
He taps my shoulder. “You’re good, Ollie. Probably the best on my team.” He drops his voice, a smirk gracing his lips. “Even if you’ve spent the entire week smiling at your phone like a lovesick teen. They must be important to you.”
I smile. “He is.”
“Good for you. Now finish this up andthenyou can go see your man.”
Wouldn’t that be perfect? Going home to Darius every night. Instead, I have to be content with late-night phone calls and the few quick moments we’ve stolen to be together since last weekend. It’s better than nothing and it’s not forever. I placate myself with that reminder, especially when he rolls out of my bed and heads back to hisfakehusband.
It’s Friday night and Darius is having dinner with his father and Floyd’s mother because even though he’s no longer entertaining his father’s wish for weekly ‘family meals’, his mother-in-law has taken a real liking to him. I can’t blame her, either. He’s perfect in every way. The kind of guy a mother wants for her child. It’s no wonder she’s attached herself to Darius the way she has. I know he feels guilty about the lying and about the fact that when this all ends, she’ll get hurt. But my sweet-heartedboyfriend cannot possibly protect the feelings of everyone. She will be another casualty of her son’s inability to care about anyone but himself.
Fucking psycho.
Once my workday is over, I head to the gym, hitting the treadmill with a speed that has my heart pumping furiously and my muscles singing in pain. I stop before the impulse to purge the little food I ate today hits. I haven’t needed that in a while, and despite it still being a struggle to put an entire meal into my body, I’m happy with the progress. For the first time in years – and I’ve admitted this to my therapist – I feel like my life is moving forward and I’m leaving those horrid parts of my past in the rearview mirror where they belong.
I opt to take the long way home, enjoying the bright evening and the feel of spring pushing through the gloom of late March in the UK. Stopping in at the newsagent, I pick up a newspaper and a can of Red Bull. Once I’m in my flat, I take a quick shower – send a nude selfie to Darius – and then sit on the sofa, drink in hand and the newspaper folded open to the crossword.
My phone rings when I’m trying to work out a nine letter word for ‘replica’ and I answer it as soon as I see who it is.
“Hey, baby.” I drop the pen and paper onto the seat next to me. “What are you up to?”
“Getting ready to go out for dinner.” He sighs. “I’m exhausted and cannot think of anything I would rather not do.”
“Want to come over after?”
“I better not. Floyd has been on a warpath today because of some comment his grandfather’s lawyer made. The guy cannot fake emotions, no matter how much he tries, so I really don’t think they’re buying this marriage.”
Good. Maybe someone on his side will work it out and burn it down sooner rather than later.
“You’ve played your role, D.”
“Yeah. He’s also growing suspicious. Asking who I’m messaging all the time. Wanting to know where I’m going and all that.”
“What did you tell him?”
“To mind his fucking business.” I chuckle at his bluntness, but at the same time, worry settles in my gut.
