It’s a strange thing to watch his emotions turn: anger to confusion, confusion to shock, shock to fear, and as the grand finale, fear to regret. It’s all there in his gaze; a gaze now pleading with mine, each emotion having flickered momentarily to life.And then died. Much like my insides.
‘Fin.’ From the other side of the room, Rory’s neck moves as he swallows past the weight of his lie.
‘How wonderful—I’m so pleased you’re coming around to the idea, Daddy. Fin is a darling name for a boy!’
She looks like her voice; even from her back, I can tell. A spoiled city princess.Like the one I used to be.Rory stands rigid—stunned. I suppose I might be heartened by the lack of response his fiancé shows; she doesn’t notice, doesn’t see the nuances of this man. As she steps closer, sliding her arms around his neck, those thoughts turn to ash.
I can’t help the sound that escapes my mouth, past a fist that holds back gut wrenching sobs. I don’t hear his response as I stumble away, the parquet tiles slippery beneath my feet.
I can hear him shouting my name, but I don’t wait. Unlike Lot’s wife, I won’t look back at what once was.
Stumbling, fumbling, running; I have one hand against the wall, the other clapped to my lips. I need to be outside.
I’m going to vomit. Please don’t let it be here. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be near him ever again.
The pain in my chest is sharp, but I’m at the front door without even realising, not registering that Ivy’s car is out back.
I don’t care. I’ll walk home. I’ll swim. I’ll hide. I’ll crawl under a bush and fucking die.
My shoulder registers his fingertips as I jerk away, pulling hard on the heavy front door. I know I’m crying, sobbing, mumbling words that aren’t wholly sentient, as I duck under his outstretched arms and into the cold, dark night...
... and into the flash of a camera.
Finola, how does it feel to have your husband back?
Fin, did you know he’d faked his own death? Did you help him?
Fi—do you know where he hid the millions he stole? Has your staff been paid?
Mrs. Pettyfer, how does Kit Tremaine feel about this? Were you lovers before?
Does your new bloke know his fiancée is already married?
Lights flash so brightly, it’s like being reborn.Into hell. I’ve been photographed before, some red carpet affairs, and always felt like meat then. This. This right now, I have no words for. I can’t really comprehend their questions, my mind still back in that room watching her slide her arms around him.
Isit true your husband encouraged you to sleep with Sheikh Ahmed to distract him from his theft?
Fifi, is it true you were once a high class call girl?
Ahand catchesmy elbow from behind; despite the chaos in front of me, I jerk from it as I turn and hiss. ‘Stay away from me.’
I step on the first stair, shielding my eyes from the glare of lights, faltering and awkward as I stumble again. It’s with instinct, rather than gratitude, that I grasp the hand reaching out for me again, catching my forearm and pulling me up from my temporary collapse. In one smooth movement, I’m tucked into his side. My heart sighsRory, even as, instinctually, I know it isn’t him.
‘Don’t answer,’ he murmurs in a deep baritone. ‘Keep your head down.’
I don’t need the instruction, like I don’t need to know him, even as my body responds, pressing closer to his side.
I peek up from under my lashes, and while he looks so much like Rory, his touch feels all wrong.
Kit—Kit! What’s your take on the husband?
Will you be expecting a cut of his stolen millions?
Kit—did you pay her?
His body drawstight as we reach the bottom step, surrounded by questions, cameras, and flashing lights. Kit opens the door to something low and sleek—I know instantly it’s a Mercedes—buffering his body between the door and the crush. Arms still around my shoulders, he pushes me into the passenger seat, a moment later sliding into the opposite side.
‘Fin, I presume?’ In the absence of words, I nod my head. ‘Fucking Anna,’ he mutters to himself, as the engine purrs to life.
