‘It was inThe Guardian, in an interview. AndHellomagazine in that spread on his country estate. You see it?’
‘Pierce, you mean?’
‘No, numpty. The fiancé. Jonathon Reeves, property magnate extraordinaire.’ Jai swallows the measly mouthful, grimacing. ‘Blurgh.I fucking hate olives.’ He gives a slightly camp though whole body shiver.‘It gave his age and everything. And unlike Pierce, he’s a real silver fox. Him I’d do him, rich or not.’
‘The groom to be?’ My voice sounds high and reedy, my synapses sluggish and dull.
‘Yeah, the fiancé—keep up. You’re not usually this slow. Oh, fuck, you really are coming down with something. Here.’ Taking my elbow, he pushes me into a chair by the wall. ‘Ignore Savannah. If you give this lot the flu, there’ll be a shit storm. Tell her you fainted if she asks.’ Without waiting for my answer, he frowns and snatches the empty tray from my hands. ‘Lou,’ he calls further into the room. ‘This one’s ill. Don’t give her anything to do. She’s been quarantined.’
Lou, the woman in charge of the kitchen this evening, begins cursing and banging what sounds like garbage lids, not that I care. I’m too busy processing.
A silver fox. I imagine fatherhood is trying, but I can’t see Rory aging that quick. But what else can it mean? Are they not together? Is her fiancé—the older man—a rebound? Has she made the same mistakes as me—marrying a man after Rory used her, too?No, that’s not fair. That’s not what happened to me.My marriage is on no one but myself.
Hands balled into fists, I try to swallow back the rising tide of emotions before I drown in the swell. Anger, pain, hurt—all down to my own childishness and stupidity, and here I go again. I didn’t need to be here this evening—to put myself through this. I should’ve just told Savannah. Told her I’d rather go to hell.
‘I’m not doing this.’ I stand so quickly the kitchen chair squeaks against the pale bamboo floor.
I give up. Give in. What am I thinking even being in the same zip code? Even if Rory isn’t marrying Beth, I can’t be here.Can’t stay here. I begin to make my way through the kitchen, my feet moving faster and faster as I reach the back door. I pull the handle, telling myself I’ll text Savannah and say I vomited. Fainted. Caught the bubonic plague! Whether Rory’s single or not, I have to leave.
