Chapter Ninety
The closing of the door echoes across the vast hallway of our home as I begin to fight with the zip at the side of my dress.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Making sure you make good on your promise.’ The words are mumbled into my armpit, the zip having snagged on the lining, though my shaking fingers don’t help the situation much. ‘Just ‘cos I didn’t meet my end of the deal.’
‘Stop.’ His hands are on my shoulders before he pulls me back against his chest, his arms like a vice. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘No, I’m not.’Great. Watery words to match my lashes.
‘Yes. You are.’ His arms tighten. ‘Why do I feel like this is my fault?’
‘Did you write the guest list?’
‘No—’
‘I don’t want her at the wedding,’ I add quickly, cutting him off.
‘I doubt she’ll be in the country this time tomorrow. Françoislooked pretty pissed.’
‘But you’ll make sure?’ My fingers tighten against his forearm. ‘‘Cos if she’s going to be there, I’m fucking not.’
‘Really?’ Kai’s tone is disparaging, at best. ‘Are you planning on running away again?’
His words hit me sharply, pulling me from my focus. My anger. I really don’t want to get into this. I don’t want to make the evening into a bigger drama than it already has been, but the fact of the matter is, when I look at Sofia, I feel lots of things. Lots of things that make me feel inadequate. She’s so stunning, and I’m sort of ordinary. She’s got legs ‘til next Tuesday and I’m just a little short arse. She’s all glamour andGucci, while I’m more your Target end of the mall. Even spending a bit more cash on my clothes these days doesn’t lift me into her league at all.
And then I look at Kai; the male mirror of her. Physically at least.
‘One of these days you’ll realise.’
‘I could say the same to you,’ I mumble.
‘And what might I realise,habibti?’
I shrug, not willing to elaborate. ‘Lots of stuff.’
‘That you can trust me,’ he says softly.
I try to turn to face him, prevented by the band of his arms. ‘Idotrust you. This isn’t about you.’ Not really.
‘You can also trust me with your thoughts.’
My chest tightens. Screwing my eyes tight, I swallow. ‘Don’t be a sook and help me with my zip.’ Diversionary tactics. It bears saying again: I’m well versed in these.
‘A sook?’
Sounds funny in his accent; long vowels and hard consonants. And totally silly. It strikes me this is probably the first word I’ve heard him utter that doesn’t make me want to inhale him on the spot.
‘What’ssookfulabout me?’
‘Sookful?’ I scoff. ‘Just sooky. You’re being a sooky lala.’
‘That sounds even worse. You’re sure you didn’t bang your head?’
‘You’re beingoverly emotional.’ Aimed for a taunt, and yep, nailed it.
‘Emotional? My wife gets assaulted, starts tearing off her clothes before the doors are even closed, and I’m not supposed to be concerned?’
