Chapter 19
IZZY
But I’m not ready for this to be over. Yes, so I have work on Monday morning and probably a million complaints for going off grid during one of our busiest periods—they don’t call this the silly season for no reason. But just because real life has to creep in doesn’t mean I have to let go of the fairy tale, I think, as a figurative light bulb goes off in my head.
‘We could do this—see each other still,’ I qualify quickly, so quickly I don’t give a thought to being nervous or his reaction. But surely, he’d want the same thing, wouldn’t he?
‘Darlin’.’
‘Just think about it,’ I add quickly. ‘The past few days have been...’ Like a dream. Like a Christmas dream.
‘Perfect. The past few days have been perfect,’ he asserts, taking my head in his hands. ‘And unreal.’
There’s a certain something in his tone, something I can’t quite place. Butunrealis okay, isn’t it? It’s a bit of a buzz word, and personally, I’d have just gone withfantastic. Unreal in that sense is a word you’d expect someone in my place of work to use—some beard-owning, square-spectacle-wearing, trendy metro rather than Greg.
But that’s okay, isn’t it?
‘I’d be the luckiest man alive to be in a relationship with you, but believe me, I’m not what you want.’
‘Oh.’ I step back from the heat of his body.Fucking unreal. ‘Oh, well, I see. If you’re going to mansplain what I need, then I suppose that’s it.’
‘That’s not it at all.’
‘Then you tell me what it is,’ I demand, wrapping my arms around my waist. This is confusing and unexpected, but most of all, it fucking hurts. ‘I’m too old to play these games, so you tell me, Greg. You tell me exactly what this is.’
‘This is me telling you how wonderful you are—’
‘While also letting me down as gently as possible.’ He may as well just chuck me from the roof. I’m not sure it’d hurt any less.
‘This is me telling you I can’t be what you want.’
‘Okay.’ I stride purposely to the window. ‘Okay.’ I can see the little red roof of my hire car and a little of the windscreen but not enough that I can leave.
‘How old do you think I am?’ I ask suddenly.
‘You said twenty-nine.’
‘I’m sure I didn’t,’ I murmur, turning back to face him.
‘Aye, you did. You said twenty-nine, for sure.’
‘No, IintimatedI was around thirty years old. Youinferredtwenty-nine, and that’s not my responsibility.’ I know by the way he’s looking at me right now that he thinks I’m a little nuts. Whatever. I certainly feel a little nutty right now. ‘I’m thirty-three, Greg. Thirty. Three. I have a great job, that also happens to be terrible, my own home, I’m all natural’—his eyes follow the path of my hands over my body, my movements deliberate—‘and I have all my own teeth and only a couple of grey hairs. But do you know what I don’t have? A man. They come and they go but I can’t seem to keep them. It’s like Groundhog Day in my knickers, Greg.’ I might stamp my feet a little, but it’s better than bursting into tears. I can’t believe this is happening. Not again. Not with him.
‘Don’t confuse them with me,’ he almost growls.
‘Ah, yes. You made me come. Whoop-dee-doo. Thank you for restoring my faith in my own body. But make no mistake, it doesn’t elevate you above them. Thirty-three is plenty old enough to know when someone is taking the piss.’
‘Isobel, please don’t be like this,’ he pleads. ‘We never made any promises. Come on, the first day you thought I fucked women for money.’
‘Right now, as my heart breaks just a little bit’—I find myself demonstrating just how much using my finger and thumb—‘I wish I could throw down a few fifty-pound notes and be done with this.’
He looks like I’ve slapped him, but I refuse to experience one grain of regret for lashing out. I know I sound like a harpy—a total bitch—but he played me. We might’ve only had a few days but look at the table! Look at his suit! He didn’t have to do any of that. I’d have slept with him anyway. And I did. Why lay on all this... thisperfectnessfor someone you’ve no feelings for?
‘It’s just cruel, Greg.’ Despite my intentions, his name hits the air as a sob.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Still standing in the same place I’d left him following our dance, he slides his hands into the pockets of his pants, tipping his head.
‘We could try?’ I whisper, not quite done with humiliating myself. But I want this chance with him. Maybe just a little too badly. ‘I think—’
