For a second, I just stand there, staring at it like it might swing open again.
Then I lean my hand against the wood and bow my head, exhaling slow.
What the hell just happened?
I wasn’t expecting anything tonight. I didn’t walk her back hoping for a kiss or a tumble into the nearest bed. I just… wanted to be with her a little longer.
Which, if we’re honest, is more dangerous than anything else I could’ve wanted.
Because yeah, I’ve got a reputation. Playboy. Cad. Whatever word Helen’s been using to make herself feel better about the disaster that was us.
But this isn’t that.
Not with Hayley.
My fingers curl against the doorframe, and before I can stop myself, my knuckles lift, ready to knock, ready to ask her to open up, ready to… something.
I stop just shy of touching the wood.
Because if she opened the door right now, I wouldn’t trust myself to just stand there.
I let my hand drop and exhale through my nose.
I saw Helen cornering her earlier. Saw that smug little tilt of her head she gets right before she poisons a room. God knows what she said.
Helen. Christ. Our so-called relationship was a sham from day one, convenient, presentable, something I could parade in front of my parents, so they’d stop hinting about settling down.
Not love. Not even close.
And yet somehow, she still has the power to scorch the earth around me.
I push away from the door and head down the hall to my room.
The space is dark, quiet, too neat for how I feel.
The bed’s been turned down, the lamps glow politely, but the whole place feels cold, hollow in a way that makes the warmth of the evening feel like something I imagined.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall that separates me from Hayley, like if I focus hard enough, I’ll see straight through it.
Scrub a hand over my face.
Flop back on the duvet with a groan.
And stay there, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell one woman managed to knock my entire life off its axis with a single kiss, and why I’d let her do it again in a heartbeat, no matter the cost.
Chapter 20
Let the Games Be Gin
Sunday Morning
Hayley
My head’s pounding again like a Tudor war drum, and this bloody pink monstrosity of a corset? Actively plotting my assassination. But Peacock’s lakeside brunch waits for no hangover.
I stagger onto Hever Castle’s sun-drenched terrace where mismatched goblets and trays of bacon-wrapped quails’ eggs scream ‘chaotic elegance.’ I’m seventy per cent hairspray, twenty per cent regret, and ten per cent pure dread after closing the door on Tyler.
The lake sparkles like it knows something I don’t. Mocking me. I squint, searching for coffee and mercy, only to be greeted by a tray of cocktails with names likeBloody Mary, Queen of Scots.
