“I do.” He peels his arm from Saffron’s shoulders and takes my hands in his, like actually touches me. It feels as though I’m in some sort of bizarre TV prank show, like any minute lights and cameras and Ant and Dec will appear and I’ll win a prize or something. A prize for being the most gullible girl in London, I guess.
“What were you going to ask me?” It’s suddenly vitally important I know, as though his question might be some sort of magic equation that will fix all of whatever this nonsense is. Because it’s madness.
“So, the thing is– oh God. I really wanted to do this when it was just the two of us, but I guess you’ve forced my hand.”
I forced his hand?
He takes a deep breath, as though composing himself. “I was wondering if, whether you’d do me the honour… of being in an open relationship.”
I burst out laughing. It’s the only response that seems to fit, apart from punching him in the face.
“You’re insane.” It’s the only possible explanation. All that sun and sand has driven him out of his mind. “Like, you must be. Come on, Dean. What the hell is this?”
“It’s how Dean does things.” Saffron is frowning. “I see who I want, and he does too. But we’re also together. He’s supposed to tell his partners, once things get serious. Though,” she tilts her head, considering me, “maybe that’s why you don’t know.”
I laugh even harder. The guy I’ve spent half a year pining over, who I thought was about topropose, doesn’t even think we’re in a serious relationship? Everything feels as though it’s crumbling around me, and I know I’m going to break in a moment. So I draw myself up tall, restraining my emotions before I start screaming, and poke my finger at Dean’s awful smirking face. “You can take your open relationship and shove it. Hard.”
“Oh, come on, Zars. It’ll be fun.” He gives me what I imagine he thinks is a smouldering look. An hour ago, Iwould have also thought it was a smouldering look. Now it just makes me want to punch him.
“You must be kidding me,” I hiss. I’m holding on by a thread now. Only pride is stopping me from breaking down completely. “We. Are. Done.”
“I do love you, Zara. I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages. We can make this work.”
“I don’t believe that for asecond. Any of it.” Tears sting my eyes, my laughter gone. I lean close to him, for what I know is the last time. “I would have given you everything, you know. Now you getnothing.”
Then I shove past him and keep walking, banging into people, blinded by tears. Humiliation washes over me, not just at the way he used me, but that my last words to him were so cringe. Oh my God. I should go back and rip his head from his shoulders.
Then someone grabs me by the arms. “Zara? What’s happened?”
I shake my head, wiping my eyes, unable to speak. Georgia, looking gorgeous as usual in a sparkly black fitted coat over a satin dress, keeps holding on to me, her face creased with concern.
“Zara?”
“I just… It’s Dean.” My face crumples again, and I pull myself together. Anger blooms inside me, overtaking the sadness. Screw him. It’s all so clear now, how he’s been stringing me along.
“What on earth has happened?”
Humiliation washes over me again. “I… he… it’s over. It’s all over.” I can’t bear to share any more details.
Georgia looks at me for a moment, then nods. “Right. What can I do? Do you need me to get you an Uber?”
I look over her shoulder, into a bar lit with neon, filled with people. The sound of someone singing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ off-key drifts out into the busy street. I don’t want to go home. Going home will mean I have to face what just happened. “Does this place sell shots?”
“It does.” Georgia takes my arm. “And the first round is on me.”
An hour or so later, I’m onstage belting ‘Shout Out to My Ex’ at the top of my lungs, one arm around Georgia, who’s giggling too much to sing properly. Both of us have had several shots, and more are being lined up by her friends, who are, I’m completely convinced, the best people I’ve ever met in my life.
“Screw you, Dean!” I yell into the microphone. The audience cheers and whistles, and I lose my place in thesong, coming back into it late, but no one seems to care. It’s the most fun I’ve had since Eloise’s hen party, and it’s almost enough to drown out the bitter ache in my heart.
Later still, though, alone in my room, everything spinning softly, it returns. I don’t know how I can get past this. I just know I have to. I sob myself to sleep.
ChapterEight
Myles
I’m at work early again, a breakfast meeting with the management team. But, when I head back to my office afterwards, I’m surprised to see Zara isn’t in yet. It’s almost 9.30am. I check my phone, but there’s no message from her. I ignore the curl of disquiet in my gut. I’m sure she’s fine. I don’t need to worry, not yet.
I head into my office, dropping my phone on my desk. My gaze moves to the dress hanging from one of the metal and timber shelves that line the wall. It’s soft silk with billowing sleeves, printed in blues and pinks. The dress Zara liked, from the photographs I showed her. I asked the design team to send the sample over after our conversation. She’ll need a work wardrobe for the trip, and I think she’ll be a good showcase for our brand. The fact I’m fantasising about undoing the ties and slipping it from her shoulders is something that will have to remain just that, a fantasy. No matter how much my cock would like it to be otherwise.
