* * *
I wish he would too, I think again later, as I unlock the door to my room. Inside it’s calm and quiet, the soft blue colours of my bedding soothing, the armchair and table by the window beckoning. Yet, for the first time, it feels like a lonely space. I’m the only person who ever comes in here.
My dad left when I was young and Mum died a few years ago. I don’t really have any other family. I miss Mum so much. We were close, more like friends than mother and daughter. When she got sick, I nursed her through it, hoping she’d come out the other side. But she didn’t.
It was her dream, originally, to have a little house by the sea. Just big enough for the two of us, she’d always said. So, when her estate was settled and I was left with a small nest egg, I decided to keep adding to it, determined to achieve what she’d always wanted.
Now the house will be for me and Dean. And maybe a cat. Or a dog. We haven’t really talked about children, but I’d love that as well. Mum would have adored a grandchild. Every bit of money I put away is in her memory, so that I can make something of what she left me.
There’s an ache in my chest as I get undressed, wash my face and slip between cold sheets. I toss and turn, wishing for arms around me, for lips on mine. Then my phone buzzes.
I reach for it, my heart fluttering as I see Dean’s face on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Zara, how are you?”
I melt at the sound of his voice, wishing he was here with me.
“Lonely.” The word slips out. I try not to complain about how much I miss him, or get upset when he doesn’t reply as quickly as I’d like him to. He’s working hard, saving for our future, just like I am. It’s why he can’t visit as often, why I don’t go to see him.
“Oh baby.” His voice deepens. “Where are you now?”
“In bed. Thinking of you.”
“Yeah? What are you doing?”
I know what he wants. I want it, too. “Hmmm.” I slide a hand under my T-shirt, caressing myself. “Touching myself.”
“Babes, wait. Before you get too into it, I need to tell you. I’m coming to London. Next week. And I need to ask you something important.”
“You do?” My hand stops moving.
“I do.”
Oh God. This is it. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. He’s going to propose, finally. All the waiting, all the lonely nights, will finally be over. I almost feel like crying.
“I can’t wait to see you.” I’m breathless with longing. “When do you get here?”
“Wednesday afternoon. I’ll pick you up from work.”
“Oh, Dean, I lo?—”
“I have to go. Sorry, love. I’ll see you soon. Wait for me.”
“Always.”
But he’s gone. I flop back on the pillow, slipping into a fantasy of white gowns and rose petals, excitement burning like a flame inside me. The fantasy deepens, and I reach down between my legs, wanting to relieve the ache of longing. But my phantom lover shifts and, instead of Dean, all of a sudden it’s Myles caressing me, Myles’s hands on my breasts, between my legs, his lips on mine. I stop and sit bolt upright, my heart pounding, my clit throbbing. What the hell? I cannot fantasise about my boss, no matter how hot he is. Especially when my boyfriend is about to propose. But I’m panting, and it takes a moment for my breath to get back to normal. I push my hair back from my face and try not to burst into tears.
Myles
“Where the hell is he? I know Zara gave him the schedule.”
It’s an icy morning on Fistral Beach at Newquay, pale sun glinting off the waves.
My CFO, Scott, clad head to toe in black rubber, shrugs. “Who knows? That guy is a loose cannon.”
“He’s a bloody good surfer, though. And sells a lot of clothing for us.”
