Page 7 of In Love and Revenge

I’m not worried about seeing Rafael Fairfax.

The man is positively vile. The fact he and Dove are related continues to astound me. She’s kind and considerate. And she knows the truth when she hears it.

But Rafael?

That man wouldn’t know truth if it came and rammed itself down his stupid thick neck. Although the sight would be welcome. Especially if the arsehole choked on it.

I smile as I slide out of bed and pad over Charlie’s plush bedroom carpet to his en suite.

Rafael Fairfax being choked to death. Now there’s a wonderful thought.

Twisting, I show the back of the Chanel suit I have on. It’s a beautiful white tweed with fine gold thread as soft as angel’s hair weaved through it.

‘So gorgeous. And look at the shoes,’ I say as I perform a cute little leg flick behind me to show off the patent Mary Janes I’m wearing.

I spin back around and grin, placing a hand on my hip. ‘The perfect workday outfit.’

I allow a few seconds to pass before heading to my phone propped on top of the dressing area drawers and stopping it recording.

‘Perfect,’ I murmur, checking the video and trimming it before I write a quick caption and add my saved hashtags. I click ‘post’ and turn to survey the space.

Rails and rails of designer outfits all in my size line the oyster-coloured walls. And there’s a whole display purely for designer bags and purses. One in every colour you can imagine. Then there are the shoes ... oh my God,the shoes.

I step out of the Mary Janes, stroking them lovingly as I place them back on the shelf with the tenderness one would cradle a premature baby.

They’re exquisite. Just like everything else in here.

I sigh, unable to muster my usual enthusiasm. It’s not the same without him.

Nothinghas been the same since my father went to prison three months ago.

His girlfriend managed a month.

One month of the press hounding us and waiting on our doorsteps, harassing us for interviews. One month of seeing my father stripped of his freedom and dignity, locked up in that place. One month of living with the stigma of him being found guilty of theft from the investment company where he worked, before she packed abag and left. She had the decency to say goodbye, at least, before suggesting I should move out of London and start fresh somewhere no one knows me. But that would have meant leaving my father to deal with this alone.

With a five-year sentence to serve.

But he’s not a quitter. He can do it without a girlfriend who doesn’t believe in him.Wecan do it without her. We’ve always done okay by ourselves anyway, me and him. I just wish I got to see him more than the measly one visit per week the prison allows.

The beautiful Chanel suit suddenly feels hot and tight against my skin. I pull it off quickly, grabbing my jeans and t-shirt, and sliding them back on.

My phone beeps and I check it, finding over one hundred notifications, most admiring my outfit choice and some asking me to film a dressing-room tour. I gnaw on my lip, checking my watch. It’ll have to wait until another day.

I place the Chanel suit on its hanger and wink at Freddie, sprawled out on his belly in the corner, watching me with big, doleful brown eyes.

‘Aww, come on, boy,’ I coo. ‘I know you hate the idea of the groomers. But you always feel better afterwards, don’t you? And you’ll get steak strips for dinner as a treat.’

Freddie’s ears prick up at the word ‘steak’ and he tilts his head to one side. I walk over and his tail wags harder.

‘It’ll be worth it, I promise.’

He rolls over so I can scratch his belly.

‘Sometimes we have to go to places we can barely stomach, because the outcome will be worth it,’ I tell him, before I glance around the lavish dressing room.

It’s filled with hundreds of thousands of pounds of the most coveted labels in the fashion industry. But since I lost my father, all I seearethings. Things weighted with guilt. Tarnished with dishonesty and corruption.

I tear my eyes away as nausea threatens my stomach.