“I think so,” I mumble. “I’m trying.” I quietly cry onto Rhys’s shoulder, prompting him to hold me tighter.
“Shh, I know, Muffin, I know,” he coos. “I just don’t want to get back to that place where I feel like I don’t have any other choice, you know? I want this to work, for both our sakes.”
Angry with myself for spoiling things again, I pull away from Rhys, straighten my hair and wipe under my eyes. He’s right, I played a huge part in the crumbling of our relationship, and I’m determined to do better. I won’t push Rhys into another woman’s bed again.
“I’m going for a shower.” Rhys nods his approval. “Tomorrow, I’ll take my calories down to eight hundred a day. I’ll prove I’m worth keeping.”
“That’s my girl!” He grins broadly at me, and I feel a spark of pride at his praise. “How about I sign you up to my gym, too? I can put a training plan together for you.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agree reluctantly.
The last thing I want to do is spend time at that hell hole surrounded by sickeningly thin and beautiful women, God knows how many of whom Rhys has slept with. But it’s time I made a real effort. Who knows, if I finally lose the weight, Imight actually feel good about myself and be able to be happy?
Chapter 21
Good girl
The last day of school finally arrives, and I’m waving goodbye to my class for the last time as they walk with their parents across the school yard, excited for summer adventures. Once they’ve all gone, I go back to my classroom and gather up all of my thoughtful gifts, ready to go home. I rarely leave my class in a mess, but I intend on coming in over the holidays, so I can sort it out then. For now, I desperately need a rest.
I’ve been sticking to my diet religiously for the past couple of weeks, and now that school is over for more than a month, I have no more excuses to put off going to the gym with Rhys. Pushing that thought from my mind, I put all of the boxes of chocolates gifted to me by kind parents in a cupboard so I’m not tempted to eat them at home. The notebook with ‘Best Teacher’ written on the front goes into my desk drawer, ready for next year’s staff meetings, along with three beautiful new pens, which just leaves two new mugs, five bunches of flowers and a silk scarf to take home.
I sneak out of the building before I have to take part in awkward ‘See you in six weeks’ hugs with my colleagues, and manage to make it home by 3:45. Fully intending on making a cuppa in one of my new mugs (a choice of ‘I teach tiny humans, what’s your super power?’ and one personalised with ‘Mrs Simmons’ in gold letters) and reading a book in the garden, I haul my presents through the front door. I’m stopped in my tracks by the sound of Rhys’s grunting coming from the kitchen.
My ears start to ring. Dread climbs up my throat and the urge to vomit on the carpet is overwhelming. Not wanting to have to clean that up later, I swallow the saliva that’s filled my mouth and focus on my breathing. This can’t be happening again. Rhys grunts again, and I’m left with little choice other than to go and investigate. Dropping the flowers and gift bags on the stairs, I make my way through to the kitchen.
“Rhys?” I say nervously, pushing open the kitchen door and preparing myself for what I might find.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see my kitchen look like a bombsite. Rhys is lying on the floor, his shirt hanging over the back of a chair rather than on his body, the washing machine open in front of him. The water leaking from the ancient appliance has spread across most of the tiles, meaning Rhys is lying in a pool of water.
He’s shirtless and wet. His toned chest gleams with moisture, immediately distracting me from my previous panic, and when he tries to loosen something behind the machine, causing him to grunt again, my knees feel a little weak.
“Rhys?” I say again, this time breathless for a different reason than before.
Rhys jumps at the unexpected interruption, then plasters on a falsely solemn expression.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mat, but the washing machine has gone. I did everything I could to save her, but shefinally kicked the bucket at” – he looks at his watch – “3:48 p.m. She lived a good, long life doing what she loved… washing our clothes. The funeral will be held on Friday, close friends and family only.”
I chuckle at the silly, playful side I rarely get to see of Rhys. It might be my favourite side of him. More than anything it reminds me of when I fell in love with him in the first place.
“Will the family be accepting flowers?” I ask, playing along. “Only, I happen to have several bunches already prepared.”
“The family will be accepting kisses only.”
I smile. “Then you’d better get over here.”
Rhys jumps to his feet, sending water flying everywhere as he strides over to me. He leans into me so I feel my back pressing into the kitchen counter, and his wet torso meets my chest. He leans down, one hand at the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss. He starts off gently, tentative after the last time, but it soon turns heated as his tongue slips into my mouth. The hand at my neck inches up to my hair and he pulls firmly on my ponytail, forcing my head back so he can deepen the kiss.
I feel a spark of confidence ignite inside me when I feel his crotch rub against mine and realise how much I’m affecting him. In response I let my hands roam over his chest, his back, the waistband of his jeans. Rhys lets out a groan that travels to my pants, dampening them even more. With a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, Rhys pulls away and rests his forehead against mine.
“As much as I would love to keep this going,” he says, his breathing as laboured as mine, “we have somewhere to be soon, and you need time to get ready.”
“We’re going somewhere?” I ask, surprised. Have I forgotten about an appointment?
“Yep,” he smiles. “I’m taking you out to celebrate surviving another year of teaching. We have a reservation at 6:00 p.m., soyou need to go and get glammed up.” He turns me around by the shoulders and slaps me on the backside. “And wear something sexy,” he whispers so close to my ear I can smell his minty breath.
I start to walk towards the door, anxiety already rippling through me as I try to figure out what to wear.
“Where are we going?” I ask him as I reach the doorway.
