37. DIANA #3
I don’t know what I was thinking.
I’m an idiot.
A lump rises in my throat, and tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Hurrying my pace, I step out onto St James’, where golden light spills from old fashioned shop windows and well dressed men in long overcoats and black leather shoes make their way into the gentlemen’s clubs that pepper the street.
Even through my distress, I register how impressive this area of London is. It makes me think of Rafe, and I really don’t want to think about him now.
The loneliness that’s been clawing at me since my final day in the Emblem, when I climbed out of his bed and left him for good, hits me in the face just as it starts to snow.
I have a business that’s earning money. I have invitations to every event I’d want to go to. I have special edition books and PR parcels piling up in my flat again. I’ve worked so hard for all of it, but what else do I have?
Lizzie’s on the other side of the world, my sister’s a downtrodden soon-to-be-housewife, and my parents are horrible.
I stare at the dark sky overhead, the cushion of thick cloud catching the glow of night-time London in its net, snowflakes falling around me, when the truth hits.
No one cares about me. I might look popular online; I might look happy, I might even look attractive. But it means nothing when I have no one.
I am so alone.
All the pain I’ve hidden splinters through me. I duck my head, allowing the tears I’ve been holding back to fall. For a few seconds, I stand, unmoving in the middle of the pavement, letting them come, not caring that passersby have to swerve to avoid me.
A strange awareness slinks around me, sliding up the back of my neck, and I raise my head. Idling at the side of the road, hazard lights flashing, is a sleek black car.
Rafe Bastion’s Bentley.
The driver gets out to open the door, and Rafe steps out. He’s breathtaking in a black tie suit.
An impulse to rush over there and throw my arms around him runs through me. To ask him to take me away from all this shit, because if anyone could do it, it’s him.
But he’s not alone. A woman in a full-length sequinned dress exits the car behind him, and he pauses to offer his hand to help her out.
She flicks her dark hair off her face. Melanie Castow.
My insides scrunch like something inside me is dying, and standing straight is an effort. They look so good together. Dad was right. She’s perfect for him. She’s a woman he could take seriously; she’s someone he could face the future with—no secrets, no lies.
Did I think he’d never see anyone else? Did I think he’d be single forever because I told him it could never work between us?
Melanie smiles as he offers her his arm, and he smiles back at her.
I feel like I’m drowning. Choking. I can’t take any more of this. I wipe frantically at the tears that are falling.
Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.
As if I’ve silently called his attention, he glances up and catches me standing there.
Our eyes lock, the smile dropping from his face. I want to do something, anything, but I can’t. All I’m capable of is standing and staring at him.
He appears to be afflicted with the same problem, but when Melanie speaks, his attention returns to her.
He says something I can’t make out, then, to my horror, he steps towards me, Melanie following close behind.
“Diana.” He says my name the same way he holds himself; all hard angles and sharp edges. Formal and polite, but too stiff, with none of the warmth I long for. If he can tell I’ve been crying, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Hi,” I say, the word bursting out like the squeak from a dog’s toy.
Rafe frowns at the sound.
Melanie edges in close to his elbow, and he turns his body sideways to allow her to join us. “This is Melanie,” he tells me. “Melanie, this is Diana. She’s…” He pauses. “She’s one of Lizzie’s friends.”
“I recognise you from the party,” Melanie says with a cool smile, offering me her hand to shake.
I take it, not daring to look at Rafe, and after a too-firm handshake that makes my bones hurt, Melanie lets my hand drop.
“How are you?” Rafe asks, still unnaturally rigid.
I dig my hands deep into the pockets of my leather jacket. “Fine. Good, thank you. Sounds like Lizzie’s having a great time out there.”
“Yes.”
Beats of silence pass, Melanie looking increasingly uncomfortable as Rafe continues to stare at me like I’m a ghost he never expected to see again.
“Rafe,” she hisses, nudging him.
He blinks and glances at his watch. “Right. Yes. We should go.” He nods at me, a muscle in his jaw feathering. “It was lovely to see you. Have a good evening.”
He offers his arm to Melanie again, letting her hook her hand over his forearm, and leads her into the grand entrance of Brooks, an exclusive gentlemen’s club.
At least he’s in a relationship he can tell Lizzie about. That’s one good thing, I suppose. But, standing alone in the cold, the loss of him hits me all over again, slipping its newly-sharpened blades between my ribs, stealing my breath and leaving me gasping in the street.