TWENTY
When Evie woke, she was a little stiff, a little sore, but she wrestled back a smile, face buried in the pillow, as last night rushed through her mind in a series of lurid flashbacks.
She opened an eye cautiously, checking Aubrey wasn’t about to catch her grinning like a loon. It would only make him smug. More smug. Then she lifted her head, and found him sitting up in bed beside her, his laptop on his knee.
Misinterpreting the way her gaze snagged there, he said apologetically, “It’s Monday. Your father hasn’t exactly given me the day off. I’ll be back in the office this afternoon, but I wanted to get through a few hundred of these emails before then.”
“It’s fine,” Evie said, slowly sitting up, clearing her throat at finding it dry. “It’s fine,” she repeated more clearly. “I don’t mind. Stay there. Work away. I’m going to have a shower.”
She walked naked across the room, wondering if her body or the laptop would hold his interest more. A glance at the wardrobe mirror as she rooted out some clothes revealed she had won. He was watching her, either not caring, or not noticing, that he had been caught looking. But it wasn’t like nakedness should embarrass either of them after the things they had done.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was still working, but a breakfast tray had been sent up. Everyone—George, Aubrey, Domnall, and Liv—were planning an early departure for London. Aubrey had a coffee in one hand, scrolling down his screen with the other. He looked at her as he took a sip, then put the mug down on the bedside table.
“Clothes? Not my favourite Evie look.”
She smiled, sitting down on the bed and reaching over him to the tray that stood on a table by his side. She tried to snag a piece of plain toast, some jam, but Aubrey caught her jaw in his hand and pulled her to him for a kiss.
“How’s the mouth?” he murmured, rubbing his thumb over the corner of her lips.
“Fine. How’s the palm?”
He chuckled, letting her go and reaching again for his coffee. “Also fine.”
She put the plate of toast on her knee. Aubrey passed her the pot of jam and a knife.
“Have a shower,” she said, hoping her voice sounded natural. “You brought your bag over, I see.”
“Mm. Couldn’t drag myself away.”
He continued looking at emails, making no move for the bathroom.
“What time are you leaving?” she asked.
He glanced at the laptop’s clock. “Half eight. Plenty of time.”
“Right.” She bit into her toast. He was making no effort to hide his screen from her. She could see it clearly, read the subject lines of the emails he was skimming through. None of it made any sense to her. But she knew the words she needed to search for.
He opened an attachment, spent a minute frowning at a complicated diagram, then sighed, pushing his laptop from his knee. Still open. Still on.
“I suppose it’ll wait,” he said, getting up and going over to his bag. He picked out some things, then glanced over at her. She looked quickly away from the laptop.
“How are you getting back to London?” he asked. “If you are going back?”
“Train.”
He hesitated, frowned down at the clothes in his hands. She nudged the duvet with her toe, shifting the laptop slightly, hoping the screen didn’t lock.
“Would you want a lift?” Aubrey asked.
“Sure,” she replied quickly. “Thanks.”
Aubrey gave her a look, as though about to question her sudden compliance, but to her relief, he just shook his head slightly and disappeared into the bathroom.
The door locked. Evie let out a breath, waited one second, heart thudding, then grabbed the laptop and pulled it onto her knee.
God, her brain was racing. What was she even meant to be looking for? Everything was a whirling blank, her fingers so clumsy with nerves and haste she could hardly type in the search box.
The shower came on, and she jumped at the sound, hands freezing.
She stayed frozen, heart thumping, staring at the screen.
Thump, thump.
The words started to blur as she sat there not moving, not even blinking. Then, with a moan of frustration, she shoved the laptop off her knee and stood up from the bed.
Fuck. Fuck. She couldn’t fucking do it. What the hell was wrong with her? All that effort, the perfect opportunity, and her hands refused to move. Her heart just kept going thump, thump, and her stupid brain kept going, This is wrong, wrong…
When Aubrey came out of the bathroom, she was tucked up in the window seat, staring out at the rising sun, wiping the last of her frustrated tears from her eyes.
They were only the leaky kind. She wasn’t red and swollen. He wouldn’t be able to tell. But he frowned, catching sight of her sitting there. “Everything OK?”
“Yes,” she lied. “Fine.”
Then she hopped down, tucked her phone away and the message she’d just sent to Zig.
I can’t do it. Tell FTP I’m sorry. I quit.
Aubrey only took minutes to pack, collecting his suits from his room, then sitting on the bed again with his laptop while Evie hurried around her room, unable to find basic things. Her mind was still a blur of buzzing adrenaline from finally getting hold of Aubrey’s laptop, spiky nervousness all whirring together with guilt over failing, guilt over trying.
Her phone was muted in her pocket, but it kept vibrating, Zig probably sending her a cascade of increasingly irate and confused messages. She flinched every time Aubrey looked up from his screen, thinking he somehow knew , that she’d somehow left some trace on his laptop, guilty fingerprints all over it.
It was only some emails. Why, why hadn’t she been able to do it? He wouldn’t have ever known. It would all be over by now. Job done. She could have made some excuse for not going back to London with him, said goodbye, wouldn’t ever have to see him again… She paused, staring blankly at her open bag, no idea what it was that she needed to pack.
“Do you really live at that flat you went to after Roscoe’s? Is that where you’re going back to?”
Evie jumped, looking up, finding Aubrey regarding her from the bed, his laptop now closed and pushed to the side.
“For now.” Clothes, underwear. That’s what she needed. She hadn’t brought enough when she first came to London, not knowing where she was going to be staying, or for how long.
“Is it yours?”
“No. I’m just staying with friends. Crashing on their sofa.”
“You’re sleeping on a sofa?”
She glanced up from her chest of drawers at the incredulity in his voice. “It’s a small flat.”
“You’re Evelyn Blackton. You could rent a penthouse. Live in a hotel. Buy somewhere.”
“I already told you I don’t get an allowance.”
“So what do you live on?”
“Well…” She flushed, shoving a handful of underwear in her bag. “My grandmother left me a bit. Though I donated most of it, and the rest I keep for emergencies.”
“But day to day…?”
She flashed him a grimace. “My mum gives me a clothing budget. I donate most of it, but…” She kept throwing handfuls of socks and pants into her bag, forcing them down. “It still all comes from my dad, I guess, and I hate using it, but she puts it in my account no matter what I say, and…well… Like I said, I donate most of it.”
“Why not get your full allowance and donate all of it?” Aubrey smiled. “That would irritate your father no end.”
“That’s what Zig says I should do. Siphon off the evil gains and use them for good.”
“Zig?”
“The guy I’m staying with. He’s an old friend from university.”
Aubrey stood up, put his laptop in the bag, buckled the leather straps with slow, careful precision. “An old friend,” he repeated. “I suppose he’s like you, thinks and feels all the same things. Vegan. Knits his own organic houmous.”
“More or less.” Evie zipped up her own bag, all the guilt and anxiety flooding back. She did not want to discuss Zig with Aubrey. It was a topic far too close to her secret for comfort.
“That’s your type, is it?” Aubrey said casually, slipping his phone from his pocket as he spoke and checking the time.
Evie gave him a look, starting to smile to herself. “Yes. Why? Are you jealous?”
He shoved his phone back with a withering look and a curt, “Come on,” snatching up his suits and leaving the room with his bag on his shoulder. Evie’s smile grew, and she followed him, feeling a little lighter, secure in the knowledge that Aubrey would probably never bring up the topic of Zig again.
It started halfway to London, sitting in the passenger seat of Aubrey’s sleek silver Audi.
The car was racing along, eating up the miles with ease, but it was still a long journey, and she was tense, growing stiff, shifting uncomfortably in her seat until she realised the ache in her back was one she was familiar with. Her period was due.
The cramps started an hour later, miserable, clenching things that had her closing her eyes in pain, trying not to hiss through her teeth.
“What’s wrong?” asked Aubrey, glancing momentarily from the road ahead.
“Nothing.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Evie.”
Hah, if only you knew. Then she winced again, unable to stop a small groan as a spasm went through her, almost making her double over in her seat.
“Jesus. I’m stopping the car.”
“No, no. It’s nothing. It’s just…” She blushed, awkward. “Just cramps. You know.”
“Menstrual cramps?”
She closed her eyes, wincing with embarrassment this time. “Yes.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothing. Just…if you could stop at the next service station so I can… Anyway. It’ll pass by tomorrow. It always starts like this. But it doesn’t last long. I’ll just get into bed with a hot water bottle and some paracetamol. I’ll be fine.”
Aubrey glared at the road. After a moment, he said, “You don’t have a bed.”
“What?”
“You said you’re sleeping on this Zig person’s sofa.”
Evie clenched her teeth around another groan, the cramp squeezing her gut, sending a burning ache up her spine. She wasn’t in the mood for semantics. “I’ll curl up there, then.”
“Is there a hot water bottle?”
“For goodness’ sake,” she snapped, half-breathless with pain, embarrassed and sore, and suddenly close to tears. “Stop interrogating me.”
He gave her another look. “I’m only asking because I’m wondering if you’d be better off coming to my place.”
“Your place?”
“I have a spare bed. I can get the things you need. You can sleep, rest, do whatever you want while I’m at the office. If you’re better when I get back, I can drive you to Zig’s place. Though it won’t be until late—probably ten when I get home. Or you can stay over and I’ll take you tomorrow.”
When she said nothing, he gave her another look.
“You can say no if you want to. I know you enjoy making stupid decisions.”
She opened her mouth, no idea what she was going to say, then snapped it shut, curling miserably around another cramp. “Why…” she said when it eased off. “Why are you doing this?”
Aubrey changed gear, speeding up to overtake a van. “Obviously I’m just hoping for more sex, Evie. There must be other menu items lurking in that brain of yours.”
She stared at him, hardly knowing whether to laugh or kick him. “More meaningless sex,” she said, a slight tremor marring the joking tone she was aiming for. “Is this how you treat all those meaningless women?”
“Evie,” he gave her a short look, his voice firm, almost angry. “Has anything that’s happened between us ever felt meaningless to you?”