Four
Devon
“Sorry, this will just take a second,” I reassure Emma, quickly scanning the email that’s just come through on my phone.
“It’s okay.”
I shoot back a terse reply, giving Rosh the go ahead to deal with yet another fiasco that’s arisen amidst the fallout of the leaked report, and then set my phone aside. “Sorry.”
“Everything alright?” Emma asks with a patient smile.
I offer a tight frown. “Nightmare, to tell you the truth. But we’ll sort it out.” I take a sip of my wine and resolve to give her my full attention for the rest of lunch. “So, what’s going on with you? I feel like we’ve barely spoken for days.”
She nods. “Yeah. Well, as it happens, I actually have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Go on.”
She draws in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, here goes. Devon, do you want to get married?”
I blink at her in puzzlement. “What do you mean? We’re already engaged.”
She bites her lip, hesitating. “I mean do you actually want to be engaged? Are you excited to be marrying me? Are you looking forward to spending your life with me?”
“Emma…”
“Because I don’t know if I feel that way about you anymore.”
I sit back, feeling stunned. “You don’t?
She shakes her head sadly. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I mean, we’re supposed to be getting married in two weeks. Don’t you think we should be more…connected?”
“Connected?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this about sex?” I ask, feeling a little awkward discussing the topic so openly here in this busy restaurant.
I know our sex life has been a little flat lately, but that happens, doesn’t it?
We’ve been together for two years, and it’s not like we were ever one of those couples who needed to jump each other’s bones every five seconds anyway.
She sighs. “Maybe a little. But it’s not only that. We just don’t seem to have time for each other anymore.”
“We’ve both been busy with work,” I point out. “And planning the wedding has been absolute chaos. Trust me, once this is all over things will settle down and we can get back to normal.”
“Once what’s over?”
“The wedding,” I say with a shrug.
“So…your plan is to just get married and hope for the best? Hope that we’ll be able to reconnect and suddenly everything will be okay?”
I stare at her in confusion. “I don’t know what else to say…”
“Devon, do you even love me?” she asks bluntly.
My mouth falls open in shock. “Emma, what kind of question is that? I’m marrying you.”
She sighs. “But are we getting married because we love each other, or because we’re supposedly so well suited?”
“I don’t—”
She shakes her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Devon, but I don’t think I love you. Not in that way. I think…I think we should call it off.”
I glance around the restaurant, down at my plate, out the window. Finally back at Emma. “But…it’s only two weeks away. Everyone’s been looking forward to it. Our families…”
“Devon, do you really think the best reason to get married is because our families will be disappointed if we don’t?”
I let out a heavy sigh, slumping back in my chair. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”
She offers a regretful smile. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“And there’s no changing your mind?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay then. I guess we’d better figure out how to tell everyone.”
“Your parents will be at Mum and Dad’s for dinner tomorrow night,” she informs me. “They wanted to make up for having to miss my birthday.”
“Oh, right.” A stab of guilt hits me as I recall that Mum texted me a week ago wanting to know some suggestions for Emma’s birthday gift. Shit, no wonder I’ve just been dumped; I wouldn’t want to marry me right now either. “Well, that should be about as fun as a prostate exam.”
Emma lets out a loud snort, almost choking on her wine. “Wes is going to be thrilled,” she says wryly.
The corner of my mouth quirks up. “Well, at least there’s one silver lining.”
We manage to make it through the rest of our lunch, swapping pieces of awkward chitchat and studiously avoiding the elephant in the room. Once we’re done, I head straight for my best mate’s Shepherd’s Bush townhouse.
“I need alcohol,” I announce, pushing past a baffled Ryan the second he opens the door.
“ O-kay. Well, there’s beer in the fridge. Or there’s a couple of bottles of wine on the rack, but it might be a bit early for that.”
“Anything stronger?”
Ryan’s brows shoot up. “Scotch?”
“Perfect.
Ryan shrugs and leads the way into the kitchen. “Emma okay with you being over here boozing it up?”
“Emma just dumped my arse.”
Pausing in his task of rummaging through the cabinet above the fridge, Ryan turns around and stares at me, mouth hanging open. “Shiiiit.”
“The alcohol.”
He just rolls his eyes and turns back to the cabinet, retrieving a half-full bottle of Jameson.
“This isn’t scotch,” I point out, accepting the bottle.
“What, do you think I’m wasting Macallan on you? Just drink the bloody whiskey.”
I pour a generous amount into a glass and take it over to the living room couch, sinking down onto it with an exhausted sigh. “She said we’re not getting married for the right reasons. And that we don’t even love each other.”
I’m expecting Ryan to jump in straight away with some commiserating comments, the way a best friend is supposed to, but all I hear is dead air. When I glance up, it’s to see him staring at me with a hesitant expression. “What?”
He winces at my tone, which came out much harsher than I intended. “Okay, don’t jump down my throat for this, but…maybe Emma has a point?”
“What?”
Ryan holds a hand up to stall my protest. “Look, I’m obviously not an expert on your and Emma’s relationship,” he allows, “but I do know what it’s like to love someone. To really, truly love another person with your whole heart.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Yeah, okay, I get it. You and Holly are the world’s most perfect couple…”
Ryan lets out a loud snort. “Hardly. We fight all the time and drive each other mental, but at the end of the day we always put each other—and our family—first. That’s what love is, mate. Everything else in your life comes in second place to the person you love.”
“But—“
He holds up a hand. “No buts, that’s just how it is.”
“You know, I’m not the only one who gets caught up with work,” I say, feeling defensive. “Emma works crazy hours too.”
“Which only drives my point home harder,” he says with a shrug.
I always thought it meant we were good together. We understood that we couldn’t always be the other’s top priority.
“Maybe she’s seeing someone else?” I suggest.
“I really don’t think so,” Ryan says, his tone wary.
“How do you know? This morning I didn’t think she’d end the engagement but here we are.”
“Because Emma’s not sneaky like that,” Ryan reasons. “Even if she was into someone new, she wouldn’t do it behind your back. She’d break things off first.”
My head snaps up as his words resonate, and I see Ryan’s eyes widen, his head shaking. “No, mate—that’s not what I meant.”
But it’s too late; the thought is already in my head, eating away at my sense of reason. I tug my phone out of my pocket, but when I swipe across the screen, but nothing happens. “Shit. Forgot to charge it,” I mutter. “Can I use your phone?”
“Hell no, I’m not encouraging whatever this is.”
“Fine.” I set my glass on the coffee table and get to my feet. I return to the kitchen and retrieve a tablet housed in a glittery pink safety case from the island.
“Ahh, mate, that’s Lola’s iPad,” Ryan says with a groan. “What the hell are you going to do with it?”
“I’m just checking something,” I assure him. “And why exactly does your four-year-old need an iPad anyway?”
“Apparently so you can spy on your ex,” he says dryly.
I’m not even sure what I’m looking for when I bring up Emma’s email account and log in. It’s not as though there’ll be any hard evidence on here, proving one way or another whether or not she’s moved on. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to find something.
“You know she’ll probably get an alert that her email’s being accessed,” Ryan points out.
I shake my head. “She always ignores those.”
“Smart,” he deadpans.
Her inbox is full of a mix of promotional blasts, emails from wedding vendors, delivery notifications, and a few messages from some of her girlfriends.
It’s so disorganised and cluttered I feel a headache coming on from simply looking at it.
I’m about to close out of it and let Ryan say he told me so when my eye catches the subject line of one particular email: Cold Feet.
I freeze, staring at the screen. Unless this is secret fan fic Emma’s been writing about the nineties TV show, this email must have something to do with why she called off the wedding.
The sender is someone named Sophie, which isn’t a name I recognise from amongst Emma’s friends; that just makes me even more curious.
“What? What is it?” Ryan demands. “Jesus, don’t tell me she actually was cheating on you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that.” I can’t seem to find the words to explain what I’m reading.
I can’t believe Emma wrote to an advice column.
Did she really feel so trapped that she needed to ask a complete stranger for advice on our issues?
And who is this person? What are their qualifications?
They could be some complete nutter living alone in a creepy old hut in Dartmoor, with nothing but a collection of ferrets to keep them company for all anyone really knows.
The more I think about it, the more distressed I get. I have half a mind to reply to this person and give them what for. But obviously I can’t do that from Emma’s account. I log out of her account and bring up my own personal one.
“So, what is it?” Ryan prods, just as I’m opening a fresh email.
“It’s—” I hesitate for a moment, not really sure how to explain. As annoyed as I am, I don’t really want to tell Ryan about Emma writing to an advice column. I already feel guilty enough about snooping; I don’t need to pile on by spilling all her secrets.
Fortunately, I’m saved by the trampling of little feet as Lola comes flying into the living room. “Daddy!”
“There’s my princess.” Ryan hauls Lola onto his lap, pressing a kiss to her dark curls. “Did you have fun at Marco’s birthday party?”
“Uh huh. Spiderman was there. Except I don’t think he was really Spiderman because I saw him without his mask on and he didn’t look like Spiderman.”
“Maybe he was Spiderman from a different universe?” Ryan suggests.
Lola’s little face turns thoughtful. “Maybe…”
“Are you going to say hi to Uncle Devon?” he prods.
She turns and grins at me. “Hi, Uncle Devon. Why do you have my iPad?”
“I’m just borrowing for a second, is that okay?”
She considers it for a moment before nodding sagely. “Sharing is caring.”
I chuckle and return my attention back to the email I’m composing.
“Come on, princess,” Ryan says. “Let’s get you a snack.” He sets her back on the ground and leads her off to the kitchen. I can hear him asking about Holly, who I gather dropped Lola home and quickly ducked out again.
As they move further away, I’m able to just drown out their words and focus on the email, letting my anger and annoyance and frustration all flood out.
I know the breakup isn’t actually this stranger’s fault.
Clearly Emma and I have had some problems that I’ve been pretty blind to up until today; but it’s the principle of the thing.
Who is this person and in what world do they have a right to hold an opinion on my life?
As I read through my words, I know there is no way I can actually send this. I might be pissed off, but I’m not a lunatic. Venting like this has been pretty therapeutic, though, and I actually feel a lot better now.
“Uncle Devon, can I watch YouTube now?” Lola asks, staring up at me with the cutest little pout on her face.
I offer an indulgent smile. “Yeah, sure, sweetie.”
But before I can tell Lola to just wait a second, she grabs the tablet from my hands, her little fingers swiping over the screen. And I hear the unmistakable swoosh that tells me my email has just been sent. Whoops.