Chapter Two Ella #2
He smirked as if I’d swung a low blow. ‘If you wanted to talk about it, then I would have assumed you would! But I’d expect you’d at least speak to me before deciding to jet off to New York.
And as for continuing The Dicktionary Club, I’m baffled, to be honest. I thought we had moved past that.
I thought you had changed, Ella. I guess I was wrong. ’
I could feel my hands shaking. I watched him move his food around the plate.
‘You know, maybe that’s the problem. The past few months have been great, but honestly, the more I think about us, the more I realise how much I’ve changed to suit you.’
Philip pulled a face, laughing under his breath, immediately disregarding what I was saying. I could feel myself shake with anger. How dare he act like this?
‘I used to be this hard-working marketing bitch when we met, but recently I’ve put all my focus and energy on us as a couple.
I need to get back to myself and my career.
I have goals and dreams I want to accomplish too.
’ I said it all so quickly, trying to keep my voice low, but I knew, regardless, we were making a scene.
‘What? Oh, come on!’ Philip’s voice was rough and angry now, and it made me sit back, placing my cutlery down, abandoning my pretence to tackle the steak. ‘Don’t blame me for this. Don’t use me as an excuse because you know you’re making the wrong decision.’
I let out a slight laugh, bitter with frustration.
‘Wrong decision? What’s wrong with it? It’s an amazing opportunity to even be asked to pitch to this company.
I’m self-employed now, Philip. I don’t have a huge fucking empire like you and I definitely can’t turn down jobs because my boyfriend doesn’t approve of them.
But let’s face it, I have changed. Admit it. ’
I waited for him to say something, but he remained silent.
‘I feel like I give and give just to make you happy, but I don’t get the same back.
You can’t go five minutes without picking up your fucking phone when we’re together.
And even when we stay in and watch the telly, you put on football, football highlights, or a football podcast. I fucking hate football, by the way!
When have you ever stuck on Gossip Girl or Emily in Paris because you know I like it?
Eh?’ With each word, my anger rose, spilling out into the open in a torrent of confrontation.
Philip’s face reddened as if he was about to chemically combust.
‘You expect me to watch Gossip Girl after a hard day’s work?’ he questioned.
I shook my head, knowing that who was the boss of the remote wasn’t what the argument was about.
‘Well, I do it for you. I do things I know make you happy. I come to your openings, I cook your meals for work, which have to be prepped and weighed out and take half the fucking day to sort, I cancel meetings if we have plans, I play fucking tennis so much that I’m basically signed up for a loyalty card with the fucking physio because my knee is constantly throbbing! ’
Silence hung between us.
‘Look,’ I said, calming my voice. ‘This opportunity fills me with happiness and excitement, and I would appreciate your support. TV choices aside, you’re a great person, and I love our relationship, but I need to do this.’
He rubbed his face in frustration, then sighed.
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Ella. About us.
I thought I treated you well. I have set aside so much of my time to make sure I take you on dates a few times a week, I include you in my hobbies with my friends and staff, I pay for all of our meals.
I treat you with the greatest respect, Ella.
But I can’t support you going to New York and pitching something that almost ruined me. ’
My chest was thumping. I could hear my pulse rattle in my eardrums.
Philip stood up. The chair screeching across the floorboards made several heads turn.
I pulled a face. Was this self-righteous cunt leaving me here?
‘I hope you enjoy New York, and best of luck with your pitch.’ His dark eyes, usually full of mischief, hardened. He was furious. Suddenly, his phone rang, making us both jump a little.
A laugh fell out of me. I shook my head at him. ‘Yeah, yeah. You’d better get that. I know. Duty calls – once more. See you, Philip.’ I turned back towards the huge steak in front of me. I could feel him pause briefly behind me, then I heard his footsteps leave the restaurant.
Stunned, I lifted my champagne glass, hand shaking as I brought it to my mouth.
Was this it? Would he come back to apologise? Had I done the right thing?
I pushed my plate away, sick to my core.
I felt tears escape my eyelids as I palmed them off to the side, thinking about everything he’d said.
He did always include me in his plans, he made a fuss every week about going on nice dates, he was respectful and caring.
My stomach churned. Had I just fucked all of this up for nothing?
After thirty minutes of replaying our conversation on a hideous loop, I realised Philip wasn’t coming back.
That was one meal I’d have to pay for, I guess.