46. Lavender
“You’resure you don’t want to come out?”
“Positive.” I don’t look up from my book. It’s not a romance book—I’m no longer in my romance era. I’m in my murderous one because the book I’m currently reading is about a woman who murders her husband.
A little riskier than divorce, but it definitely has its merits.
“Ned?”
“Sorry, what?”
I look up as Tod drops to one knee next to the sofa. Once upon a time, I would’ve killed to see him on one knee before me. But I was just kidding myself.
“You worry me,” he says, his concerned gaze meeting mine
“I don’t know why. I’m fine.”
“You’re anything but fine.” He takes my hand, his gaze dropping to where I no longer wear Raif’s diamond wedding band. “I’ll be glad when you can put this all behind you.”
“You and me both.” I take my hand back, pulling my fingers under my pajama sleeve. I don’t know when that will be—if that will ever be. I seem to veer from feeling like my heart has been crushed, like I want to get into bed and never get out again, to an almost apocalyptical kind of violence, like I want to bring the wrath of heaven down on Raif’s head.
But I can’t stay in bed. I have a business to run, and Polly (surprisingly, not Brin) breathing down my neck. Polly’s conversations go something like this:
“You really ought to talk to someone about things.”
“I’m too busy stewing in my own misery, but I’ll think about it.”
Not.
And Brin’s:
“You all right?”
“Sort of.”
“Want to come out for a pint this weekend?”
“I’d rather ingest my own feet, but thanks.”
For the first week, Raif and I played a game of volley-five-million-between-banks. From my account to his. From his back to mine again. But he won the last round two days ago when my bank told me the account details were no longer valid.
He’d closed his bloody account.
Arsehole.
I have daydreams of withdrawing it all and burning buckets of bills in Polly’s back garden. I won’t, obviously. I’m not stupid.
But this will be my last heartache if I have anything to do with it. It’s just not worth the distress. The constant playback loop. And when I do manage to sleep, the lurid dreams that I wake from sweating, my heart trying to escape from my chest. It’s always Raif and Celine, always in bed. Laughing. Loving. Tearing me apart.
“You’re sure?” Tod persists.
“Positive.” I don’t have the energy. My skin is dull and dry, and my hair is like straw. How these are symptoms of a breakup, I don’t know. “Go.” I make a shooing gesture with my hand. “Be gone. Chill out. Have fun. Who knows. I might be up for eggs Benny in the morning.”
“That would be so good.” A pause follows, his expression turning soft with emotion. “I’m sorry you’re sad, but I’m so glad you’re home.”
I’m glad that he hugs me, not because I want a hug, but because I get to hide my sadness.
Home. If only it still felt like it.
“Ned, wake up!”
“I’m up!” I say, jerking upright like the reanimation of Frankenstein, wondering if I’ve slept through my alarm. But I’m still on the sofa and the TV is still playing silently, throwing ghostly shadows across Tod’s face.
I roll my lips and grimace. My mouth feels like the bottom of a budgie cage. My book is still open, pressed to my lap. I catch the spine on my thumb and wonder why it’s covered in orange dust.
Ah, the Doritos.Which would explain the taste.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I mutter, making to move my legs. Why couldn’t he have just covered me with a blanket? He knows I’m not sleeping well—that I don’t often begin the night in my bed.
“No, not yet. I have something to tell you.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s gone two.”
“Can’t it wait?” I ask grumpily, rubbing the heel of my palm against my eye.
“No, because I have news. The most amazing news!”
“Okay,” I say with all the enthusiasm I have in me. In other words, none. “Go for it.” I flop back against the upholstery.
“So I was out with Leo—”
“Since when have you and Leo been friends?” I demand, narrowing my eyes.
“Since… well, since a while.”
My frown deepens, my spidey senses tingling.
“Okay, since he invited me to Mind tonight,” he admits, not without discomfort.
“What’s Mind?”
“Only the newest club. The waitlist is a mile long.”
I feel my lips flatten out, but I won’t ask. I’ll just assume it’s one of Raif’s.
“The good news.” Palm up, I fold in my fingers in and out. Give it to me.
“You know how I’ve been trying to get my art into one of the Mayfair galleries for ages? Not that I’m not grateful for all of your help, of course.”
I make a noise. Maybe a grunt. Urgh, men! Is it just me or does it sound like I’m about to discover I’ve been used again?
“Don’t pull that face. It’s good news, honestly. The best!” His hands grip my shoulders, and he gives me a tiny, excited shake. “I’m sick of chasing the small stuff, the art and craft fairs, the endless posting on Instagram, applying for grants, and chasing commissions that hardly ever eventuate. I want money, Ned. I want to be able to buy stuff. To stop living off you. Contribute.”
“Steady on.” My words have an uncomfortable warble to them. I try for enthusiasm, I really do. “Go on, then. Tell me how this is all about to change.”
“I was in Mind, minding my own business,” he says with a tiny simper, “when I was introduced to this bloke. We talked about art, and I showed him some of my stuff online. And it turns out, he’s this hotshot interior designer. Not only that, but he’s recently been commissioned by one of the big hotel chains to restyle their flagship hotel—in New York! Lobby, restaurants, the rooms, even the owner’s residence apartments. And he wants me to supply them with art!” he exclaims with more animation than I’ve ever seen in him.
“That’s amazing, Tod. I’m so happy for you.”
“I’ll be in the US for a while, but I won’t be away forever. I’ll get to fly back and stuff.”
“Of course you will. And I’ll still be here.”
“Will you? Will you wait for me, I mean?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, Ned. I can’t tell you what this means.” His eyes glisten suspiciously, but I don’t have time to ponder this as he yanks me bodily against him. “I love you. Oh God, I love you.”
“I—what?”
“I’ve wanted to say that forever, but I couldn’t. Oh, Ned, I can’t wait for your divorce to come through.” He pushes me back to stare in my stupefied face. “Not that we have to wait for that to be together. But when it does come through, I’m going to ask you to marry me.” He pulls me to his chest again.
“What the hell?” I push at him, but he doesn’t seem to be listening as he waxes lyrical about second chances and the marvel that is love. “Tod!” When the tiniest bit of space opens between us, I manage to jab a sharp right to his shoulder.
“Ow! You hit me.”
“Because you aren’t listening to me.”
“I was busy!” His tone turns indignant. “Professing my love!”
“Since when?”
“What?”
“Since when have you loved me?”
“Since always, Ned.”
“All that time we’ve been working together, living together, you never once said. And when we used to go out, you’d get off with other girls.”
“But you never minded. It’s not like we were together-together.”
“Yes, because you weren’t in love with me.” I thought I was in love with him, but I know now I wasn’t.
“I didn’t realize I loved you more than just a friend until you left.”
“You don’t know what you’ve missed until it’s gone?”
“Is that a song?” The irony doesn’t hit, though he sits back a little.
“A song? I think it’s more like a cop-out.”
“What?”
“You don’t love me, Tod.”
“I do! So I was a bit slow on the uptake. I think I just didn’t allow myself to hope. Not when you’re so pulled together.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I live with you. Work with you. Eat your food. Borrow money from you—I didn’t think I had a chance.”
I shake my head. “I bet none of that ever even occurred to you until I left.”
“Ned, how can I not love you? You married him for me—to save me!”
“So it’s charity you love?”
“No!”
“Good, because the thing is, if you loved me, you would never have put me in that position in the first place.”
“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” he complains.
“When was the last time you slept with someone, Tod? Truthfully.”
Tod’s brows pinch. “You were sleeping with him.”
“My husband, you mean? Just answer the bloody question.”
“Just after you moved back in. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“It does,” I answer softly. “When you love someone, it makes you feel giddy just to be around them. You’re happy when they are, and your heart hurts when theirs does. And when you think of them in another’s arms, it makes you want to rip off that person’s arms and beat them to death with the soggy ends. That’s love, Tod.”
“Right.” His expression? If it were an artwork, I’d write out a little card that reads: Does Not Compute.
“You don’t want anyone else, and you certainly don’t want anyone to have your person. Not emotionally, not physically. You want them all to yourself.”
“He said something similar,” he mutters. “Deveraux, I mean.”
My heart freezes in my chest, coming to life again in an arrhythmic rush.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but it turns out, he’s not as bad as I thought he was.”
My stomach turns uneasily. I told myself I never wanted to hear his name again, but I’m a liar. But it’s not only my stomach that’s irritated because the tiny hairs on the back of my neck begin stand like pins for some reason.
“When did he say this?”
“What?”
“When did Deveraux tell you love sucks?”
“Tonight,” he answers quietly. Carefully. “I, er, saw him, actually. I told him about my new job. And he said love is tough, but if you really want it, you’ll move heaven and earth to make it work.”
“That’s what he said?”
Tod nods, his silence no doubt an indication of his understanding that I’m about to call him a traitorous shit.
“Who introduced you to the bigshot designer, Tod?”
“Ah.” Tod rolls his lips together as though in contemplation. “Well, I don’t exactly remember,” he says, pulling on his ear.
“Because it was so long ago?”
“Maybe.”
“Like, an hour? Two?”
“I’ve had a drink!”
I angle my head. “Who introduced you to them, dipshit?”
“Deveraux. I wasn’t going to tell you because the sound of his name causes you pain.”
“Really?” I deadpan.
“And also because he said if I wanted to impress you, I probably shouldn’t tell you he had a hand in it.”
A hand? More like a bloody great foot.
“He knows the only reason I never told you I loved you was because I thought you were too good for me.”
“Nope.” Bending my knees, I swing them around Tod.
“What do you mean no? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to take a leaf out of this book,” I say, closing it carefully and setting it on the coffee table. “I’m going to go murder my husband.”