Chapter 32
The TV mutters in the background while I fold towels.
Just another fun night in with the laundry.
Seven chimes echo from the mantel clock, a reminder I’d rather not have.
Teddy’s party must be in full swing. For a second I wonder if he took someone else—Bianca or Tilly?
Lola? Keeley? I teeter on the edge of that slippery slope, then slam the thought down hard and retreat to safety.
Tuesday was for wallowing—wine, crying on Sam’s shoulder, protesting the patriarchy, ranting about the unfairness of being forced to choose. Wednesday is for getting a grip and facing hard reality.
Yet now, pushing aside my emotions and focusing on the facts is somehow worse.
I’m at the mercy of my analytical brain, a defendant in the dock, trying to justify her crime.
The counsel for the defence argues this was the courageous path; I put my future first. The prosecution snidely suggests I took the coward’s option, accepting what is, rather than insisting on what’s right. Guilty as charged.
I trudge to the linen cupboard, stacking the towels in an orderly pile. That’s my life—neatly meeting all the expectations, yet so fucking miserable.
Back in the lounge, I pick up the oversized Christmas jumper Haley sent me: a grinning snowman.
He’s the only one feeling the Christmas cheer tonight.
I pull the jumper over my head, letting the warm layer envelop me like the hug from a friend I really need right now.
I close my eyes and try not to think of the dress hanging in my wardrobe.
“…that rumour’s about as real as reindeer in July.”
Teddy’s voice drifts from the telly, and my eyes fly open, focusing on the screen. My heart pa-rum-pum-pum-pums.
“Rachel and I are still on the same track.”
He makes a wisecrack about Christmas jumpers. Does Frosty know something I don’t? Teddy’s final wink at the camera feels like it’s just for me. A message in his smile: we’re not broken, just paused, and tonight he’s giving me a reason to hit play.
The camera cuts across a marble foyer, and I glimpse Haley, her head tipped back laughing—pure joy.
I recognise it. I’ve felt it these last two weeks: a lightness I’d almost forgotten, the sense that life could be good despite everything behind me.
Christian’s arm curves around her waist, his eyes fixed on her like she’s the only thing in the room.
Like he sees all of her and wants every bit of it.
I recognise that too. I had a chance with someone who actually sees me.
The me who, for the first time in twelve years, put work in its place—something to support, not define me.
And then on Monday I handed the power right back.
Becoming partner was supposed to be the prize at the end of all the impossible hours and polite smiles.
But if I get it, does my life expand—or tighten?
More dinners I don’t want, more rules about how a ‘serious’ lawyer should look and love, less room to breathe.
Have the last twelve years been about the work…
or the gold star? Maybe the firm’s public face doesn’t change unless someone pushes it.
Maybe clients won’t flee in droves. Maybe the right ones will stay—and new ones will come—the kind who don’t give a toss if their solicitor dates a rock star.
Maybe that future is wider, not smaller.
Fuck Miranda and her threats of doom. Time for me to do what I should have done all along. I search for Gavin’s number. He answers on the first ring, as if he’s been expecting me.
“Traffic’s hellish,” he says, “so call it twenty—twenty-five.”
Twenty minutes to ditch Frosty, twist my hair into ‘deliberately messy,’ and throw on a face.
I slip into the fir-green velvet dress Teddy’s gift card bought, the fabric hugging me with quiet, stubborn confidence.
When Gavin’s silver Bentley slides up to the kerb, I’m already on the step, coat buttoned and courage humming beneath my skin.
“Glad you could make it after all,” Gavin says, as the Bentley noses into traffic.
“Work fires, Gavin. Now extinguished.” I sink into the leather, twiddling with the catch on the small velvet clutch that matches my dress.
We draw up to the Hotel Portobello at 7.43pm. The fairy-light strung awning glitters in the rain. A security guard steps in front of me, a challenge ready on his lips, but the doorman intervenes, recognition on his face.
“Right this way to the ballroom, Miss MacDonald.”
The instant I cross the marble threshold, my nerves desert me.
I veer into the ladies, chest heaving. Snowflake garlands dangle over the sinks, fluttering every time the door swings.
“You okay, love?” A woman in a burgundy dress, her face sprinkled with friendly freckles, passes me a tissue.
I force a smile. “First-night-out jitters.”
She twists her lipstick shut, studying me. “Wait—aren’t you Teddy Hargrove’s girlfriend? Saw your picture in the papers.”
The words “Teddy’s girlfriend” fold around me, like a silk wrap settling over bare shoulders. “That’s me,” I admit.
“Heard that thing he said about you on the telly earlier.” Her grin is conspiratorial. “Don’t think he’d mind if you did turn up in a Christmas jumper. Better go knock ‘em dead, eh?”
My spine straightens. I blot my lipstick, breathe in the vanilla-spiced air, and step back into the corridor.
The ballroom is a snow globe of glittering gowns and fairy lights.
No Haley. No Liv. Then I spot him, copper curls thrown back in laughter beside a tall brunette whose brown eyes glisten like liquid chocolate.
She’s athletic and inconveniently perfect.
Nausea surges, but I swallow it down. It’s showtime, Rachel.
I hover behind him, fingers tightening round my velvet bag, teeth worrying my lip.
“So, Teddy—third time lucky for that drink? Persistence should earn a girl a pint.” The brunette tilts her head, fringe brushing Bambi-big eyes, smile pure mistletoe mischief.
“Bianca.” Teddy’s tone is gentle, but firm. “I’m taken. Even a ‘friendly’ drink’s off the menu.”
My rapid heartbeat eases. Her gaze slips over his shoulder and lands on me. Her lips part, then curve.
“And… I’m guessing that’s the reason now.”
I lift my chin, step forward, and offer her my best not-at-all-jealous smile.
Teddy’s grin could light all of Oxford Street. He loops an arm over my shoulder, pulls me tight, and plants a kiss in my hair.
Bianca offers her hand; I take the cool fingers in mine.
“Bianca, meet Rachel, my girlfriend. And this is Bianca Chomondley-Smith—Garrett’s sister.” Garrett’s sister? I’ve only ever known him as plain Garrett Smith—clearly not a fan of the full mouthful.
Bianca lets out a mortified laugh, palm flying to her lips.
“Oh my god, Rachel—I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a terrible person, hitting on your boyfriend.
I only flew in this morning. Saw Teddy, tried to nab him for a celebratory drink—hadn’t clocked he’s spoken for.
” Her eyes sparkle with self-mockery. “Promise I’m not usually a boyfriend-poacher. ”
My shoulders loosen. “I’m sure jetlag’s a valid defence.”
Bianca lifts her empty flute. “Top-up run—shall I snag you one?”
“Yes, please.”
She glides toward the bar, tossing me a wink that says all good, sister. A minute ago she was a suspected boyfriend-stealer; now I’m planning prosecco brunches with her.
Teddy’s grin could melt the polar ice caps.
“You really should thank her.”
“For the minor heart attack she gave me?”
“For letting me tick off number four on the prove-it list.”
We recite together, “Cancel plans with another woman for me,” and collapse into giggles. We’ve both memorised the stupid list.
“You know I could get that thrown out on a technicality?” I jab a finger at his chest. “There were no actual plans to cancel.”
He shrugs, smug. “Implied. She’s had plans for me for months.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest is impossible to hide. “Fine. I’ll rule in your favour. This time.”
I smooth a thumb over his lapel, the starched white shirt beneath cool against my knuckles.
“Trying to impress someone tonight, are we?” I flick a pearly button.
“Only the girl in green velvet.” He pauses, voice low now, so the world around us feels a little quieter. “I know what this means, Rache. I know the risk you took to be here.”
He cups my jaw, slips one hand into my hair, and pulls me in. The kiss says all I’ve left unsaid. I’m sorry. I’m back. I’m not running again.
The ballroom chatter and Christmas soundtrack dissolve into a distant hum while heat oozes through me.
“Hey there, lovers.” Bianca nudges my elbow, two champagne flutes in hand. “Look who I’ve dredged up—Oscar Cavendish. He practically lived at ours when we were kids. Says he’s a partner at your firm, Rachel.”
Oscar hovers at her shoulder—impeccable Windsor knot, shark-bright eyes—a high-flyer senior partner who’ll soon vote on my future.
Instinct kicks in; my arms snap away from Teddy’s waist, elbows pinned to my sides like a child caught red-handed with the last mince-pie. Too late, the guilty flush is already climbing my neck, Oscar’s cool gaze scanning every trace of it.
“Oscar’s always up for a party. Especially industry events. Never turns down Garrett’s invites, right?” Bianca chatters on, oblivious to the current between us.
Oscar smiles, polite but razor-keen. “Good to see you enjoying the festivities, Rachel.”
Teddy’s fingers brush the small of my back, a feather-light question: still with me? I want to lean into him—show this powerful, terrifying man I won’t be cowed—but the partner vote looms like verdict day.