Chapter 47
Cornelia
“Ithink I’m in love with him,” I say to Annabelle. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself repeatedly since he told me he loves me—trying to convince myself I do too. Like a fake it until you make it sort of thing.
“You’re not,” Annabelle says bluntly.
I lift my nose in the air. “I could be.”
I want to be.
And he’s Benedict Glounger. I should be. It’s like I asked the universe for someone to help me move on from TJ, and it gave me the best of the litter.
We’re at NoMad in Covent Garden, having brunch and catching up. We haven’t spent much time together lately.
The day I introduced Benedict to the group, she and Laurie never arrived.
Later, I found out she’d had an accident with her sewing machine and ended up stitching her own finger.
I scolded her a bit for not calling me. I would have dropped everything and gone to her, but she was with Laurie.
She had her Prince Charming helping her, and she didn’t need a third wheel, so I understood.
Although the accident wasn’t serious, it did set her back a bit with her school projects, hence why we haven’t seen much of each other lately.
“You could be, but you’re not. Your face says it all,” Annabelle replies, weeping half of her blonde hair back over her shoulder.
I give her a glance, silently urging her to explain. I never thought I had such an expressive face. I always considered myself a good liar, though I don’t like lying.
“When you used to talk about TJ, you had a lovey-dovey look on your face,” she says, the last words dripping with disdain. “But you don’t have that look when you talk about Benedict.” She pauses, thinking. “You have… another look.”
I narrow my eyes. “What look do I have?”
“Mmmm—lust,” she says, dragging out the word.
I hate to admit it, but she’s right—sex with Benedict is incredible.
And I love sex. It quiets my brain, and it relaxes me.
Which is something every woman should be able to say aloud if she does.
Why is it fine when a man says he loves sex, but when a woman says it, she’s considered a slut?
Either way, that doesn’t mean I don’t care for him. I do, and I believe love can grow.
Maybe it’s even stronger that way—not like the love TJ and I had. That was consuming, powerful, epic… but also tormenting and painful. And right now, I don’t want any more pain.
“And who says they’re mutually exclusive? Our relationship could be filled with lust,” I say, feeling oddly self-conscious about the word. “And I could still be in love with him.”
Annabelle shrugs. “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure it’s more like when you get a new ring that doesn’t match your Jessica McCormack one.
Sometimes you take it off and wear the new one instead.
You like it because it’s new and shiny, but eventually, the novelty wears off, and you go back to the Jessica McCormack.
Benedict is the new ring, and TJ is the one you always wear.
No matter how much bigger or nicer the new one is, there’s something about the old one you can’t let go of. ” She sounds slightly annoyed.
But maybe it’s me who’s annoyed. She’s explaining it to me like I’m a child or stupid.
“You’re making me hate this ring, and I really love it,” I say, glancing at it as I turn it around on my finger. “But maybe it’s time for the ring to fly, fly away.” I pause, realising what I just said. “I meant TJ, not the actual ring,” I clarify.
Annabelle rolls her eyes.
“Why are you in such a glum mood?” I ask. Ever since I arrived, she has been in a bad mood—half angry, half irritated.
She sighs, her gaze softening. “Sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you.
It’s just…” She pauses, searching for the words.
“It kind of annoys me. We have the opposite problem—you have a boyfriend who loves you, but you don’t want to be in a relationship, and I want to be in one, but he doesn’t seem to… or love me.”
The dreary B-word.
Ugh, I sound like a fuckboy.
It just feels wrong to call someone who isn’t TJ my boyfriend, but technically, that’s what Benedict is now.
After he told me he loved me, I didn’t want to lie to him and tell him I loved him when I didn’t. So instead, I asked him to be my boyfriend. It was a consolation prize, but it was the best I could offer him at the time, and he took it.
“That’s not true. He does want to, and he does love you,” I tell her softly.
I know Laurie loves her; I’ve seen it in his eyes when he’s looking at her.
“Maybe.” Annabelle shrugs, fiddling with the fringe of her yellow top. “And to add more to the pile, Camille’s parents are in town,” she adds with a groan.
I should have foreseen it. The anniversary of her death is near, and last year her parents came to stay with Laurie, treating him like he was a grieving widower, completely overlooking that she was cheating on him when she died.
I think part of the reason Laurie hasn’t dated anyone since Camille is because of her parents. I don’t know them well enough to predict how they’d react seeing Laurie with someone else, but I don’t think it would be a positive reaction. They’re very clingy with him.
In a way, I understand them. Laurie is the last connection they have to their only daughter; if he moves on, they might feel like they’re losing that connection. It would be yet another painful reminder that Camille is gone. But it’s such a heavy burden for him to carry.