Chapter 63
Cornelia
After dinner, I walked around the block, hoping to spot Benedict.
I didn’t. Then I went to his flat in Nine Elms, but luck wasn’t on my side there either.
I know where his parents live in Chelsea, but going there would have felt like I was stalking him, or at the very least, being an incredibly annoying person.
So I went home and sent him a message, telling him I’d like to talk to him when he’s ready.
I didn’t get a response from him until a few days later, but a few hours after I sent the message, I received a text from an unknown number.
Don’t worry about him. I’m taking good care of him.
—Maxine.
With a photo of Benedict sleeping on a sofa.
I knew at that moment we were over—because I didn’t care enough.
Not in the way you’re supposed to when your boyfriend is with his ex.
Not how I would have if it were TJ. If anything, I felt relieved.
Happy, even. Because he was fine. And I had been worried about him.
People do stupid things when they’re mad.
Now, five days after what Annabelle and I have been calling the dinner with the devil, I’m finally seeing Benedict.
Yesterday, he texted me asking if we could meet today at %Arabica—the one in Battersea Power Station—at 9:00 a.m. I would have preferred it if we had done it yesterday, as it kept me up all night.
I enter the coffee shop—it’s almost empty and nearly silent, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine and the quiet chatter of the employees behind the counter.
I walk further inside and spot Benedict sitting at a table in the back, two to-go coffee cups in front of him. I make my way towards him.
Even though it feels like we partially broke up the night of the dinner and now we’re just here to make it official, I still have a knot in my stomach.
“Hi,” I greet him.
“Hi,” he says, standing up to greet me.
I move to hug him, but it feels tense, awkward. He makes a small gesture for me to sit, and I do, while he settles back into his chair.
He picks up the cup on the table and hands it to me. “For you.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a sip. It’s a latte.
Neither of us says anything more. I twist my everyday ring around my finger a few times. The silence between us feels asphyxiating.
“I’m sorry,” we both say simultaneously, breaking the silence, and a small, awkward laugh follows.
“You go first.” We do it again.
He smiles at me, and it calms me more. It seems I didn’t screw up so badly that he hates me.
“Let me go first,” he tells me.
I nod, a little nervous, but relieved that he’s taking the lead.
“I’m sorry… about the photo and the message. Maxine got into my phone and got your number, but I’ve straightened things out with they, and they won’t bother you again. I also want you to know nothing happened between us. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
As he says it, disappointment twists in my chest. Part of me had wanted something to have happened between them, so I could stop feeling guilty about kissing TJ in Monaco. So I could tell him. But now I don’t think I can.
He continues, “I should have never stayed with Maxine. We’re exes… it’s not right. It’s just that we…” He pauses, searching for the right words.
I cut in, “You don’t have to explain. If anyone understands complicated relationships with their ex, it’s me.”
He exhales, nodding. “Also, I shouldn’t have walked out the way I did, and I shouldn’t have ghosted you these past few days. I’m sor—”
“You shouldn’t have to apologise for that,” I interject softly. “You’re allowed to be mad. What happened—”
He smiles at me. “It wasn’t your fault, it was the she-devil,” he assures me, but his usually calm voice carries a hint of anger.
He has a few reasons to be mad, but I think what’s bothering him the most right now is what happened two days after the dinner.
I had thought, out of sheer luck, we’d managed to keep everything out of the tabloids.
Nothing was written the next day, but then, two days later, I woke up to the video of Annabelle and me in CB London, along with an anonymous source spilling all the details about the video and the dinner.
Pretty sure that source was Weberly. Benedict doesn’t tend to get written about in tabloids, so I can only imagine how much he dislikes it.
I dislike it, and I’m written about daily.
I chuckle lightly. “Annabelle actually named that dinner the dinner with the devil.” He laughs—a real laugh this time.
“Still, you shouldn’t have found out that way.
I should have told you how I was feeling.
It’s just…” I take a deep breath, letting the words settle.
“I didn’t know how I was feeling.” I still don’t know completely.
He nods. “I get it. You were feeling conflicted.” There’s a gentleness in his tone that makes me think he’s been in the same situation before.
“I did. I still do,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But regardless of how I feel about TJ, I do love you.”
I do, but I don’t know if I truly do, or if I forced myself to do so to prove something. I believe I’ll only know for certain over time. Nevertheless, losing him will be one of the greatest losses I’ve ever faced.
In the few months I’ve known him, Benedict has become one of my best friends. I’ve always struggled to form lasting friendships outside the ones from childhood, knowing some people only want to be my friends because of my last name. But with him, it’s different.
I always felt his intentions were pure. He feels like an open book—something difficult to find. That’s one of the main reasons I was drawn to dating him. But I also realise that being with him, loving him, was a good excuse not to face what happened.
“And I you, but while I find you incredibly irresistible,” he grins, and I can’t help but smile, “I’m afraid I must resist. You still love him.
It’s not easy getting over your first love, and we both deserve to be with people we love and who love us back just as much.
We both know I’m not that person to you, and I never will be. ”
I swallow hard. “I wanted you to be.” But he’s right—it isn’t fair to either of us.
I had hoped he was the one person who could help me get over TJ, but deep down I knew that wasn’t the case.
I just got swept up in the fact that he’s the main character in one of my favourite TV shows, and I was dating him.
It felt like a dream. But I’m living in reality, not in a dream.
If I did, I could choose who I love. But I can’t.
I hope one day he gets the love he deserves—one that’s equally reciprocated, with nothing in between. As for me, I don’t know if I could ever love someone more than TJ.
“Me too,” he says softly.
I tilt my head towards him. “You’re a nice guy, you know.
” He could have lashed out, blamed me, or made me feel worse—and he would have been right to do so.
He should hate me. I hate myself because of it.
I hurt him. I feel like almost everything I’ve done lately ends up hurting someone. But instead, he’s being gracious.
He gives me a half-smile but looks away. “I know.” Though it sounds a little like he doesn’t believe it.
“And also humble,” I quip.
Benedict’s smile grows as he studies me for a moment, his expression turning thoughtful. “Friends?” Relief washes over me. I had feared this meeting would end with a see you never.
“Friends,” I agree.