Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to—”
“I’m still speaking,” I growl, giving him a shake to rattle the cotton out of his ears. “You tell her, and I will crush you, Tod. I will make your life a living hell.”
“I-I won’t,” he stutters, wide-eyed and kind of terrified.
“You have some flawed fucking logic, my friend.” Like I’d buy his art for anyone else but her. “The only time that’s perfect is that you take for yourself, and your time with Lavender has passed. If you wanna to keep working here, you want to be a part of her life, you keep your hands and your eyes to yourself. And you keep those words in your mouth. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“If she finds out I bought your shit here tonight, you and I are gonna have a very serious conversation.”
“She won’t hear it from me.”
“Good. The alternative is I buy you a new suitcase, but you won’t be going on vacation. You understand?”
29
LAVENDER
“Well, look at you.”
At that frighteningly familiar tone, I freeze. I hate myself for doing this as my shoulders hunch and my stomach turns watery with something like fear.
Just a reflex. You’re fine. You’re not alone.
“You’ve had some glow up, girl.” The arsehole snaps his fingers a few times and make an “mm, mm, mmm,” sound. He always did think he was street when he’s more Home Counties. Villages greens and Norman-era churches, country homes, and the conformist middle classes. His parents are so lovely, I used to wonder where he got his mean streak from.
I put the tray of glasses down on the concrete counter and raise my eyes. Like a wave, images rush at me. His chest over my face. The sick grin he’d flashed as I tried to push him from me. I swallow the gore that shoots up my throat, but the ball of panic stops it from fully receding.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The corner of his mouth hitches, my skin crawling as his gaze slides over it. Face. Breast. Between my legs. The sum of my parts. My only values. According to him. “Ghost of boyfriends past, eh?”
A gothic tale. One that, more than five years later, still haunts my sleep occasionally.
“I just got back. I’ve been traveling all this time. A bit of work. A lot of fun.” As he speaks, he stares up at the framed assemblage meant to be Tod’s take on time. “Bali. Hong Kong, the Solomon Islands.” He glances back at me. “I live in Dubai now. Just here on visit and saw Addsy in the pub. He told me about this place. Said how well you were doing.”
He doesn’t like that I’m doing well, that much is clear. If only I heeded that expression before, the way he’d looked at me when I said no.
“Julian.” His name echoes through my brain in a hundred different ways.
Julian, I’ve missed you so much!
New love.
Julian, why aren’t you answering your phone?
Disquiet. Didn’t he like me anymore?
Pick up, Julian. It’s me again.
Desperation.
Julian, do you love me?
Abject happiness in his arms.
Julian, no.
Please, stop.
You’re hurting me.
The end. Of many things.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is frigid. Ironic, given that’s what he’d called me. What he offered as a reason.
You’re my girlfriend.
I thought you loved me.
You’re supposed to want to do it.
I have needs.
“Surprise!” His arms shoot out like he expects me to put myself into them.
I’d rather be punched hard in my tit.
“Bring it in, girl! It’s been—”
“A lifetime wouldn’t have been long enough.”
“Baby,” he wheedles, “don’t be like that.”
I turn away, then remember. Our skins fused, his chest to my back. The overwhelming sense of panic that he was stronger than me, that he would—
I glance down, realizing I’ve picked up a flute from the tray. It bears an arc of bright orange lipstick. I wrap it in my hand anyway as I turn back to face him.
“We’re closed.” My voice sounds strained. “You have to leave.”
I’d locked the door already, or so I’d thought, after I’d shooed Polly out of it, Luis and his car keys trailing her. She only left when I promised there would be plenty for her to do tomorrow, or else she’d still be in here, gathering napkins and half-eaten canapés.
I’m glad she’s gone. Maybe I should’ve told her then, but I couldn’t. I don’t want her to find out now.
I swallow, straining to hear the clink, clink of glassware and willing Primrose to stay where she is. Tod has buggered off to God knows where, which is his usual MO when there’s work to be done. I haven’t seen Raif for more than an hour.
Please let them all stay where they are. Doing what they’re doing.
I straighten my shoulders. Tighten my grip on the glass. I’m glad we’re alone.
Just like before, I control the narrative, if not the situation.