Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
I’m enthralled, and I don’t even know the girl.
My phone buzzes, and I have a text from Caroline. As I read her words, my scalp tingles and my throat tightens.
I’m not pregnant. :’(
I have nothing of Kit’s.
Not even his child.
Shit! My grief rises from nowhere, ambushing me.
“Oliver, we’re going to have to call it a day. Something’s come up.”
“Yes, sir,” Oliver responds. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you come to the flat tomorrow, midmorning?”
“Will do, my—Maxim.”
“Good. Thank you.”
I type out a reply to Caroline.
I’m coming over.
No. I want to go out.
Let’s get drunk.
OK. Where?
Are you home?
No. At the office.
Okay. I’ll join you in town.
Loulou’s?
No. Soho House.
Greek Street.
I’ll know fewer people.
I’ll see you there.
The private members’ club is crowded, but I manage to find a table on the second floor near the blazing fire. I prefer the intimacy of 5 Hertford Street, which I consider my club—but I’m a member of Soho House, too—as is Caroline. I take a seat, and I don’t have to wait long before she appears. She looks tired, and sad, and thin. Her mouth is turned down and her eyes clouded and puffy. Her blond bob is dull and unkempt, and she’s dressed in jeans and a sweater. Kit’s sweater. This is not the effervescent Caroline I know. My heart aches as she approaches. I see my own grief engraved on her face.
I stand but say nothing as she walks into my arms, and I hold her close.
She sniffles.
“Hey,” I whisper against her hair.
“Life’s shit,” she murmurs.
“I know.” I hope my tone is soothing. “Do you want to sit? If you sit facing me, no one will see that you’re upset.”
“Do I look that bad?” She sounds offended, though a little amused. It’s a glimpse of the Caroline I know. I kiss her forehead.
“Never, darling Caro.”
She shrugs out of my hold. “You charmer,” she grumbles, though I can tell she isn’t angry. She sits down in the velvet chair facing me.
“What would you like to drink?”
“A Soho Mule.”
“Good choice.”
I signal the waiter and order.
“You’ve been a recluse this weekend,” Caroline says.
“I’ve been busy.”
“On your own.”
“Yes,” I say, and it feels good not to lie.
“What is it, Maxim?”
“What do you mean?” I give her a level I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about stare.
“Have you met someone?” she asks.
What the hell!
I blink as an image of Alessia stretching over my piano and wearing nothing but pink panties comes to mind.
“You have!” Caroline says, startled.
I shift in my seat and shake my head. “No.” My denial is emphatic.
Caroline raises a brow. “You’re lying.”
Fuck. Not emphatic enough.
“How can you tell?” I ask, as ever daunted by her ability to cut through my bullshit.
“I couldn’t, but you always cave so easily. Tell me.”
Damn!
“There’s nothing to tell. I spent the weekend alone.”
“That speaks volumes in itself.”
“Caro, we’re each dealing with Kit’s absence in our own way.”
“And…what are you not telling me?”
I sigh. “Do you really want me to talk about this?”
“Yes,” she says, and I notice the wicked gleam in her eye, reminding me that the real Caroline is not far away.
“There is someone. But she doesn’t know I exist.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously. It’s nothing. Just a flight of fancy.”
Caroline frowns. “This is not like you. You’re never distracted by one of your, um…conquests.”
I can’t help my hollow laugh. “She’s not a conquest—not by any stretch of my imagination.”
She can barely look at me!
The waiter arrives with our drinks.
“When did you last eat?” I ask.
Caroline shrugs, and I shake my head. “You must be driving Mrs. Blake crazy. Let’s eat. May we have the menu?” I ask the waiter, who nods and scuttles away.
I raise my glass to hers. “To absent loved ones.” I hope we can change the subject.
“To Kit,” she whispers, and we smile sadly at each other, bonded by our love for the same man.
* * *
It is two o’clock in the morning when we return, inebriated, to my flat. Caroline is reluctant to go home. I don’t want to go. It’s not home without Kit.
I cannot argue with her.
We both stagger into the hallway, and I enter the code into the alarm, silencing the incessant beeping.
“Do you have any blow?” Caroline slurs.
“No. Not today.”
“What have you got to drink?”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
She gives me a crooked, drunken smile. “Are you taking care of me?”
“I’ll always take care of you, Caro. You know that.”
“Then take me to bed, Maxim.” She throws her arms around my neck, her face raised with blurry expectation and her unfocused eyes intent on my mouth.
Fuck. I grab her shoulders to hold her back. “No. I’ll put you to bed.”
“What do you mean?” Caroline scowls.
“You’re intoxicated.”
“And?”
“Caroline. This has to stop.” I kiss her forehead.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Her face crumples, and tears well in her eyes as she staggers out of my hold.
I groan. “Don’t. Please don’t cry.” I pull her back into my embrace. “We can’t do this anymore.”