he was trying to get out of it lightly—like always.
Ethan had been trying to forget her. They’d done the three dates, so he could think about something else for five minutes now. He could find some other woman attractive. He could do nothing but work for fifty-six hours straight.
He’d only managed the last one.
He checked his phone again. Still no reply. He didn’t want to call and speak to her because she wasn’t going to be in a mood to listen to him. He hated letting her down. He hated how complicated this had become—but he had to see her again. His body wasn’t letting him do otherwise, nor would his brain. She was all he could think about. All he wanted. So he’d make his apology in person. He’d make it up to her in person. But that wasn’t going to help in the next few hours. He quickly punched in another number.
‘Polly, I need a favour. Big favour. You’ve got to take your best ever bunch of flowers to Nadia.’
‘Oh, Ethan,’ she wailed at him. ‘We liked her.’
Ethan gritted his teeth. ‘So do I. So send the damn things, will you? And say I’m sorry on the card.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘None of your business. But get them to her now.’
‘So it isn’t over?’
‘It will be if you don’t get them organised.’
‘Okay.’
The doorbell rang. Nadia saw herself in the hall mirror as she went to answer it and swore at her panda eyes. Still, at this time of night it could only be a telecoms salesperson or something—so what did it matter.
It was a courier. He handed her the biggest bunch of flowers she’d ever seen.
Nadia took them without a word and slammed the door. The card was typed in an old-fashioned typewriter font.
I’m sorry.
She tossed the flowers on the table and tore the note in two, then three, and chucked the bits like pity party confetti.
How had he managed to get them out at this hour? Florists didn’t work this late. He must have planned the whole thing hours ago. Days ago. In fact she now figured he’d totally set her up. She’d been the one to suggest another date. He’d got her in the palm of his hand just as he’d wanted and now he’d crushed her.
Her eyes were drawn back to the bright mass of blooms. Yes, they were beautiful, but she hated them. The flick-off flowers. Just as the women on WomanBWarned had said. She wiped away more scalding tears and sniffed. Why had she been so stupid as to expect anything else?
There she’d been, actually feeling something like sorry for him—trying to figure out why he avoided everything: emotional intimacy, relationships, conflict. Thinking she understood more after seeing his family the other day. But he’d so taken her for the fool she was. He was an all out jerk with not a shred of sensitivity. And right now he was laughing at her something awful.
Furious, she had to do something—anything—to feel better. And that didn’t include talking to honeymoon-happy Megan. She didn’t want anyone she knew to know what an idiot she’d been. But she had to vent to someone. She went into her WomanBWarned admin database and hunted. Ten minutes later she’d fired off e-mails to the other women who’d posted on the original thread. She wasn’t going to put this up on the internet, but she was so having a private rant with them. She’d bond with others who bore the wounds—the humiliation—of being an Ethan Rush conquest. She’d snarl and moan and gnash her teeth, but not with anyone she knew.
First she just asked if they were who she thought they were, and what other info they wanted to share.
She glared at the flowers, tempted to put them in the rubbish, but she put them in Megan’s room instead. Marching back, she clicked ‘send/receive’ ten times on her e-mail but nothing landed. She stalked to the bathroom and ran a super-hot shower, getting rid of the hair product and the panda eyes and the floral scent of her favourite perfume. She yanked on one of her WomanBWarned tee shirts and some boxers. Not that she was going to bed—sleep was impossible now. Instead she did a final check on the forums and stepped away from the computer. She’d hear the ping of e-mails from the computer if those sisters replied. There was only one thing left to do. Drink wine and watch movies. Horrors—a corpse-fest, with scary music and evil, evil monsters. She’d work her way through the all the Nightmares on Elm Street. To put things into perspective.
She’d watched a ton of gory numbers with her brother and initially she’d been stoic through them so as not to be the ‘scared little girl’ he’d expected. Now she just plain liked them. Things could be so much scarier and worse than real life. And she’d eat eye-watering chilli with it—to terrify her tastebuds too. Provide an extreme sensory experience to overwhelm the extreme agony inside.
She was twenty minutes into the third instalment when her doorbell buzzed again. Way too late for a salesman this time. Or anyone. Nerves fluttered and she paused the movie, telling herself not be scared by something Hollywood had invented. Just because it was almost two in the morning it didn’t mean there was going to be a disfigured guy with knives for fingers on the other side of the door.
She opened it a fraction, and then let it swing wide.
‘What are you doing here?’ The strangest cocktail of feelings flooded through her—a heady mix of disbelief, relief, pleasure and uncertainty.
‘I just got into Gatwick.’
‘You really were stuck on a plane?’
‘You didn’t believe me?’ His bag thudded at his feet. ‘I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why I got Polly to send the flowers. But you still didn’t reply.’
‘I figured if you were in a plane you wouldn’t get a text anyway.’
‘No, you just don’t believe me. Or trust me. Or—’
‘Or what?’ Her defensiveness reared. ‘You sent me ‘‘see ya later’ flowers.’
He frowned. ‘The note was supposed to say I’m sorry.’
‘It did.’
He closed his eyes and breathed deep. ‘Okay, I shouldn’t have come here now. It’s late and we’re both grumpy.’ He picked up his bag.
‘No.’ Recovering from the shock, she grabbed his arm. ‘You look shattered. Come in and have a coffee or something.’
She’d so go for the ‘or something’, but he really did look shattered—unshaven, red-rimmed eyes, crumpled clothes, pale.
He didn’t move, even though she was using most of her weight to tug his arm. ‘You didn’t make other plans when I cancelled?’
‘Sure I did.’ She tugged harder. ‘I’ve got movies loaded and a huge amount of ice-cream.’
He stepped in, the thinnest gleam piercing the dullness of his eyes. ‘So there isn’t anyone else on your sofa?’
‘Is that what you were worried about?’ She dropped his
