unease. I pull the shirt over my head and come back to the camera. Then I change my mind and pour a measure of Scotch. It’s two in the afternoon, but I don’t give a shit. In that moment I need something to straighten my head—or to un-straighten it. I need something to calm me down.
‘You don’t get to call me out of nowhere and say you miss me.’
‘Don’t be angry with me.’
‘Angry with you?’ Incredulity makes my voice sound amused when I’m anything but. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘I was under so much pressure at the end, you know. The tour and the album... I think I might have...’ She shakes her head and leans closer.
I don’t know if she deliberately pans the camera down but I can see she’s only wearing a bra and lace panties. I look away, the feeling guilt and betrayal of Ally making my breath short.
‘I took it out on you. I was such a bitch.’
Yeah. She was. She was a nightmare. But that doesn’t change the fact we were together for six years, that I shared twelve years of my life with her—six of them as her lover.
‘We’d been growing apart for a long time,’ I say, trying to take my share of the blame. ‘We spent so much time apart. The end was inevitable.’
‘Was it?’
It’s a sad question. One full of heartache and hurt.
‘You ended this. You ended us.’ I throw the whisky back and place the glass down a little more heavily than I should. ‘And you got engaged to Tom.’
‘That was a mistake,’ she says, and then she sobs.
And those six years spent caring about Sienna, wanting her to be happy, damned well loving her, make me forget the hurt she’s inflicted.
‘Can we go back in time and fix it, Ash?’
* * *
I feel a tiny bit like royalty as I step out of my office onto the busy twilight streets of Manhattan and see a sleek black car waiting for me. Grayson is beside it, dressed in a suit. I flick a smile at him but then I look lower instantly, towards the heavily tinted window of the car, behind which I know Ethan will be sitting.
Just like last time.
My pulse is thready and I feel sensual tension running through me like a powerful car idling at the lights. One hint of green and I will pounce.
I walk slowly, glad I made the effort to slip home at lunch and change into something fresh. I’ve gone with a black jersey dress that falls to my ankles, with sleeves which bell to my wrists. The neckline is demure, but it hugs me like a second skin.
I love this dress.
Small fact: I destroyed every piece of clothing I owned after Jeremy. Everything. Anything he had seen me in, and obviously anything he’d given me or touched me in—which was pretty much everything. I could no longer bear to associate who I was with who I’d been, and every time I put an outfit on I heard his voice. I felt his hands.
It was, perhaps, the first stage of my eight-month-exorcism—the first step in preparation for this. The final erasing of the man I once loved.
It’s silly, I suppose, but I like feeling that no other guy has touched me in this dress.
I like it that it’s all for Ethan.
That thought is running dangerously close to breaking our rules, so I fold it away and push a bright smile to my face. It doesn’t falter when Grayson opens the door.
I move into the car and Ethan is there, overpowering me with his presence, all that I need, all that I can sense, and he’s just sitting there, staring at me.
‘Hey.’
He holds a hand out and I reach for it as I step in, sitting beside me. Am I imagining it or is he frowning?
I must be imagining it, because within a minute he smiles at me, and pleasure reaches right down to the bottom of my toes.
‘How was your day?’ I ask.
He leans forward, brushing his lips to mine. ‘Better now.’
‘I have a bone to pick with you,’ I murmur.
‘Yes? What’s that?’
‘Flowers.’ I lift a finger in mock admonishment. ‘Flowers are expressly prohibited in our terms of engagement. Clause One, Part A.’
‘Ah.’ He grins as he catches my finger and brings it to his lips. ‘I remember. I’m revising that clause.’
His eyes hold mine and my heart thumps, and I am grateful that Grayson chooses that moment to slide into the driver’s seat.
‘Where to?’ Grayson tosses over his shoulder.
‘The hotel?’ I whisper in Ethan’s ear, smiling conspiratorially.
He laughs, wrapping an arm around me and holding me close to him, keeping me cradled to his side.
‘Belle Nuit,’ Ethan contradicts, naming one of the hottest eateries in New York.
I’ve heard of it, of course. It’s just over the bridge, hooked into Brooklyn, with a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline—and Brooklyn Bridge.
‘Ethan,’ I say softly. This is another rule that’s being flaunted. ‘Why don’t we just grab takeout and go back to yours? Or go to Benji’s diner...?’
‘Because.’ His eyes glint as they meet mine. ‘This place is nice.’
‘Nice?’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s better than that.’
‘Have you been there?’
‘Well, no, but I mean it’s the place...’
‘Right.’
‘Don’t you think it’s breaking even more rules?’ I push, concern obvious in my question.
‘I’m leaving in a few days, Ally. Does it really matter?’
My heart stammers in my chest. Jesus Christ. A few days. Something about the finality of that pushes all my stupid objections aside. What can go wrong in a few days?
‘I guess not.’
I’m still torn.
His eyes hold mine and my temperature shoots up. Suddenly every touch, every word, is a prelude of what I know will come, and it is hyper-charged with awareness and need. There is a heat between us that is threatening to explode.
Traffic is unusually light, and we cruise over the bridge easily. I look out at the water as we go, admiring the view, thinking what a unique place in the world this is.
The restaurant
