An urgent need to pee dragged her out of bed. Overcome with feeling dehydrated, she filled a glass at the sink and gulped it down, then another. The cold water she splashed on her face made her flinch. She grabbed the extra toothbrush she always kept for guests and brushed until her gums stung.
When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her eyes were red-ringed and puffy. She'd aged overnight, she thought. She could see fine lines around her mouth which she had never noticed before. And then an inner voice whispered, in a flicker of cruel clarity,No wonder... No wonder Ronin doesn't want you.She turned away before she could study her face further.
The clock in the mirror read 10:45 a.m. She'd overslept, but she didn't care.
In nothing but her bra and panties, she padded to the master bedroom. She stopped in the doorway and looked at the bed.
Did he bring her here?
Was she here when I was away on that football trip with David and his mates?
Did they make love here?
Did they laugh at me? At what a fat cow I am? What a fool I am?
She crossed to the closet, pulled out her oldest grey sweats and her favourite faded pink hoodie, and then stole back into the guest bedroom like a thief. Then, she stepped into the shower. The migraine still hummed in the back of her skull like a Primadonna, but the hot water dulled it. As long as she didn't think, as long as she was floating numb.
She didn't look at the bed on her way out, just kept moving, towel-drying her hair. In the mirror, she caught a side view of herself—pale skin, soft love handles, a belly that refused to flatten, breasts slowly surrendering to gravity. She looked away and quicky put her clothes on after carelessly dropping the towels on the floor. Force of habit almost made her pick them up and put them in the basket. Almost. She sat at the vanity and picked up her brush before thinking,why bother?
The pen and paper on the table beckoned like a lodestone and almost like she was hypnotised, she began to write.
An hour later, she made her way downstairs. She had to eat something, something that wouldn't come back up. And water. Definitely more water. She put the kettle on, the familiar sound a small comfort.
The kitchen had always been her favourite room. But now another thought intruded:Did they have sex on the island?She'd once wanted to, like in the novels, but Ronin never seemed interested, afraid David would catch them. She tried to remember the last time he'd hugged her without it being a prelude to sex, and couldn't. Suddenly, tears filled her eyes. She wanted a hug.
When the kettle clicked off and the toaster dinged, she poured her tea and settled on the island to nibble her toast. But the invasive thought returned, and she eyed the smaller table in the corner.Maybe I should sit there instead. The island might have...She stopped herself, imagining the weight of two bodies, and stood to move.
She was halfway through her toast when Ronin walked in. His dark hair was wet and messy, his pale green sweater bringing out the depth of his green eyes. He looked so handsome.
And just like that, her appetite had vanished. Everything she'd stuffed into that box called denial tipped out in a single rush, spilling into every corner of her mind.
Chapter 5
Ronin looked like he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles shadowed eyes, the colour of wet moss, as guilt pooled in them. But he was still handsome. The most attractive man she had ever met and, somehow, a stranger after all these years.
He took a breath, as though preparing himself. Then he made his way to the tiny breakfast nook and took the chair facing hers.
"I think I owe you... That is, I need to tell you how it started. I met Amanda two and a half years ago at a conference. Then she interviewed for our company, and she was really good at her job. She was like a ray of sunshine, kind to everyone. We became friends. We'd spoken before, you know, in passing. I'd talked about you, about David, and she'd talked about her husband, James. I began to notice things—bruises on her arm, the shape of fingers. Days she'd move like she was hurting. I'd let her know I would help if I could, but she always denied anything was happening." He sighed. "And then, one evening two years ago...we crossed lines we should never have crossed. We were both drunk. It was after that Transverse merger—the one everyone thought was impossible." His voice thinned. "I..."
Sage didn't move or look up, so he soldiered on.
"She told me about her husband’s affairs, about the times he'd been...rough. How she ended up in hospital once. She has no family to turn to." He hesitated. "She was upset that night, and I asked why she wouldn't leave him. She looked at me and I just...I don't know. I felt alone. You were always so busy. And when she reached for me, when she kissed me...I didn't push her away."
He exhaled, long and shaky. "I felt like shit afterwards. Avoided her for weeks. But then the flood happened, and we were stuck together in the office that day. And... I'm ashamed, Sage. I couldn't resist."
His eyes were tortured.
He rubbed his face. "It happened nine times over a year ago. Each time, I felt good when I was with her, but afterwards, it was hell. I tried to end it. Once I almost told you, but I realised I didn't want to lose you. The next day, I talked to her, told her we had to stop, and she agreed. But a month later she told me...she told me she was pregnant, that it was mine. That it couldn't be James'. She said she'd leave him, and I tried to support her through it."
Ronin's voice cracked before he steadied himself. "The baby's three months old now. A little girl with dark hair and green eyes... I think…I think she's mine."
He whispered the last part of his confession, seemingly unaware that Sage was splintering inside. She lifted her head, as if surfacing into a world that had become unrecognizable.
I used to believe the worst thing was ending up alone,she thought.But it isn't. The worst is being with someone who makes you feel that way, anyway.
Her voice was raw, frayed from disuse. "Do you want me to move out?"
"No. No." He reached for her hands in a sudden move, on his knees in front of her. Ironically, this was a first for him. Even hisproposal was casual-them out for dinner and him asking if she wanted to get married in the same tone he would have asked her if she wanted more wine. She let him take her limp hands in his warmer grip. The tears silently dripping down onto her lap had seeped into his fingers. She eased her hands away slowly and stood, silent before walking back to the guest room. She closed the curtains and took a pill for her migraine from the medicine cabinet. Then she climbed into bed and pulled the quilt up over her head.
