Another sigh from him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to you. I don’t know how to make this better.”
“You can’t make it better.” My voice quivered and tears began to sting my eyes. “Where’s Sam?” I suddenly asked.
He paused for the longest time before speaking. “I waited until she was asleep.”
God, he sounded guilty as hell. Like the husband who comes home late after work because he’s been in an “emergency meeting” (Miss Scarlet, in the boardroom with a whip).
“Aaah . . . I see.” The guilt in his voice made me feel cheap and dirty. Like I was his slutty Miss Scarlet on the side. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt this way either. There’d been many a night when Sam had been working late and we’d hung out together and phrases like “please don’t tell her we went out, she thinks I’m at home working” were thrown around.
“Please leave,” I said. There was a long pause and I waited with anticipation for his answer. Truthfully, there was still this part of me that was hoping he might barge through the door at any moment, take me in his arms and tell me what a mistake he’d made with Sam. We’d fall into each other’s arms and kiss and then make love all night long.
God, I hated that part of myself and I wondered if it was possible to kill it off somehow?
“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but at least open the door so I can give you your shoe. You left it on the driveway.”
Shit!And under normal circumstance I might have just told him to keep it, but the things had cost a bloody fortune. “Leave it outside,” I said.
“Okay,” he replied feebly.
I pressed my ear to the door, waiting for the sounds of his footsteps, and when I was confident that he was no longer there, I opened the door and looked down. My one fancy shoe was on the floor and the irony of this moment did not escape me.
This was my Cinderella slipper, delivered by Prince Charming himself. Only, this prince wasn’t mine. His heart belonged to someone else. The problem was that he was in possession of my heart, and I had no idea how to go about getting it back.
4 March
Dear Diary,
Matt has asked me around to his place today to watch the rugby and drink beer! And it’s just going to be the two of us. We’ve seen each other almost every day this week, either in the lift, walking past each other in the corridor, or having a conversation in the parking lot. I think he likes me, I mean, why else would he be inviting me to his place tonight? Alone. I have to get ready.
More laters . . .
4 March (later)
Dear Diary,
Okay, quick update, nothing happened. But he did hug me goodbye and I’m sure the hug lingered for a few seconds longer than it should have. Maybe my friends are right, maybe he’s just shy around me because hedoesremember the kiss but doesn’t know how to broach the subject?
More laters (hopefully!)
CHAPTER SIX
I arrived at the airport at 6 a.m., four hours before my actual flight. Matt and Sam and the rest of the engagement party were also booked on that flight and I was hoping to avoid them all by getting onto an earlier one. Because I hadn’t slept a wink that night, I felt almost drunk on the exhaustion.
The rental car inspection had not gone well. The angry-looking man with the clipboard and clicky-pen had been very displeased when he’d seen the state of the car. I was made to fill out a hundred forms and in my haste and strange, tired state, I didn’t read any of them. For all I knew I could have signed my soul away or joined a pyramid scheme and my box of miracle slimming tablets was already en route to my house. But I didn’t care. I had much bigger things to worry about today than the silly bumper that had fallen off and was now in the trunk. Yellowstone could have erupted today, I could have learned that ground baby panda bear paws were being used in the manufacture of my favorite face cream, or that the Amazon had been completely flattened for a Trump theme park—and probably still wouldn’t have cared.
When I finally got inside the airport I discovered that the earlier flight was fully booked. But I was put on standby, just in case a seat became free. If I couldn’t get on that flight, I would need to find a safe place to hide, and then book myself onto a later flight—thus avoiding the engagement party. So I found myself a chair in the far corner of the airport. But I couldn’t get comfortable. And it wasn’t because the seats were hard and cold and my knees were stinging. I could feel that overwhelming monster of an emotion building. I dug in my handbag, pulled out a piece of gum and shoved it in my mouth; it was all I could do to stop myself from screaming. And that’s when I saw it. I reached in and pulled it out. My diary. It flopped open on a page. I swallowed hard. This was where it had all began . . .
20 June
Dear Diary,
I’m in love. I’m totally in love with Matt. I have no idea how this happened so quickly. We’ve been spending almost every day together, either my house or his. And when we’re not spending time together, we’re messaging each other constantly. He messages me something boring that happened in his office like, “Board meeting with entire finance department” and I message him back with how I might turn that into an article, like “Seven ways to have an orgy on a boardroom table without being caught by your boss.” Okay, it sounds so lame when I write it like that, but it’s not. It’s so much fun. And it happens all the time.
We already have an inside joke! This has to be a sign that it’s more than “just friends.” Surely? Friends don’t spend all day together and then constantly message each other when they’re apart. Well, friends of the opposite sex anyway. I just wish I knew how he felt. I’ve been dropping hints like crazy and steering the conversations in directions that are conducive to “relationship talk.” And I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve also steered them to a rather sexy, flirty place once or twice, but I’m not sure he’s getting it!
More later . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN
