“Sorry, gentleman, let me just steal my darling fiancé away from you for a moment.” God, that sounded fake. They smile and nod. One makes a remark about how if he were my husband he’d never be away from me, even for a moment. I fight the urge to vomit and instead go for a false laugh and smile.
“What’s up?” Greg asks, stroking my arm and pushing a piece of hair behind my ear. He always gets horny when he has a drink. Sometimes I find it a huge ick. OK, most of the time. He looks at me like I’m his possession and not a person. I hate that.
“I want to go,” I mutter quietly.
He eyes me up and down and smiles. “We can’t go, but I’m sure we can sneak in the back for a moment.” He licks his lips.
“No, I mean, I want to go home. This is too much for me.” The lump in my throat is still rife and ready to erupt.
He becomes visibly annoyed by my request. “We’ve not been here long, Harri. Not had dinner, not heard the speeches and I’m currently in an especially useful business conversation with Mr Harrington. Plus, I can’t remember the last time I’ve been out. Just have some champagne and try and have a fun time.” He goes to turn around, but I catch his hand and pull him back.
“Greg, I’m not comfortable. I need to go home.” My eyes plead with him without causing a scene.
“God, Harri, you go then. I’ll just come home later or something.” He rolls his eyes.
“So, you’re fine with me going? Alone?” I question. I’d be fine going alone, don’t get me wrong, but for him to just not care… I can’t lie, it hurts a little.
“You’re a big girl, Harri. I’m not wasting my life sat in that apartment. I’ll just see you later. I’ll tell people you’ve been taken ill or something.”
Before I can even muster a response to him, he’s turned back to his new friends, and I’m stood in a room full of people feeling a million miles away from anyone. I move quickly through thecrowd, smiling at anyone who looks my way as if I’m just leaving for fresh air or to use the facilities. I text our driver Charles who pulls up outside and I slide into the back door. Nobody appears to have seen me leave. As soon as the door closes, tears stream down my cheeks. My throat burns from the inside out making me feel sick. My breathing is fast and hard, making it difficult to catch any oxygen that my body desperately needs.
“You OK back there, madam?” Charles asks concerned, looking in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry, yes, I’m fine, Charles. Just not feeling great. Just take me home please,” I say politely, hoping I haven’t traumatised the poor man with my sobbing.
He nods, not wanting to pry but I can see in his face that he wants to. But he won’t. He’s not paid to pry. Charles has been hired by the Belfour family for many years, and they like his discreetness.
We pull up at our apartment building, and I can’t get in quick enough. Even with this newfound sense of not caring what people think, I don’t want people to see me with mascara-stained cheeks and red eyes. I fumble for my key in my bag while standing in the lift. I rush out of the doors as soon as they open and down the corridor to our front door. In my haste I struggle with getting the key into the door to be able to open it properly. Once I finally make it over the threshold, I slam the door behind me and fall into a heap on the floor. The tears don’t stop coming. The pain in my chest worsens with every cry I let out. Primal groans vibrate their way through my body leaving my mouth as screams. The pain from my heartache entwines within them. Snot and tears fill my face until I look like a red-faced balloon covered in slime. I’m a complete mess but my God does it feel good to get it out.
I compose myself to my feet and rip off the silk dress I’m wearing. I throw my heels across the apartment along with myjewellery and bag, the contents flying out in all directions. I stand there in my underwear in my beautiful apartment which I own with my beautiful fiancé, with all my beautiful things and I feel empty. I crawl up onto the sofa, still sobbing as I lay my head down on the cushions and pull a blanket over me.
Three
We have no blinds or curtains in our living room, so the sun wakes me early. I’m still curled up in the same position I must have passed out in. My body aches like I’ve been doing a marathon in my sleep. My head has that awful post-cry headache that you get when you’ve been crying for an extended period of time. A sickness feeling fills my stomach.
I swing my legs over the side of the sofa and slowly sit myself up, taking a moment in the quietness of the apartment.
I pull the blanket over me like a shawl, and I go and set up the coffee pot. Coffee always helps.
I make my way into our bedroom to see if Greg is awake. I think we need to talk. The bedroom is empty with the sheets made exactly how I made them. I know he hasn’t just left early this morning because Greg has never made a bed in his life, so the sheets would be everywhere if he had been home.
I go back to the living room to find my clutch bag which I threw across the room last night. My phone luckily is unharmed from my tantrum. I have ten missed calls from Greg, one from Lauren and a text from Greg.
If you’re going to be immature about this then fine. I’m staying out so don’t wait up.
Immature? Seriously? God, this man turns me off more and more without even trying. I don’t even need to reply. He decided to stay out so let him. Instead, I opt to call Lauren, see if she can let me know where Greg is or was.
She picks up after the third ring sounding very sleepy, probably still drunk.
“Harri, where did you sneak off to?” Her voice is snarky and sarcastic in my ear.
“Hi, Lauren. Sorry to wake you, and sorry I had to leave a bit early. Work stuff.” Lying is easier than telling the truth.
She lets out a sigh. “OK.” Again, sarcastic.
Well, this is awkward.
“Erm, so I know Greg stayed out. Did you see him?”
