She flicks her dark hair off her face. Melanie Castow.
My insides scrunch like something inside me is dying, and standing straight is an effort. They look so good together. Dad was right. She’s perfect for him. She’s a woman he could take seriously; she’s someone he could face the future with—no secrets, no lies.
Did I think he’d never see anyone else? Did I think he’d be single forever because I told him it could never work between us?
Melanie smiles as he offers her his arm, and he smiles back at her.
I feel like I’m drowning. Choking. I can’t take any more of this. I wipe frantically at the tears that are falling.
Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.
As if I’ve silently called his attention, he glances up and catches me standing there.
Our eyes lock, the smile dropping from his face. I want to do something,anything, but I can’t. All I’m capable of is standing and staring at him.
He appears to be afflicted with the same problem, but when Melanie speaks, his attention returns to her.
He says something I can’t make out, then, to my horror, he steps towards me, Melanie following close behind.
“Diana.” He says my name the same way he holds himself; all hard angles and sharp edges. Formal and polite, but too stiff, with none of the warmth I long for. If he can tell I’ve been crying, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Hi,” I say, the word bursting out like the squeak from a dog’s toy.
Rafe frowns at the sound.
Melanie edges in close to his elbow, and he turns his body sideways to allow her to join us. “This is Melanie,” he tells me. “Melanie, this is Diana. She’s…” He pauses. “She’s one of Lizzie’s friends.”
“I recognise you from the party,” Melanie says with a cool smile, offering me her hand to shake.
I take it, not daring to look at Rafe, and after a too-firm handshake that makes my bones hurt, Melanie lets my hand drop.
“How are you?” Rafe asks, still unnaturally rigid.
I dig my hands deep into the pockets of my leather jacket. “Fine. Good, thank you. Sounds like Lizzie’s having a great time out there.”
“Yes.”
Beats of silence pass, Melanie looking increasingly uncomfortable as Rafe continues to stare at me like I’m a ghost he never expected to see again.
“Rafe,” she hisses, nudging him.
He blinks and glances at his watch. “Right. Yes. We should go.” He nods at me, a muscle in his jaw feathering. “It was lovely to see you. Have a good evening.”
He offers his arm to Melanie again, letting her hook her hand over his forearm, and leads her into the grand entrance of Brooks, an exclusive gentlemen’s club.
At least he’s in a relationship he can tell Lizzie about. That’s one good thing, I suppose. But, standing alone in the cold, the loss of him hits me all over again, slipping its newly-sharpened blades between my ribs, stealing my breath and leaving me gasping in the street.
38
RAFE
Seeing Diana was the last thing I needed. I couldn’t concentrate on anything afterwards, despite Melanie’s efforts to capture my attention.
We were at Brooks for the fortieth birthday party of a friend of hers; a sophisticated event in one of the entertaining rooms overlooking St James’, complete with free-flowing champagne and delicious canapes. Not that I could stomach them.
Realising I was out of sorts, Melanie insisted we leave after an hour or so and head to a quiet bar. I was, according to her, making a bad impression on important people, and I might as well restrict myself to her company alone.
I slink into a corner booth, and Melanie goes to the bathroom. At first, I try to resist the urge to pull out my phone and search Diana’s name, but Melanie takes so long to return to the table that I descend into a spiral of watching Diana’s videos. I’ve resisted for months, but I sit in the booth and listen to her voice, watch her smile, and wonder if she ever makes a video thinking I might see it or watch it.
