I’m back next week! Cannot wait to see you. I have so much news. I met a guy. You’ll never believe who it is!
The smile that twitches my lips is tempered by guilt at the thought that, the entire time she’s been gone, I’ve been harbouring feelings for her dad. Feelings that sometimes, whenever I’ve been particularly lonely or idle, take no time in spiralling right to, ‘I’m going to die an old maid because theonly man in the whole world I would ever want to be with is completely out of reach. Off-limits. Forbidden. Inaccessible’.
My fingers itch to write the only thing I want to tell her:I think I’m in love with your dad.
Instead, I settle for a much more acceptablereply.
Can’t wait to see you either. Missed you so much. Who’s this guy? Tell me. I need to check he’s good enough for you.
Her response is quick and fills me with dread.
Ha! Come to the Emblem next week and find out. Love you x
40
DIANA
Aweek later, I show up at the Emblem wearing a yellow satin dress with black leather accents; it’s one of Erica’s that Rafe bought for me when I was living here. It’s perfect for today because it’s the afternoon of the Abigail Enwright event at Southbank, and this dress matches theTaming the Beastbook cover perfectly. It’s probably the biggest moment of my career, and strangely enough, I’m feeling fairly calm about it. Phlegmatic, almost. Or I would be, except for the fact that this is the first time I’ve been back to the Emblem since I left.
My heart is racing. Is Rafe going to be here? What the hell do I say if he is? What do I do?
It’s not even a question, really. What I’ll do is hold it together. For Lizzie. For my best friend. Because she’s back after six months away, and the last thing she needs as a welcome home present is to find out about me and her dad.
The lift makes its smooth ascent to the penthouse, and the doors separate, gifting me a view of the luscious hallway. I forgot how incredible this place is, but my awe is dulled by the memories that haunt it. Each step I take, I’m walking side-by-side with a past version of myself, experiencing countless tiny memories all over again. The first time I came here, the first time I saw Rafe and realised who he was, the nights I spent working, Rafe at my side, encouraging me, laughing with me. The way it felt to be with him. Beside him. How much I longed to tell him the truth; how I wanted him to kiss meall the time. Swimming together, racing in that freshwater pool with its gold-leaf ceiling. The night he helped me zip my dress up, and I was finally sure that he wantedme—the real me, not Delirium me.
A lump rises in my throat. I don’t know if I can do this. If I can be here.
“Diana!”
Lizzie’s yell snatches me from the overwhelming emotion. She races down the corridor, all wild dark hair and flailing limbs, smiling like a mad woman. Hooking her arms around my neck, she pulls me into a hug. Her energy is infectious, and a smile rips across my face as I hold her close.
“You’re a star,” she squeals. “You became a motherfucking star while I was gone.”
I laugh. “No, I didn’t.”
She steps back, her eyes wide, hands still resting on my shoulders. “Are you kidding? You’re huge!”
I flash her a coy smirk. “I guess I am kind of a big deal.” I perform a little shoulder shimmy that has her letting go of me and laughing out loud.
“Come and meet Charlie,” she says, leading me through to the other room.
I’m still bracing in case Rafe shows up, but there’s no sign of him when we reach the living room. Instead, there’s a young man on the sofa, who stands to greet us.
I know exactly who he is. Charlie Hawkston, Seb’s nephew. He has a definite Hawkston look; he’s the image of his dad. Tall, handsome, dark haired. The last time I saw him was thenight my engagement publicly fell apart; the same night I ran to Delirium and fell into Rafe’s arms. It feels a lifetime ago.
“Hi,” I say, sounding as stunned as I feel.
“Hey, Diana,” he says, stepping towards me and kissing me on both cheeks. “Long time.”
“Indeed. Wow,” I add, turning to Lizzie. “Charlie Hawkston. I wouldneverhave guessed. Are you two…” I waggle a finger between them, raising my eyebrows to emphasise the silent question.
They look at each other, and Charlie hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and glances at the floor.
“We’re just friends,” Lizzie spills, darting a nervous glance in his direction.
“Yeah,” Charlie agrees.
Neither of them sounds certain, but it’s cute. Maybe they haven’t worked out what they are yet, but there’s definitelysomethingthere.
