Rhys stands and starts picking up his clothes as if his dick isn’t still wet from shagging someone else.
“No.”
“No?” he asks.
“No.” I stand. It’s painful, but I need to show him I’m serious. “I want a divorce.”
“Didn’t you hear me? No one else would want you. You know that, right?”
“I know. But I’d rather be alone forever than spend one more day with you.” I turn on my heel, pick up my phone and keys and walk out of the house. It’s only once I’m outside that I realise I have no idea where I’m going to go.
Refusing to break down where Rhys might see me, I stagger down several streets, turning random corners in an attempt to get as far away from him as possible. Desperately trying to keep the panic at bay, I run through my options: Mum? Living in Spain. Ivy? Living in Edinburgh. Violet? On holiday in Ibiza.
Shit. My only option is to get a hotel room for a few nights, but on a teacher’s salary, this is only a short-term solution. My chest tightens as I think about how much my life is going to change yet again, and tears silently roll down my cheeks. I book my second taxi of the day and sit on someone’s garden wall while I wait for it to arrive.
My head is throbbing, and I remember I’ve left my medication at the house. And I didn’t have the foresight to pack any clothes or underwear or even my phone charger. And I’m wandering the streets in yesterday’s clothes with a giant bruise on my face and old blood matting my hair. It’s no wonder Rhys turned to someone else.
Twenty minutes pass before my taxi pulls up to the kerb in front of me. I climb in and the driver eyes me cautiously in the rear-view mirror.
“You alright, love? You running from someone?”
“Not in the way you mean. I’m fine,” I answerunconvincingly.
“If you say so,” he says. “So where to?”
A hotel, my brain says. Any hotel. Somewhere where no one knows me and I can hide for a couple of days.
But my mouth has other ideas: “The Nightingale,” it says.
Chapter 25
I’ve missed you so much
I can’t go in. I can’t drag Connor back into my drama.
It was selfish to come here. He’s only just got his life back after last time, and now you want to steamroll your way back in?
I stare at the front of the restaurant. It’s beautiful. The original wooden window frames are painted sky blue, and hanging baskets, window boxes and pots overflow with colourful flowers. There’s a white sign over the door with the words ‘The Nightingale’ written in loopy black writing, and gentle chatter and laughter floats out of the open windows onto the street. I can’t ruin this by barging in with my busted head and day-old clothes.
And yet that’s exactly what I do. I don’t mean to. But my legs start moving of their own accord towards the front door, and I’m powerless to stop them, because as much as I know I’m being selfish, I also know that all I want right now is Connor. I walk through the restaurant, past crowded tables full of happy peopleenjoying their meals and realise I must have come during the lunchtime rush.
Shit. This couldn’t be worse timing.
I look around for any sign of Connor, but there’s none, which isn’t surprising. Assuming he’s in the kitchen and, not having the nerve to just walk in there looking for him, I turn to find someone I can ask.
Just leave, he won’t want to see you anyway!
My chest loosens just a little when I spot a familiar face carrying a tray of empty plates towards me. I force a smile and give a little wave. Recognising me, Owen smiles back, but it falters when he sees my bruises.
“Are you alright, Matilda?” he asks, taking in my entire dishevelled appearance.
“I’m fine,” I manage to say, not even fully registering that he knows my name. I’m trying to hold back my tears so I don’t cause a scene, but Owen’s looking at me with such kindness, I don’t know how long I’ll last. “Is Connor working today?”
Owen nods. “He is. I’ll get him for you right away.”
He scurries through the door marked ‘Staff Only’ and I stand waiting awkwardly. I take a minute to get a hold of myself, willing my eyes to dry out, but it’s useless. I’m a wreck. Maybe I should make a run for it before I embarrass myself even more?
With that thought, the door behind me swings open and I turn to see Connor standing stock-still only two feet away from me. Neither of us speaks as he slowly looks me up and down. I watch the expression on his face change from surprise at my being here, to confusion at my rumpled clothes, to outright fury when he looks at my battered face. His eyes flicker between my bruised eye and the bloody gash on my head and his jaw tenses.
