Page 49 of The Jealous Girl

Ryan turned. He looked pale and haggard, silhouetted in the bright window.

‘Well,’ Denise said tightly, ‘if my son isn’t going to come home, I suppose it’s up to me to come to him.’

My grip tightened on the bags, the handles digging into my fingers.

Silence stretched uncomfortably, making my cosy living room feel cold and suffocating.

‘Let me help you with those,’ Ryan said suddenly, as he snapped into action, crossing the living room in a few easy strides.

‘I’ve got it,’ I said quietly as I lowered the bags to the floor myself, feeling betrayed that he had let his mother into our home.

My home.

His hands hovered outstretched towards me for a second, before dropping to his sides. I expected him to return to his spot in the window. Detached from everything. From me. But he stayed to my left.

My fingers twitched, eager to reach for him. To take strength from his presence. To show Denise we were together, united. But I didn’t dare. What if he pulled away? Like he had before.

‘I was surprised,’ Denise continued, her gaze flicking between us, ‘when Ryan said he was staying here.’

Ryan shifted closer to me. ‘Mum⁠—’

‘I mean, you two proved you were incompatible last time, so…’ She let her sentence hang. The implication obvious and intentional.

Ryan reached for my hand. His fingers intertwining with mine. ‘Things are different this time.’

‘I suppose these summer romances are easy to get swept up in,’ Denise said. ‘All that sun and nostalgia must make it easy to confuse it for something more. Something real.’

‘This isn’t some passing fling,’ Ryan objected. ‘We’re serious about each other.’ He lifted my hand, turning it slightly, angling the ring I wore towards her. ‘We had a ceremony in Malta.’

Denise’s jaw dropped as she stared at my hand, shaking her head mutely. ‘You got married?’ The question sounded more like an accusation. Cold. Indignant.

Ryan turned and smiled at me. ‘It’s what we wanted.’

‘But you can’t have done. You were only gone for two weeks.’ She slammed the mug down on the glass coffee table, the loud crack making me cringe. ‘You couldn’t have organised a wedding in that time.’ Her words were adamant, but her tone was panicked.

‘It was a commitment ceremony,’ Ryan exclaimed. ‘It doesn’t require the same complexities. We didn’t need anything else. Just us.’

‘Clearly,’ Denise snapped, rising to her feet. ‘You didn’t think to involve anyone else. No family. No friends. No one who actually matters.’

Ryan’s jaw tightened as he lowered our hands back down.

‘You did it without us. Without your family. Without your father.’ Her voice cracked.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ I protested.

‘At least it’s not legally binding,’ Denise said, looking relieved. ‘That’s something.’

‘It’s binding to us,’ Ryan assured her. ‘The rest is just a formality. Something we can take care of at the registry office, now we’re home.’

‘Take care of?’ She spat the words at him. ‘A wedding isn’t something you “take care of”, like taking your car in for its MOT. It’s a wedding. Something to be celebrated in front of family and friends. Something significant and memorable.’

‘We did celebrate.’ Ryan smiled at me. ‘In our own way. In Malta.’

‘You can’t tell your father.’

Ryan’s hand tensed in mine.

‘If your father finds out he missed his only son’s wedding – that you didn’t want him there – it’ll kill him.’