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And with that revelation she figures it’s time to go to bed. She gets to her feet, but he reaches out, gently taking her wrist to stop her moving way. The feel of his fingers on her skin is like a shot of endorphins coursing straight through her.

“I know I’ve already said this,” he says, eyes holding hers, “but thank you for coming here, for doing this.” His thumb circles the sensitive underside of her wrist lightly and a tingle spreads all the way up her arm. His thumb circles again, and all her attention goes to that one point of contact between them, somehow more intimate than if they were tearing each other’s clothes off.

It’s the wine, Melanie. Nothing more. It’s lowering her inhibitions and making her body more sensitive, reminding her that she hasn’t had sex in months. It’s a physical craving, something that would be bad to act on, but she can’t help remembering the last time she wore this dress and exactly how that evening had ended.

“I have my own reasons for doing it, remember?” she says it firmly, to remind both of them. Something in his eyes shutters as he nods, drops her wrist. She lets out a slow breath. “I’m going to go up.”

“Okay.” His voice is carefully neutral. “I’ll doze down here for a bit now that everyone’s gone to bed.”

She knows he’s giving her the chance to fall asleep first, to change for bed without him there. It doesn’t matter, though. Because long after she settles under the duvet, she can’t stop thinking of his thumb, circling her wrist. It keeps her awake until after he comes upstairs, and long afterward. And, if the sound of his breathing is anything to go by, she is not the only one lying awake.

She wonders what he’s thinking about. If he, too, can’t help the memories storming through his mind. If he, too, is remembering not the horrible end to their relationship, or the sticky few months before that, but the moments she used to replay in her mind, just because it made her happy to do it. Their first weekend away together. Decorating one of the houses he was flipping for Christmas, hanging tinsel on the rubble. The first time he met her parents.

Stop it, Melanie. But it still doesn’t get any easier to fall asleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Two years, ten months ago

Two years, four months until Hattie’s engagement party

It took nearly a year from their first date in Paris for Finn to convince Mel to let him meet her parents. He suspected it was because she’d been unsure, in the beginning, just how serious he was about her, had been determined to treat it casually—made easier by the fact they didn’t live in the same city, given he was always moving around. When he’d finally convinced her, it had been right in at the deep end—not a Sunday roast or evening meal, but a weeklong holiday, skiing in the Alps.

Mel had never been skiing before and it had been just after that whatshername influencer had posted about Mel’s jewelry and the whole thing had gone viral. For the first time in her life, she’d said, she had disposable cash and she was using it to take her parents on holiday. If he wanted to, she’d said, looking at him from bed, the sheet halfway down her torso, he could come along too. He’d been a little distracted at the time, and had only realized what he’d agreed to a few days later.

He realized, then, that he’d never “met the parents” before in his life and had absolutely no idea what to expect, how to make them like him. He’d asked Mark for advice first. Just be yourself, he’d said easily. Then, helpfully, No, wait. Don’t. Parents probably won’t like the lack-of-stable-career thing. Maybe keep what you do for a living quiet? Also don’t mention that you’ve never had a serious girlfriend before. And maybe steer clear of the fact that your own parents are divorced.

Why the hell would that matter?

Mark had shrugged. Warning bells for some people, isn’t it?

His mum had been better, but not exactly useful. They’ll love you, Finn. How could they not?

It was Priya, in the end, who’d given him the best advice, after he’d cornered her desperately one night in her and Mel’s flat. She’d given him a shrewd look up and down, then nodded, like she’d decided something.

They’ll like you already, because they love Mel and she’s happy with you. Don’t listen to your brother. They’ll love the flipping houses thing—it shows you’re independent and earning a solid income and running your own business, which they’ll think is great.

It’s not exactly—

It’s a business if you say it is, she’d said firmly. Don’t put yourself down. Priya was good at being stern with people when she needed to be—probably the teacher in her. Neither of them have been traveling very much, so France will be a big thing for them—don’t make it seem like you’ve been everywhere and Mel nowhere—that’ll make them feel bad.

I wouldn’t—

But do say how much you’re loving France—they’ll want to feel like everyone is having a good time, even if Mel is the one paying.

Okay. Check.

Don’t bother trying to talk sport or anything macho like that with Gavin—he doesn’t care. He does like his garden, and is proud of it—so gardening chat wouldn’t go amiss. Show him photos of that garden you did up in Dorset—he’ll love that. And I know Mel doesn’t go in for all the old-school gentlemanly stuff—

Gentlemanly? Finn asked, teasing.

Yes. Priya was still full-on no-nonsense. Like opening doors and carrying luggage. But Eleanor loves all that crap, so go big or go home.

He’d nodded, letting out a breath. Thanks, Priya.

She’d clapped him on the shoulder. You’ll be great.

How do you know?