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“Sounds delightful.”
“It's fine, it's just not... very me.” I'm more pale creams and soft pinks. Tea dresses and floaty skirts. Not thick grey pinstripes and fitted jackets.
“You'll get used to it,” she reassures me. “Before you know it you'll be a real city girl.”
“Just like you were, babe.” Alex smiles at his wife. There's a look in his eyes that says it all. Filled with adoration, he blinks slowly, lips still upturned. She blushes when she looks at him.
I'm not sure Luke's ever looked at me like that. His stares are normally full of heat. Buzzing with desire. Not adoring or sweet.
Is it wrong to want it all?
“By the time you met me I was ready to quit,” Lara reminds him. “Remember?”
His voice is soft. A caress. “I remember.”
She slides her eyes back to mine. “A new start. It's exciting.”
“It is,” I agree. There’s something thrilling about it. Knowing I get a blank slate, that I'm free to be who I want to be. Not airhead Amy or faithful Amy or all of the other roles I've managed to take on in the past twenty-three years. I count myself lucky that despite the foolish choices I've made, and the relationship I've managed to get myself entangled with, there's still a small part of my life I can say is a success. Maybe the only part.
We spend the rest of the evening talking, while Alex finally gives up on the radiator and holds his son until he falls asleep, head lolling on his daddy's ink-vibrant arm. Although I'm stuck at home while my boyfriend is out doing God knows what, I can't help but feel like it's the best Saturday night I've had in a long, long time.
* * *
Luke finally shows his face the following evening. His hair is neatly combed, his sandy locks longer on the top, brushed back with gel. The sides are clipped close to his scalp. He's very touchy-feely, his lips coated with candyfloss lies—sweet yet somehow nauseating. As usual we go to my room, avoiding the living room where Mum’s watching a reality show.
“Is this new?” He reaches out, stroking the hem of my green and pink flowery dress with his rough fingertips, his knuckles brushing against the soft skin of my thighs. “It's pretty.”
“And old. You've seen it before.” I pull away, and the silky fabric slides from his grasp.
“Still pretty,” he murmurs. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the way he makes my heart speed. My body's conditioned to respond to him, even if my mind is screaming otherwise.
“How was last night?” I ask.
Luke looks at me, his blue eyes unwavering. “Boring. I wish you'd been there.”
“You didn't ask me,” I remind him. His parents are like my second family. His dad is a Romford boy made good. He owns a car dealership in East London and earns good money. Luke’s been working there since he left school at sixteen.
“I will next time.” He smiles as though he's doing me a favour. “You look so hot in this dress.” His arms still carry the colour from his recent holiday in Ibiza, covered with a smattering of fine, sun-bleached hairs. A pale border of skin follows his hairline, freshly revealed by his recent haircut.
His fingers are gentle as they circle around my ankle. His thumb brushes against my skin. Though a thrill shoots up my leg I ignore it.
“What's wrong?”
“Sarah Stearn texted me last night. She was at a party in Shoreditch.”
His face reveals the slightest flicker of unease. But like the great car salesman he is, Luke smooths it over immediately. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. She said you were there.”
He pauses for a moment. I can almost read the thoughts flashing through his mind. How much do I know? Can he get away with lying? How long will it take me to forgive him this time? He shifts a little, enough to reveal how turned on he is. Eyes dilated, breath warm. I'm disrupting his mojo.
“I popped over after dinner. Mum wanted an early night.”
“You said you had to stay at home. That it was important.”
“There was a change of plan.” He's so glib, so easy. Lies trip off his tongue like blossoms from trees. They cover us both.
“Why didn't you call?”
