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Ryan lets out a loud snort. “Hardly. We fight all the time and drive each other mental, but at the end of the day we always put each other—and our family—first. That’s what love is, mate. Everything else in your life comes in second place to the person you love.”
“But—“
He holds up a hand. “No buts, that’s just how it is.”
“You know, I’m not the only one who gets caught up with work,” I say, feeling defensive. “Emma works crazy hours too.”
“Which only drives my point home harder,” he says with a shrug.
I always thought it meant we were good together. We understood that we couldn’t always be the other’s top priority.
“Maybe she’s seeing someone else?” I suggest.
“I really don’t think so,” Ryan says, his tone wary.
“How do you know? This morning I didn’t think she’d end the engagement but here we are.”
“Because Emma’s not sneaky like that,” Ryan reasons. “Even if she was into someone new, she wouldn’t do it behind your back. She’d break things off first.”
My head snaps up as his words resonate, and I see Ryan’s eyes widen, his head shaking. “No, mate—that’s not what I meant.”
But it’s too late; the thought is already in my head, eating away at my sense of reason. I tug my phone out of my pocket, but when I swipe across the screen, but nothing happens. “Shit. Forgot to charge it,” I mutter. “Can I use your phone?”
“Hell no, I’m not encouraging whatever this is.”
“Fine.” I set my glass on the coffee table and get to my feet. I return to the kitchen and retrieve a tablet housed in a glittery pink safety case from the island.
“Ahh, mate, that’s Lola’s iPad,” Ryan says with a groan. “What the hell are you going to do with it?”
“I’m just checking something,” I assure him. “And why exactly does your four-year-old need an iPad anyway?”
“Apparently so you can spy on your ex,” he says dryly.
I’m not even sure what I’m looking for when I bring up Emma’s email account and log in. It’s not as though there’ll be any hard evidence on here, proving one way or another whether or not she’s moved on. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to findsomething.
“You know she’ll probably get an alert that her email’s being accessed,” Ryan points out.
I shake my head. “She always ignores those.”
“Smart,” he deadpans.
Her inbox is full of a mix of promotional blasts, emails from wedding vendors, delivery notifications, and a few messages from some of her girlfriends. It’s so disorganised and cluttered I feel a headache coming on from simply looking at it. I’m about to close out of it and let Ryan say he told me so when my eye catches the subject line of one particular email:Cold Feet.
I freeze, staring at the screen. Unless this is secret fan fic Emma’s been writing about the nineties TV show, this email must have something to do with why she called off the wedding. The sender is someone named Sophie, which isn’t a name I recognise from amongst Emma’s friends; that just makes me even more curious.
“What? What is it?” Ryan demands. “Jesus, don’t tell me she actuallywascheating on you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that.” I can’t seem to find the words to explain what I’m reading. I can’t believe Emma wrote to an advice column. Did she really feel so trapped that she needed to ask a complete stranger for advice on our issues? And who is this person? What are their qualifications? They could be some complete nutter living alone in a creepy old hut in Dartmoor, with nothing but a collection of ferrets to keep them company for all anyone really knows.
The more I think about it, the more distressed I get. I have half a mind to reply to this person and give them what for. But obviously I can’t do that from Emma’s account. I log out of her account and bring up my own personal one.
“So, what is it?” Ryan prods, just as I’m opening a fresh email.
“It’s—” I hesitate for a moment, not really sure how to explain. As annoyed as I am, I don’t really want to tell Ryan about Emma writing to an advice column. I already feel guilty enough about snooping; I don’t need to pile on by spilling all her secrets.
Fortunately, I’m saved by the trampling of little feet as Lola comes flying into the living room. “Daddy!”
“There’s my princess.” Ryan hauls Lola onto his lap, pressing a kiss to her dark curls. “Did you have fun at Marco’s birthday party?”
