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‘Even for you, because, hard though it may be to take in, none of this is actually about you, Matt.’
‘That’s true, I suppose. It’s all about this past-it house, and this awful village and people like Nessa and Belinda and local idiot, Liam, and his bloody biceps.’
‘He’s not an idiot.’
Matt shook his head. ‘I’m going home, Rosie. I’ll pack and be out of here in an hour or two. Are you coming with me?’
Rosie looked at him, standing in the doorway, blocking the light. She could swallow her pride and forgive him, forget Charles Epping and Driftwood House, and go back to Spain right now. That would simplify her complicated life.
‘Well?’ urged Matt.
Rosie looked around the newly painted kitchen, where she’d learned to bake fairy cakes with her mum. ‘I’m not coming with you. I think we both know that our relationship is over.’
‘You’re totally overreacting,’ spluttered Matt, his face turning red.
‘No, I’m not. You’ve been seeing Carmen behind my back, and I deserve better. Can you tell Juan I’ll be back in the office on Thursday, as we arranged?’
‘It’s not over, Rosie. I won’t accept it. We can continue this conversation when you’re back in Spain and talking more sense.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘We won’t be continuing the conversation, Matt. We’re definitely over,’ she said firmly to his retreating back as he stomped up the stairs.
