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"Yeah, off you go, sweetheart. Back to what I brought you away from," says Steve.
"Dylan?" Kim asks.
For most of the exchange, he’s leaned back in his chair, hands locked behind his head ignoring me. His childish sulking infuriates me. "Yeah, okay. For how long?"
"That’s Sky’s decision."
All eyes apart from Dylan's turn to me. I scrunch my shirt in my hands, biting inside my cheek to stop retorting to them all. They're right. I can't walk away from the situation now and this is a solution. The predicament was inevitable the day I allowed myself to get close to Dylan in Cornwall. If you tangle with the famous, you have to expect consequences. Dylan wasn't the only delusional one.
* * *
Lying on a king size bed,I stare at the celling, unable to comprehend why I let myself get into all this in the first place. A girl falling for a guy on the rebound isn't uncommon, I just chose the wrong one.
The guest room they've accommodated me in is more of a guest apartment. The bathroom alone is twice the size of the kitchen in my poky flat and contains a huge white bath on bronze claw feet.
I reluctantly gave my flat key to Steve, who’s sent someone to collect some clothes. Great, another stranger looking at my underwear. Dylan offers to buy me new things but I refuse. I also give Steve a long list of books—I intend to pretend I’m at a health spa in the country for a couple of days. Then life can move on.
Really? Am I fooling myself?
A knock on the door pulls me out of bath time fantasies. Are my belongings or books here? Hopefully the person outside is bringing me both.
Dylan. He holds the same rucksack I used for my holiday to Broadbeach; his strong arms that once wrapped around me are around the bag. He holds the same closed off expression and stiffened stance as earlier, so why is he here?
"I brought your stuff."
"Thanks."
He walks across the plush cream carpet, into the room and puts the bag on the bed. Awkward about him in here, I hover by the door.
"Is this everything you needed?" he asks gruffly.
This is different—businesslike. Either he’s changed tactic or he's finally accepted the truth. "I think. Thanks."
When Dylan reaches the doorway, he ensures he’s close enough to brush my chest with his arm on the way past.
I inhale sharply, and he places his mouth next to my ear. "Feel free to throw your underwear around the room."
I hold my breath. Grant never had the same subtle mix of scents as Dylan, and definitely didn’t trigger memories of amazing sex.Almostsex. God, don’t think about that. I never realised until Dylan how evocative the sense of smell is—and in this situation, my mind blanks. Harder blue eyes than earlier today meet mine.
"I’ll bear that in mind." I cringe at my husky voice and clear my throat. His mouth tips into a knowing smile.
"Jan said she’d make you some dinner. I won’t be there, don’t worry."
As he leaves, I manage to prevent myself asking him to stay. I think my mood swings are as bad as his are.
* * *
The walkfrom my room to the kitchen takes several minutes, and after a few wrong turns through half-empty rooms, I find the place. The sparseness of the house strikes me, as if this is a show-home. There’s no lived in, comfortable feel to the environment and some rooms still smell of fresh paint. Dylan must have a number of properties, especially if he lives in the States part of the time. Either that or his half-empty house is a reflection on his life.
I pull my flannel shirtsleeves over my hands, and hover in the doorway. Jan busies herself setting out plates on the large oak table, and doesn’t look up until I’m brave enough to approach.
"Sky! How are you?" She gestures to a matching oak chair across the room and I obediently sit.
"I feel weird."
Bringing a large, steaming bowl over to the table, Jan smiles sympathetically. "Weird situation."
That’s putting things mildly. I peer into the bowl. Fresh pasta in a tomato sauce, mixed with vegetables and a strong smell of herbs. She adds a second bowl containing salad. My stomach rumbles appreciatively.
