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“I don’t fucking believe this.” He manages to wrench the book from me and leafs through again. Dylan’s hand shakes too, anger shadowing his face the way our world suddenly darkened. “Some of this is from before I met you.”
“The last picture is a particularly nice one,” I say and attempt to hide the pain in my voice.
Dylan stares at the image without speaking and grips the book. “Why would she send this now?” he asks eventually.
“It’s obvious. You marrying me has flipped something.”
“Sane people don’t do this.”
Lily met me. Twice. There wasn’t anything dangerous about her, just a sad, strange girl. But the time I met her at Tara’s hospital, there were hints she still thought she held a connection to Dylan.
I tuck my hands beneath my arms, and the tea cools in mugs on the table in front of us. Dylan doesn’t look at me and attempts to rip the page again.
“Dylan!” I pull it from him, and he wipes both hands down his face.
“You shouldn’t see those pictures, Sky. Not the ones from before I knew you.”
“I said they’re evidence.” I clutch the disgusting album to my chest. “Call somebody. Anybody. Now.”
“Like who?”
“What if she’s out there?” I ask, voice rising. “Watching us.”
“She can’t be, Sky. Look, there’re no pictures of this house in here. The London place, but—”
“Apart from the last one,” I say through gritted teeth.
Dylan shakes his head. “No, Sky, don’t go there.”
“I’m won’t let this upset me, because that’s what she wants.” I breathe heavily, fighting the dizzy shock of the situation. But she has. And I thought Christmas Day was bad... “Are you going to call somebody or not?” I half yell.
“Sky, calm down.”
Bad idea. Really bloody bad idea. Those words are not sensible ones in this situation. I throw the book across the room, and it bounces off the wall, landing open at a picture of us kissing in New York.
“Do something!” I shout at him. Dylan’s eyes widen at the strength of my reaction, and he steps forward. Before he can touch me or reply, I rush from the room.
I will not cry. I will not let her win.
