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I snap my attention to him. “What isyourproblem? You get territorial over me at dinner, even though it’s clear where we stand. You don’t say goodbye when you leave. You avoid me by not coming into the office for two weeks – only sending me stupid fucking emails! Then you come into the office to brag about fucking a client to sign her! Andyouare askingmewhat the problem is? You’re so hot and cold with me, and I’m over it!”
I have to catch my breath at the end of my rant. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, or maybe that is the blood rushing to my brain.
“You think I’ve been avoiding you?” He sounds surprised at my accusation.
“Yeah. Why though? What is the problem? If you want to end it—”
He stops me mid-sentence. “I haven’t been avoiding you.” He sits on the edge of my desk and holds my attention with his stare. “I acted like a dickhead at the table, and it was unfair of me to get territorial. We both agreed to casual sex, but I hated the thought of you letting him touch you. I had no right, but it doesn’t change how I feel about it. I want your body to myself.”
His words affirm what I already know – this is only physical to him. Instead of opening a can of worms I’m not ready for, I funnel my rage in a different direction.
“Don’t you see the double standards? You can screw who you want, but I’m supposed to stay loyal to a relationship that doesn’t exist?”
The amused smile on his face irritates me. “I didn’t sleep with Skye. I wasn’t even with her these two weeks.”
I try to make sense of a puzzle that is missing pieces. “Where have you been?”
I feel anxious at the look of uncertainty on his face.
“I’ve been looking for your father.”
17
Thereisanorganisedchaos to the mess sprayed across the kitchen island. Magazines are stacked in categories on one side, and the other has strips of card with a range of nude shades.
Emery hums as she returns to the kitchen with an easel and a blank whiteboard.
“What are you doing?”
She jumps at my voice and holds her hand to her chest. “I didn’t see you there! Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. What are you doing?”
Her eyes widen excitedly like a child with free reign in a candy store. “I’m starting to decorate the nursery.”
I want to remind her that we are only ten weeks in, but remember that she has been waiting her whole life for this moment. Instead of bursting her bubble, I sit at the island and steal a few of her cookies.
“What theme are you going for?”
She pulls her hair into a bun and pulls off her jumper, leaving her in a t-shirt and cargos. She looksnormalfor once.
“I don’t know yet. Because the gender is a surprise, I was thinking neutral.”
Big surprise there.The entire house is white and bland.
“You can have gender-neutral colours without itbeingneutral. How about a zoo theme with pastels?”
Her mouth drops open in shock, but I don’t know if it is a good thing.
“I don’t know,” I throw in, fearing I’ve overstepped. “What does Xavier think?”
Since that conversation in her secret room, she doesn’t hide her bitterness towards her husband. Her nostrils flare, and she diverts her gaze. “He doesn’t care. It’s all on me.”
That wave of sympathy comes over me again. She’s not perfect, but every woman daydreams about decorating the nursery with her husband. She imagines rubbing her growing belly while her husband trials a multitude of colours until she finds the perfect one. He would wrap his arms around her bump and kiss her cheek when the walls were painted and the furniture built.
But Emery doesn’t have that.
I try to cheer her up. “His ideas probably suck anyways. I’ll help you. If you want?”
