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“Of course not.” I finish off the whisky in my glass. “I do need to discuss it with her, though. And I guess where we go from there depends on her reaction.”
“Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t want to talk.”
“I don’t expect her to give me details. But we talk about everything else. And something like that… it’s important to me that she feels she can talk to me.”
He nods.
We sit in silence for a moment. My mind is whirling. I hadn’t realized until now how worried I was that he would react badly to finding out about us. But he doesn’t mind. I don’t have to sacrifice my friendship or my business relationship to be with Belle.
It should fill me with joy, but the news overrides any pleasure I might feel. It physically hurts to think of what the beautiful, gentle Belle has been through, both with Tom and Cole. I wish she were here. But I can’t talk to her about it on the phone. She’ll be back at the weekend, and I’ll have to bring it up then.
“Sorry,” Alex says. “I can only imagine how hard it is for you to hear that.”
“It makes me feel sick,” I admit. “Fucking bastard.”
“Get in line. I’ve wanted to take a flamethrower to him for years.” He stares moodily into his empty glass.
“You in any hurry to leave?” I ask. When he shakes his head, I pick up the bottle. He leans forward, offering his glass, and I pour both of us a generous measure.
He stretches out his legs, puts his feet on the coffee table, and slides down so his head is resting on the back of the armchair. I do the same, making myself comfortable.
He lifts his glass. “To wives and mistresses.”
“May they never meet.”
It’s a toast we used to give while we were at university. We thought it was hilarious back then. Now, we can barely raise a smile.
“To the women we know and love,” I offer instead.
“I’ll drink to that.”
We lift our glasses, and drink.
I cough, then say, “I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Tell me if you think I’m being an idiot.”
“You’re being an idiot.”
I give him a wry look, then proceed to tell him my plan.
Chapter Thirty-One
Belle
My plane lands in Wellington mid-afternoon, and I disembark with a spring in my step, thrilled to finally be home.
It’s not been a terrible eight weeks at all. The law firm I was working for was close to the harbor, and big enough to be impressive, but small enough to make me feel like a valued member of the team. I learned a lot about practicing law, which, like most professions I guess, is vastly different from studying it in books, and I met a lot of people and made plenty of contacts.
The biggest thing to come out of it, though, was that just yesterday, Margaret Bellingham, one of the senior partners, offered me a full-time job when I graduate. I know she’s a friend of Mum’s, and that Mum no doubt had a hand in that, but even so, I’m hopeful that I made a good enough impression so that it was an easy decision for Margaret to make.
Whether I take it… well, that’s a whole other question. I asked her for a few days to think about it, and she said yes.
As I walk through the airport to the exit, my stomach flutters. Damon has come to pick me up. It’s only been a week since we were together, but I can’t wait to see him again. When I first went away, I thought maybe he’d realize while we were apart that his feelings for me weren’t as strong as he thought they were, but he’s come to see me most weekends in Sydney, and our relationship has gone from great to amazing over the past eight weeks. I don’t know whether we’ll talk about it tonight, but I know there’s a conversation coming about our future together. I can’t yet call how it’s going to go, but bubbles of excitement and nerves rise inside me as I think about it.
