30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,4

she insisted.

“Really? I think we should hear Soph’s news first. Why don’t you read the menu and get your order ready?” I placed both of my hands under my chin and stared into Sophie’s baby blue eyes. God, they sparkle.

“Okay. So you know how Rodger and I moved in together last year?”

How could I have forgotten? I mean, we were gifted a month of social media updates on Chatterbox about every little thing those two did while sharing a new home. I’m instantly annoyed, picturing all their stupid deco photos. Seriously. Who posts pictures of yellow cushions? Nobody cared, Sophie.

Realising I’d drifted away from the conversation at hand, I tried hard to focus.

“Well …” She drew out whatever she so desperately wanted to tell me. “Yesterday morning … on the beach right across the road, Rodger got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.” She threw her hand out into the middle of the table. I cringed. A shiny diamond sparkled under the lights and I felt as though I’d been punched in the guts.

Ange and Sammy squealed with congratulations. So fake. Who were they trying to fool? They knew about this already. Fuck. I feared I turned whiter than old Ginger’s legs sat beside me. Why do people try to be happy? Happiness didn’t exist. It was an illusion we created for ourselves. It’s wasn’t real. Neither was love. Love equalled a heap of bullshit.

I wanted to scream “He’s going to destroy you” but instead I smiled and muttered the words, “That’s great. Congrats.”

Double fuck!

The room shrunk like heated clingwrap around my face, and steam rushed through my limbs. “Is it hot in here?”

Nobody replied.

“Seriously, is it steaming hot in here?” My body was heating up as each millisecond passed.

“No, it’s actually a little nippy with this air conditioning,” Ange finally stated.

What was happening?

Sammy must have seen the distress on my face. She excused us quickly and pulled my arm, dragging me into the restrooms. “You’ve gone so pale. It’s going to be all right. I knew this would happen. I knew it.”

Concern wrinkled the corners of Sammy’s eyes. With each passing second, the restroom blurred.

“Abi, talk to me, please?”

I opened my mouth, but no words come out. I lowered to the floor.

“Oh, crap.”

I reached out my hand and latched firmly onto her arm.

Sammy crouched beside me.

Without warning, I burst into tears.

The worst part of it all? I never figured out why I was crying.

***

“We’re here.” Mum sounds so far away. “Petal, we’re here.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble, snapping out of my thoughts, glaring out the car window at the three-storey monstrosity in front of me. Trish comes from money, a lot of money. She’s also marrying into wealth. Her dad is a big-time solicitor, her mum a paediatrician, and she grew up to be an interior designer. Stuart, her soon-to-be husband, is some fancy architect. They’re nice people, yet I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be home in bed.

“Well, are you going in?” Mum asks.

I don’t want to. I don’t have a choice. I can’t avoid my friends for too much longer. They already think I’m a nutjob with no hope, I’m sure of it. “Sure.”

“Be safe, okay?” She brushes her blonde bangs away from her eyes.

I nod, before opening the car door.

“Please don’t drink too much.”

I give her a thumbs up as my feet hit the pavement, then I seal her in the car and walk away.

Mum drives back down the long driveway, and I stand watching until the lights of the Gecko are gone. Throwing my head back, I scan the sky. The moon is full, yet dull. How I wish I could climb up and perch myself upon it. Even with its doom and gloom, it still looks like a much happier place to live than here. If only.

“Abigail, what are you doing standing out there?”

Trish. Here goes nothing.

I grit my teeth before turning towards the door. “Hi, how are you?” I fake happiness as Trish stalks forward with outstretched arms.

“I’m good, darling. I’m so glad you could make it. Come in.” She hugs me, her long dress silky against my inner arm as we embrace, then she steps inside. “Well … come in,” she orders when I pause.

“Sure thing. How’s Stuart?” I mutter in an attempt to start conversation.

“Good. He’s up on the terrace, second level. Everybody is there, actually. I’m just going to grab some more wine from the cellar. I won’t be long.” She leaves briskly. I’m not sure