shiny chrome box, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her. It’d been years since she’d seen Mark and Ed Pike, brothers and cowriters with a love of cheap Scotch, loud conversation, and thoughtless, nasty ‘opinions.’ Mark was the elder, his fringe of dark hair being rapidly swallowed by a pink bald patch, his brow permanently furrowed. Ed, the taller of the two, still had a thick head of waves, along with green eyes so bright they could stop traffic. Those eyes were the only interesting thing about him. Both men were rather average in appearance—which would be fine, if they weren’t convinced they were sex gods sent to save the planet with the power of their mighty wangs.
Rae nodded politely and attempted to scurry by. That, of course, did not fucking work.
“Hey,” Mark said, pointing a finger at her. He’d chewed his nail almost to the quick. Maybe she wasn’t the only writer who got nervous about weekends like this. “I know you. You’re… ahhhh, I know it, I know it—”
“Kevin Cummings’s missus,” Ed supplied helpfully, offering a tobacco-stained smile and a wink. “Haven’t seen you in a while, love.”
How was she supposed to reply? Should she snap, I’m not Kevin’s wife, like it was a sore spot, and receive that Oh, God, a hysterical female look? No; she should just smile and say, all cool, Actually, Kevin and I parted ways. Was that a thing normal people said about relationships? Parted ways?
Dealing with your first ever breakup at forty was a special kind of torture.
Now she’d hesitated for too long, and she knew what happened when a woman hesitated with men like these: they’d sweep up the conversation like a broom, rolling her into their pile of social dust and muck, boring her half to death. She’d lose her patience and say something rude to make them piss off, and they’d wander away muttering about Kevin’s bitchy wife. Kevin would hear about it later on and make one of those mild, detached comments he was so good at. The ones that seemed guileless but were sharper than a scythe. She would be shredded in her absence and hear about it three weeks after the fact. That was how it usually happened—and it would be even worse now they were no longer together.
Then, in the midst of her panic, she heard Zach’s voice. “Actually, Rae’s with me now.” It was the kind of statement that could’ve sounded all macho ownership, but he turned it into a friendly update, a calm, no-big-deal correction. Actually, they lowered the speed limit around here. Actually, Emily Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights. Actually, Rae’s with me now.
She officially changed her mind about everything. This weekend was going to be just fine, and their fake relationship was inspired.
“Oh,” Mark said. “It really has been a while. Alright, mate?”
Zach shifted all the luggage in a ripple of hypnotising muscle, shaking Mark’s hand, then Ed’s. She quietly fumed at the fact that no-one had shaken her hand, then remembered that giving a shit about the manners of men in general, and irritating, arrogant men in particular, was a waste of precious energy.
“So,” Ed said in that drawn-out, leading way that meant an awkward comment was forthcoming. His gaze flickered to Rae’s scars, and in that split second, she realised: it had indeed been a while. Maybe five years or more. Which meant she was about to be asked her least favourite question of all time.
With calm interest, as if this were an acceptable topic, Ed nodded at Rae and said, “That’s a corker, eh? What the hell happened to your face?”
Fighting a flare of white-hot fury, Zach spoke through gritted teeth. “What the fuck did you just say to her?”
The brothers must have heard the murder in his voice, because, all of a sudden, they looked mighty alarmed. “Woah,” Ed said, raising his hands like he was warding off a rabid animal. “Come on, mate. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
For some reason, that only made Zach angrier. Then, through a burning barrier of rage, he felt a hand against his back. Rae’s hand. Without noticing, he’d moved to stand in front of her. Her voice was like a distant song, a half-forgotten lullaby in the back of his mind.
“Zach. It’s fine.”
No, it fucking wasn’t, but he heard the warning beneath her words. He breathed in deep. Exhaled. Then he stepped aside and shut his furious mouth, which was a good idea because his teeth felt like