Again with the delusions. I note the transatlantic twang she’s acquired since she started spending time with the rich and useless, and women who live by the outmoded maxim that you can never be too rich or too thin.
‘When have I ever given a damn how much time you spend out of Monaco with your stupid friends?’ As for the credit card, yes. We’ve had arguments about her spending. The woman has a problem, and it’s not the usual sort for a woman of her station; exercise, plastic surgery, champagne, or cocaine. She’s addicted to shopping; addicted to impressing her so-called friends. ‘We knew this would end sometime. Quite frankly, I’m surprised we’ve managed this long.’
‘This is about her, isn’t it? The heavy girl in the office.’
I stare back, my expression blank. My answer, when it comes, is of a delivery so cold, it makes her visibly flinch. ‘When have I ever involved you in my private life?’
‘Remy, you and I, we’re the same.’ A change of tone and a change of tact; her expression desolate, her tone needy. Amélie is the type of person able to convince herself of anything, and if she’s convinced, she assumes the rest of the world is, too. ‘You need me, and I need you.’
‘You need me to bankroll you, perhaps. But not in your life. And not in your bed. I hear that’s reserved for someone in a boy band these days. I hope he’s legal.’
She reacts to my words like a slap, but I neither wonder nor care who she’s fucking. Our arrangement was we live our own lives; discretion the key to our union.
The kind of discretion that led me not to tell Rose the truth? Not even I can use this as an excuse because it was greed and hubris. The need not to be caught out. I acknowledge the thought, but don’t accept it for how things are now. The way I feel about Rose bears no relation to the way I’d felt about her before. Yes, I wanted to possess her, and now I know why. Because I love her. Yes, I love her. And it has taken this fuckup for me to realise. I think before, it was a little like being in front of something so large I couldn’t really see it.
‘N’importe quoi,’ Amélie spits—whatever—throwing down the scrap of silk that I assume is a dress. ‘You need me to keep you away from gold-digging whores—women who are only interested in your money!’
I’m not sure how she can’t see the similarities. Perhaps a professional gold-digging whore might cost less than her. While Rose might cost me everything. But I no longer care. Seeing her so upset, so angry . . . tore me apart. Watching her leave the office so pale and so despondent, yet knowing if I followed her, I’d be playing into Amélie’s hands. It’s time it all came to an end. I’m not proud of my mistakes. Of hurting her and of thinking I could somehow make this right without her ever knowing.
Amélie stomps around the room, muttering insults to my parentage as I consider how different the two women are. Contrary to current appearances, Amélie is cold. She cares for nothing and no one but herself. Rose, by contrast, is full of vitality, and though it’s a cliché, she truly has a heart of gold. While Amélie behaves like an overgrown child threatened with the removal of her most useful possession, Rose behaves like a woman who has had her heart broken.
Her. Heart. Broken. Which means she loves me. Which means I have a chance—I can make her heart whole again.
‘There will be a settlement, as we agreed in the beginning. You can use the house for the rest of the year and keep the credit card.’ For now, at least. With a cast-iron spending limit.
‘I am not moving out,’ she replies with the hauteur of a duchess. ‘I have spent time and money renovating this old place. And for what? So you can move your fat little girlfriend in?’
‘Carry on,’ I answer blithely. ‘I had forgotten how ridiculous you are. And yes, you spent money, lots of my money while an army of decorators spent months catering to your every whim. Where were you again? Gstaad, Milan, and God only knows where else. The settlement will include an apartment. There’s no need to worry about returning to your parents.’
Her expression hardens. She knows this isn’t what her father planned. He may