After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,40
afterwards? Because I can manage that with a great deal of enjoyment.”
“Not exactly. It’s just that you’ll be near Max, and I wondered—”
“Oh my God.” I throw my hands in the air. “I knew it. Are you aware, Zeb, that most people don’t see their actual current partners as much as I’m landed with seeing my ex?”
“I know,” he protests. “But it would help me out so much. We went in on a house together, and I’ve got some papers that need to be signed and witnessed. I waited for him to come up to London, but he’s ensconced himself at his house lately and won’t budge. He’s also not answering his phone.”
“I did notice a lovely, quiet, Max-sized gap in my life. I might have known it was too late to relish the sensation,” I snipe, but there’s no real heat in my voice.
He smiles, looking relieved. “He’s writing,” he says as if that explains everything. And it sort of does with Max. “If you could stop in, I’d be so grateful. He lives in Chipping Camden, which is just up the road from where you’re staying. You and Andrew could witness the papers, and then I can get on with—”
“How grateful will you be?” I say abruptly, stopping his flood of words dead.
“Oh well, erm.” He looks slightly nervous.
I eye him and run my finger over the desk surface. “You know a favour like this is of a huge magnitude. I mean, introducing your current lover to the old one is really awkward.”
“What do you want?” he says in a resigned voice.
“I need the cabinets in my kitchen painted, and then some new tiles put up. Oh, and I’ve got a work surface that needs fitting too.”
“So, in fact, you practically need a new kitchen fitted?” I offer him a limpid gaze, and he rolls his eyes. “They should employ you in Brexit trade negotiations.”
“I’m much too important for that.”
“Okay.” He sighs. “You strike a fucking hard bargain. I’ll just go up to the flat and get the papers.”
When he’s gone, I scrub my hands through my hair and sigh. This sort of thing has happened a lot in the two and a half years since Max and I split up. Most men, when they leave their lover because he’s in love with another man, would expect never to see him again. When I left him passed out on that bed, I really thought that would be the last I saw of him.
And for a whole month that was the case. Complete radio silence. Then he turned up again. My mind tries to shy away from the memory of that meeting. It was painful in a way I don’t like to remember, but I can’t help it.
I see him as I walk along the towpath to the boat. At first, he’s just a dark shadow, and I jerk back in caution, but then the light falls on his face, and I stiffen.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, proud of my cold, even tone. I’m less proud of the way my eyes must be visibly eating him up, but one out of two isn’t bad.
He’s dressed in jeans and a grey jumper, the outfit looking as expensive as ever, but something seems off about him. He’s thinner, the hollows in his cheeks visible, and his eyes have dark circles under them.
Must be terrible to know the love of your life is happily married to someone else, I think savagely.
I try to feel sympathy, but I can’t manage it because I’m still angry. I’m so mad at him, and it’s intensified because I know I shouldn’t really be. Yes, he didn’t tell me the truth about Ivo, but why should he? We were only shagging, and he was very careful never to give me anything else. He never led me on. It was his natural kindness and charm that snuck under my walls, and it isn’t his fault that I mistook it for something else.
My mental pep talk doesn’t do any good because I’m utterly embarrassed at the way I misinterpreted everything. Embarrassment mixed with the anger creates bad results. All I want to do is punch him.
“I wanted to see you,” he says, coming closer.
I inhale the sweet, warm scent of sandalwood and close my eyes involuntarily. When I open them, he’s staring hungrily at me. If he were anyone else, I’d say he looks desperately glad to see me. However, it’s Max, so my body language antennae