Reece raised his scotch. “To retirement. Lucky bastard. Wouldn’t mind a life of leisure with that little jewel. You’re a lucky man, Jay.”
I choked down my distaste. “Just call me Mr Lucky.”
Reece’s toast interrupted his wife’s monologue, and both Kate and April’s attention speared in my direction. April raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “What was that?”
He shot her a smile. “Jay was just gloating, telling me how lucky he is to have you.”
That grin again, the one I’d believed all through our engagement. It punched me in the gut so hard I could’ve retched.
“Oh, baby. I’m lucky to have you too.”
She leaned in close enough to brush her lips against the stubble I’d refused to shave for her, soft fingers twisting in the dark tangle of hair I’d refused to have cut. She lingered too long, even for her, and I groaned inside as I saw the official photographer catch us in his crosshairs. I used the opportunity to whisper in her ear.
“I’ve done about as much of this as I can take.”
“Veronica Ashdown’s still here. We’ll go when she goes.”
“Veronica Ashdown’s a fucking alcoholic; she’ll be here until the bar runs dry.”
“Then so shall we.” She disguised the hiss of her words with another doting stroke of my arm.
“I’ve got training in the morning.”
“Doesn’t seem to bother you any other night,” she breathed. “I checked out your phone bills earlier. You’ve become quite the fucking night owl.”
She pulled me in for a kiss to smokescreen our conversation, and I used the opportunity to jam my tongue in her bitchy little mouth. I felt her stiffen, her nails like claws on my knee under the table. It made me laugh inside.
“I can’t wait to get you home, Mrs Redfern,” I lied, loudly.
Kate leaned over, swatting Reece on the elbow. “Aww, did you hear that, Ree? I dunno how they keep it so alive. Take him home, April, I think the man wants a bit of quality time with his lovely wife.” Her laugh grated like razorblades, it was high-pitched and bouncy. Perfect for the weather channel.
“Lucky bastard, get on home with you!” Reece joined in. “We won’t mind, party’s nearly done, anyway.”
“We don’t need to leave yet...” April began, but I talked over her.
“Yes, sweetpea, let’s go. Now. Home’s calling.”
She was in a predicament, squeezed tight between two social disasters. To stay and try and schmooze with Veronica Ashdown, brushing off the comments about our flourishing sex life, or leaving the party early to cement our perfect illusion.
“I’ll just nip to the ladies, then.”
Win!
I checked my phone. Just gone midnight. Lucy rarely works a Sunday, but I’d be home to try her anyway.
Only, I wasn’t. April reappeared from the bathroom arm in arm with Veronica Ashdown, escape shafted.
Fuck the shitty gala, and the sponsorship deals, and the morning fucking training session. Fuck my worthless fucking marriage and my big fucking house in the Surrey fucking countryside. Fuck the mineral water too. I ordered a scotch, and I made it a fucking double.
***
Lucy was surprised to hear from me. I could feel it in her voice. Veronica Ashdown had been jabbering on at our table until gone 2:30 a.m., stupid drunk socialite bitch, and now, at gone half three, I was tipsy on scotch and fucked for training in the morning. Still I’d dialled Lucy’s number.
“I was about to give up on you,” she rasped. She was in bed, I could tell. Her voice is so much softer when she’s in bed. I often wondered who she shared her place with, who she was considerate of waking up. A boyfriend, maybe? A husband? 2.4 kids in the room next door? The thought of her having someone made me both jealous and horny at the same time. That combination always gets me going.
“I was out. Late getting back.”
“Somewhere nice?”
“Not really, no.” I sighed, laying back on my stack of pillows. There was an ocean of space between my room and April’s, enough that I didn’t need to worry about lowering my voice. Unless she was snooping, but I was past caring. “Tell me about your day, Lucy, make me smile.”
Her voice was so warm, so unrestrained. “I took up a new class today. Pole fitness.”
“Pole dancing?” I slid my hand under the duvet.
“Not exactly, but I think I’ll be able to use the skills...”
“I’d love to see you grinding that sweet little slit against the pole for me.”