it anyway, because it’s only by being open that I get to keep him.
His voice softens. “Sweetheart, you’re everything to me. I fell in love with you. It’s a coincidence that it happened while I was working for you. I’d have loved you even if we met in a supermarket or a book club, and I would never do anything to jeopardise that. You do know that, don’t you?”
I feel the anger leave me, and I sigh heavily. “I do know that, Dylan. I’m so sorry. I hate that for a second I sounded like him.”
“You don’t sound anything like him. You’re not jealous normally. I don’t know why, but Grant really seems to wind you up.”
“Because he wants you, and he’s unscrupulous enough to do anything to get you. You should have seen him at your Christmas party and the way he sneered at me. Well, he can fuck off and get his own man. I got you, and I’m bloody well keeping you.”
“How I do love being equated with a bone between two dogs.”
“He can keep his hands off your bone as well,” I snap, and then reluctantly smile as I hear his husky, warm laughter. “I really am sorry,” I say softly. “I never want you to feel guilty about working late. It would be a bit hypocritical of me after I lived in my office for so long. You should pay attention to your career. You’re very good at what you do. It’s just that—”
“You don’t like him,” he finishes.
I shake my head, forgetting that he can’t see me. “No, I don’t. And I’m just a bit disappointed about cancelling the meal tonight.”
He launches into a coughing fit, and I frown as I listen to him. He doesn’t sound right. “I know, Gabe, and I’m curious as to why. It’s not like you to get so hyper over something so inconsequential.”
I shoot a look at the ring box sitting neatly on the desk. “No reason. Just missing you.”
“Well, I’ll be home as soon as I can, and, for fuck’s sake, get over the Grant business. He’s nothing. Fuck, if you could see the two of you together, you wouldn’t have any fears at all.”
“I love you,” I say quickly, and I can feel his wide smile even down the phone.
“I love you too, sweetheart, so much,” he says hoarsely.
“Don’t work too late, and take a Lemsip, or whatever that yellow shit is that you’re always trying to force me to drink. Your voice sounds terrible.”
He blows me a kiss down the phone, and then he’s gone.
I sigh and reach out and open the box. Inside are two platinum wedding bands. Inside his, I’ve had Thoreau’s quote engraved: Any fool can make a rule, and any fool will mind it. Inside mine are the words, Rules are made to be broken.
I’ve been carrying them around for months now, waiting for the perfect time. I’d considered asking him at Christmas, but I’d bought the house. I could almost predict the almighty explosion if he thought I’d spent even more money on him. Then I’d thought of New Year’s Eve, but it had never seemed like the right time. I wanted it to be right, and I wanted it to mean something to both of us.
I shut the box. Maybe it’s for the best that he’s cancelled tonight’s meal. I know him better than I know myself, and he has an absolute hatred of overblown and extravagant gestures. They’re not him, and they make him wince when others do it. I remember the look of horror on his face when a man in the park proposed to his girlfriend with an overhead plane flying the proposal message on a banner. I try to picture what message I’d send, but the sentiment gets overloaded with snark and sass and then turns sexual. I shake my head and pull my work towards me.
Later that evening, I sit morosely at the kitchen table, surrounded by the detritus of a Chinese takeaway and the work I brought home with me. Charlie is curled up in his basket, which I’ve dragged next to the table so he’s sitting with me. He likes company as he’s a sociable little bugger, and I like to sit with my foot resting against his basket, feeling his warmth on my toes.
I look up at the clock and grunt. It’s ten o’ fucking clock. Where the hell is he? Visions of him being wined and dined by that turd