Page 79 of Unstitch

‘Not sure. But Max has basically summoned him for dinner on Friday at his place.’

‘Dinner.’ She laughs. ‘Nice euphemism.’

‘Here’s hoping,’ I say, shimmying my shoulders, because the idea of getting those two guys to myself again without an epic meltdown from Dex has me all kinds of hot and bothered. ‘Oh, and he sent me this yesterday. After Max—you know—sorted him out.’

I unlock my phone and show them my message from Dex.

Gen gives a little smile. ‘Well, that’s lovely.’

‘Lovely?’ Maddy demands. ‘You should frame it. If only he’d sent it a few days ago, he’d be perfect.’

He would.

But he’s not far off.

55

DEX

How is a man to reconcile himself with a lifetime of subterfuge in four short days? To sift through the layers of denial and misrepresentation, prevarication and obfuscation, like an archaeologist searching for a rumoured needle in a historically priceless haystack?

Cataloguing feels a far too rigorous science for the countless ephemeral feelings and fleeting desires I’ve experienced and disavowed over the years. Attempting to analyse, let alone label, the messy, sometimes sickening instincts that have skittered sinfully over the edge of my consciousness would be as efficient, as helpful, as trying to catch a ghost with a net and a jar.

I suspect labelling is overrated.

Because, among all the half-truths I force myself to confront in the hours and days that follow my unthinkable coupling with Max, one truth stands proud and inviolable when I gaze at my exhausted reflection in the mirror:

I came in the perfect mouth of an exacting, magnetic man, and it was the realest moment of my life.

By Wednesday, I break and call my sister. God knows, if anyone has taught themselves to navigate the perilous waters that lie between the lands of objective truth and subjective morality, it’s Belle.

‘I really need your advice on something,’ I say, fully and guiltily aware that she’ll drop any plans she has for me. ‘Any chance you’re free tonight?’

‘Oh,’ she says, and there’s a pause. ‘There’s—could you come to the club? It’s Diamond Night. Darcy’s dancing. It’ll be amazing.’

The only part of that sentence I care about is that Darcy’s dancing. That works, as long as Max isn’t there.

Will he be there?

Shit.

‘We could have a drink in the bar first,’ she says. ‘Would that suit?’

A heart-to-heart with my sister and a chance to see Darcy. To say hi, to make amends, no matter how fleetingly, before Friday.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Thanks. That suits.’

It turns out Diamond Night at Alchemy is an excuse for the patrons to bedazzle themselves in crystals and as little fabric as possible. My sister has her shapely bump encased in a long, cream dress with diamond-encrusted straps and a slash so far up her thigh I’m amazed Rafe has let her out of his sight. In fact, I’m sure I’m the only guy in the entire club he’d let lead his pregnant wife away to a relatively quiet corner of the bar.

Which is exactly what I do once I’ve said hello to everyone. The women look sensational, I have to admit, and the amount of bling on show has me almost blinded, and Aida has persuaded Cal to wear a stretchy, sparkly headband in his floppy hair, making him look like a brunette Jack Grealish.

Maddy greets me with a huge hug and a wink as she asks if I’ve come to see Darcy, so I guess the sooner I fill Belle in, the better. I don’t want to keep my sister away from her friends or the fun, but fuck if this isn’t a big conversation to wrap up in twenty minutes.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asks as she sinks down next to me on the velvet sofa.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Look no one’s dying, but I need relationship advice—more like life advice, really.’

She visibly brightens, flicking her sheet of dark blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘Ooh, exciting! And you’ve only been back a few weeks. Nice work.’

---