Page 40 of Resisting Mr Black

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” I force a reassuring smile, even though I’m not sure that I will.

I reach up on tip toes and peck him on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me stay last night. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Yes. Of course,” Mark says, without the slightest enthusiasm.

There’s definitely something going on between him and Lucy and it’s not good.

As Mark climbs into the car, I draw in a deep breath and cross the road.

Art’s staring down at the ground and lifts his head when I approach. “Please, get in the car.” His tone is firm and warning me not to challenge him.

My hackles rise at the demand. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

I fold my arms. He can’t have everything his way.

Anger flashes in his eyes. “Don’t push me. Please get in the car.”

His voice hardens. I haven’t seen this pissed-off side to him before and it’s bringing out my defiant streak.

“You can’t order me around.”

His jaw twitches with tension. “I want you to get out of the middle of the road, so you don’t get run over. Please get in the car, so we can talk.”

He’s got a point about standing in the middle of the road. It’s fairly busy. I glance up and down the street as if deciding what to do, then slowly make my way round to the passenger side. Lucy is hovering on the doorstep, watching the scene unfold and I give her a reassuring wave as I climb into the car.

He gets in and slams the door as Mark reverses off the drive and pulls away down the road. “Why did you kiss him?” he asks, watching him drive away.

The question throws me. I can’t help myself. “That’s what you do withyourgirlfriend isn’t?”

“Don’t,” he warns.

“Don’t what? What’s your fucking problem?” I snap.

“I don’t like seeing you with other guys.”

I frown at the sheer ridiculousness of his statement. “Mark is Lucy’s fiancé. They’re getting married very soon. Are you seriously going to sit here and lecture me on “other guys”?”

The scowl returns to his face as the car engine roars into life, and we pull away.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going home. And we’re going to talk.”

Eleven

The rest of the journey is carried out in ominous, painful silence. I stare out of the window for the entire journey, unable to look at Art, seething from his double standards and comment about Mark.

The car grinds to a halt and I stare up at the Georgian apartment block.

“This isn’t my home.”

“No, it’s mine. Please, come inside, so we can talk about this properly.” His voice has taken on a softer quality.

He might have calmed down, but I haven’t. I peer up at the red brick building shuffling through my feelings. I suppose I should be an adult about this. I want him to give me answers and the only way I’m going to get them is by talking to him.

He grabs my hand, gripping it tight as we cross the pavement and stride up the steps to the entrance.

We come to an abrupt stop at the concierge desk.

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