Page 44 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘The biggest.’

‘Do you want me to come?’ he asks, serious now.

‘Ido…’

‘But?’

‘I’ll be working, and this case has already taken an unexpected turn. It will be full-on tonight.’

‘Anything like that party in Poros?’ We chuckle softly, sharing the joke. Poros was where Vittoria, an Italian contessa, who was supposed to be a potential fake wife for Tristan, propositioned him. This was while I was fending off advances from her creepy friend. Tristan and I ended up swapping cabins on her yacht for the night, so when she showed up to seduce him, she actually crawled into bed with me. The situation became even more absurd from there.

‘Likely as intense, but this time, I’m attempting to unite the couple, not keep them apart.’

‘Yours is an odd job,’ he says, his eyes radiating mirth.

‘Tell me about you,’ I say, changing tack.

He laughs. ‘I will not bore you with the details.’

‘What have you been doing without me?’ I ask, fishing. I’ve only been gone five nights – tonight’s the sixth – but I’ve missed him too. This is the longest we’ve been apart since we got married.

‘Pining,’ he responds.

‘Good,’ I retort. His mouth quirks, his eyes narrowing in a way that sends a lightning bolt between my legs.

‘If you keep looking at me like that…’ He trails off, his stare intensifying.

‘Should we?’ I ask.

‘I’ve sort of already started.’

I gasp at the thought of what my husband is doing off-camera.

‘Thank goodness it’s the weekend,’ I tease. ‘Definitely not suitable workplace behaviour.’

‘Are you joining me?’

‘I’ve sort of already started,’ I parrot.

He grins at me lasciviously, and we stop talking, our eyes locked.

‘Sorry! I fell asleep and…’ I shrug, hoping the Bliss sisters will forgive my tardiness.

After Tristan and I enjoyed some ‘long-distance relations’, I did fall asleep, waking with a start only twenty minutes ago. And knowing I was going to one of the biggest fashion parties on the calendar, I hope I’ve done a decent enough job of getting ready in record time.

‘You’re only a few minutes late,’ says Cassie, ‘and you look fantastic.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ I look down at my outfit – black cigarette trousers, a sleeveless silk blouse with a pussy bow, and Tristan’s tuxedo jacket. I’m carrying a diamante-encrusted clutch and wearing my one pair of stilettos –model’s own, a magazine would put in the caption. Everything else was procured or borrowed post-makeover. Before then, I couldn’t have told you the difference between a pussy bow and a pussy cat. I’ve also leant into my bedhead hair, parting it low on the right and zhuzhing it to look deliberately messy. I added a cat eye and a red lip andvoilà!

Elle smiles at me, but she seems miffed. Or maybe she’s just worried about the party. It’s a big night for her professionally – a chance to schmooze with the who’s who of fashion – and we allknow that Leo will be there. Based on what he said at the end of his show, he’s going to seek her out.

‘Oh, sorry!’ I say, realising that I have (rudely) not repaid the compliment. ‘You both look incredible. That,’ I say, pointing to Elle’s outfit, a mix of pieces from her current collection, which have been altered to fit her petite frame perfectly, ‘looks amazing on you. And Cassie, my mum woulddiefor that outfit!’

‘What?’ say the sisters in unison.

‘Oh my god. No, not like that. Sorry!’ I shake my head at myself. ‘I just mean that my mumlovesmovies from the thirties and forties – all those sassy women. I practically grew up on those films – that’s why I love your collection so much, Elle. And Cassie, you look like a film star from the 1940s – that’s all I meant…’

They’re smirking at me now, clearly enjoying watching me dig myself out of this hole.

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