Page 63 of Shame

She points toThe Sexiest StudentandTheir Secret, Younger Lover. “On our trip to London last year. At the used bookstore.”

“I don’t remember.” There’s so much about the last three years that are a fog to me.

“You bought a biography of Winston Churchill.” She tips her head to the side. “And then we went to a pub, and you asked me what I bought, but I changed the subject.”

Nothing. “Was that the same day we went on the Eye?”

“The day after that. You’d had meetings that morning, remember?”

I swear under my breath. “No.”

“It’s okay.” She gives me a small smile that saysno, it isn’t, but that’s Grace. Endlessly forgiving of the mess I’ve made of my life. Our life.

“I want to remember,” I say hoarsely. “Tell me more.”

“I dragged you to the Notting Hill market first. We paid too much for a print of a painting…” She cranes her neck, looking at the top of the closet on my side. “It’s up there, I think.”

I follow her gaze and see an edge of plastic at the top of the shelf. I reach up and grab it.

There are actually two prints there, and she gasps when she sees the other one.

I don’t recognize it. But I do remember the one from London. “This…I remember you wanted this, and I…” I trail off. She’d wanted it, and I’d said it was ugly. She’d pouted and I’d given in, but I’d hurt her feelings. “I was rude.”

She nods. Her eyes are wet, welling with tears, and I feel impotent—a real, brutal, deep-down sense of not being enough. It’s a million times worse than my dick being lazy sometimes.

“Let’s frame it,” I say gently. “Please. I want to. I remember that morning. My meetings. The coffee we got before we walked through the market. That was a great morning.”

“It was,” she whispers. “Until that conversation about the painting. I bought it anyway, out of spite, but then you checked out. And you don’t remember the rest of the day, which—” She drags in a ragged breath. “Well, I guess I understand that now. But I don’t like it, you know?”

“Yeah.”

She gives me a grim smile and packs her books away.

I look at the other print. It’s a coast at sunset. Similar colours to the English painting, but wilder. “What is this from?”

“I bought that for you on my work trip to San Francisco.” She sighs and stands up, pushing past me. “I gave it to you when I got back. I’m pretty sure you don’t remember that, either.”

I don’t.

I’m starting to realize there’s a lot from the last three years that I don’t remember, and that’s really disturbing.

I can’t stand what Idoremember. What the fuck is going to happen when I realize just how truly awful I’ve been to the most important person in my entire world?

“We’ll figure it out together.” She brushes her fingertips over my mouth, and I realize I asked that question out loud. “I think it’s time you come home.”

27

Grace

That night,he doesn’t leave. We don’t fool around, he just holds me as we fall asleep, and it’s wonderful.

When I left Javi’s hotel room, I was sure I just wasn’t ready to have sex again, period, and there’s still a part of me that thinks that might be true. I think that I hate how much I love the touch of Luke’s skin against mine. How right that feels even after all the damage.

But the next day, I stop at a drugstore just in case and get a box of condoms. I tuck them into my underwear drawer, and there they sit, a ticking time bomb of dirty potential.

We make fresh spring rolls together for dinner, and it’s just as flirty as the night before.

After dinner, as we’re tidying the kitchen, I tap his hip to nudge him out of the way, and get a little too much front-of-the-jeans territory to be a polite nudge.

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