Page 40 of Lovers in Lockdown

My hands clench into fists, heat rising in my cheeks and tears tingling in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall in front of him. I’ve already given too much away, let my resolve slip too low, showed him my deck of cards and let him play the ace.

But he won’t win the hand.

Not again.

‘Honey -’ Noah starts, his voice softer, the edge in it gone, but I’m not interested in what he has to say.

He’s said enough.

It’s all a game, I get it now.

I push past him, running to the bedroom and finally allow the tears to fall. Not because I’m hurt, I’m not, I’ve felt rejection before, it’s a feeling I’m all too used to. But because I let myself down and that’s something Ineverdo. I was weak.

But it won’t happen again.

Never again.

I need to woman up, throw on my big girl pants and stop hiding in the bedroom. This is my home for the next few months, godammit, and I have a right to treat it as such.

So, from this moment forward, there will be no more hiding, no more eating soggy toast and certainly no more lapses of control. I will show Noah that he doesn’t faze me and if he comes for me again, then I will be prepared.

I shake myself off, slap myself round the face several times in a bid to get my shit together and throw on a pair of clean pyjamas. No point dressing up when I’m not going anywhere. May as well be comfortable.

Plastering on a brave face and preparing to join Noah in the living room, something on top of my chest of draws catches my eye.

The colour drains from my face as the thing comes in to focus. A plate of pancakes, fruit and bacon laid out in the shape of a smiley face.

Noah’s been in the room.

The same room as the canvas upon which is painted a very immodest portrait of the man himself.

Holy sweet Moses.

When will the humiliation end?

My body physically can not take any more. I will genuinely suffer a coronary aneurysm if I have to endure any further embarrassment, especially if said embarrassment involves Noah going anywhere near that painting.

If he’s seen it, it wouldendme.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Noah

‘Noah!’

Honey’s voice pierces through the air, my eardrums nearly bursting from the sheer pitch of it. She rounds the corner, skidding like a drifting car, her face purple and steam billowing from her ears. Her urgency is palpable.

What the -

‘This.’ She slams a plate down on the table in front of me. ‘What thefuckis this?’

Well, shit.

Her breakfast.

Like the fucking prize idiot I am, I obviously forgot to grab it when I hightailed it out of her room earlier.

And I totally get that she’s pissed I was in her room, but I put a lot of effort into making that for her and, if you ask me, she could do with being a bit more grateful about it. Because she’s looking at it with such disgust, it’s like I’ve prepared her a plate contaminated with a host of infectious diseases.

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