Page 68 of The Invitation

“At a spa.” Truth.

“Where?”

“In Oxfordshire.” Truth.

“Oxfordshire? Isn’t that where you went with the girls on your birthday? Why go all the way to Oxfordshire? We have endless lovely spas around here.”

Because the sinfully handsome creature I’ve unexpectedly met brought me here.“Mum,” I say softly, with only a little warning, reminding herthat I’m a thirty-year-old woman and I do not need to explain myself to my parents. “You have proof of life. I’m fine, trust me.”

She huffs, indignant. “Fine. I have to go. Are you still visiting tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there at noon.”

“Good.” She hangs up without so much as a goodbye, which is a solid indication that I’ve upset her. I shouldn’t have to hide anything. To my own point, I’m a grown woman. And yet, as per my previous thought, I don’t know what this is. Feeling a little deflated and not so relaxed, I send Abbie a voice message giving her a condensed version of how that went. She might want to carry on avoiding my mother for the time being.

I get up to put my phone away, stalling when a picture message pops up from Dad. I smile and open it, smiling wider when an image of him in a fine suit appears, a tailor bent down beside him pinning the seam of his jacket. I swipe through a few more images of my brother in his suit too, a beer in his hand as adjustments are made to his trousers. When I reach the final picture, my smile drops. “Why, Dad?” I blurt, staring at an image of Nick giving the camera a thumbs-up. I quickly call Clark. “Why is Nick there?” I ask as soon as he answers.

“How do you know?”

“Because Dad just sent me a picture.”

“Oh.”

“I—” I still, thinking. “Oh my God,” I breathe. “He’s still an usher?”

“What did you want me to do?” Clark whispers. “You broke up with him, Amelia. I couldn’t kick him in the stomach too.”

I drop my head back, looking at the ceiling in despair. “Oh God, Clark,” I cry, hearing myself. Whiny. “You said you’d tell him.” I can’t spend a whole day at my brother’s wedding avoiding my ex. I want to celebrate, not hide.

“I will,” he says. “In the meantime, he’s getting fitted for a suit.”

“Jesus Christ.” I slap a hand on my forehead, wondering if I should man up and take the responsibility off Clark. After all, I split up withNick, not him. But Clark offered, and I gratefully accepted, keen not to be the one to hurt Nick again. I don’t think my brother thought it through. You’d think Nick would step up and step back.

No, because he’s still hoping.

“Where are you?” Clark asks.

“Trying to de-stress.” What a joke. The door behind me opens and Anouska appears. “I’ve got to go. Try not to ask my ex to be godfather to your firstborn, please.”

“Very funny.”

“Steam room time,” Anouska sings when I hang up.

“What?”

She looks down at her clipboard. “Four o’clock, steam room.”

I don’t know whether to dread it or fling my bikini on and race there. “Steam room,” I say to myself, my loose muscles suddenly tightening again. “Okay, steam room.” I throw my mobile into the locker and drag my bikini out. “Does he have a preference on which steam room he’d like me to pass out in?” Of pleasure, not of heat.

Anouska presses her lips together. “Last one on the right.” Then leaves me to ready myself for the next stage of Jude’s seduction. “I better get penetration after all this,” I mumble to myself, irritated to high heaven. I need to erase the conversations with Mum and Clark and forget that my father is an insensitive old idiot sometimes.

Bring it on, Harrison.

I need this.

I slip into my black-and-gold bandeau top and bikini pants, swing on my robe, and walk with determination to the steam room. I’m not surprised to find it empty. I check the temperature and knock it down a few notches before lowering to the tile bench, my arse slipping across the wet surface.

And I wait for him.

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