Page 75 of Je T'aime, Actually
She’d been asleep when Chloé had finally come to bed. And she was alone when she woke the following morning to find Chloé already gone.
Wandering downstairs into the hush of the house, Monroe noticed the plates were no longer in the sink. That was something, at least…wasn’t it?
She flicked the kettle on and reached for her favourite mug. It wasn’t on the shelf.
Frowning, she turned to the dishwasher and pulled it open. There was the mug, along with the plates, the pans—everything from the night before.
All still dirty.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered, yanking the mug out and scrubbing it under the tap. She slammed it down on the counter harder than necessary, then jabbed the dishwasher closed and punched the buttons to switch it on.
The click and hum of the cycle starting filled the quiet, but didn’t do much to settle her.
She found her phone on the counter, unlocked it, and tapped out a message with clipped fingers.
Monroe:Any reason why the dishes are still in the dishwasher, dirty?
She stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering, then hit send. The little "delivered" checkmark appeared instantly.
No reply.
Monroe sighed, setting the phone down beside her mug. The kettle clicked off behind her, but she made no move to pour the water. Instead, she leant on the counter, arms crossed, waiting for a response that didn’t come.
Chloé sat through the marketing pitch, nodding politely while her mind partly wandered. Her phone buzzed quietly in her lap. Glancing down, she saw Monroe’s name light up the screen. A small smile tugged at her lips before she opened the message and her smile quickly faded.
She’d meant to turn on the dishwasher before leaving this morning, but a sudden call had pulled her away, and she’d completely forgotten.
Her fingers hovered briefly over the keyboard before she typed a quick reply:
Chloé:Sorry, I forgot to start the dishwasher this morning. I’m sure you’ve already sorted it. Thank you for always taking care of things.
She hit send, slipped the phone back into her bag, and took a deep breath. Forcing her attention back to the room, she tried to focus on the presentation, though Monroe’s message lingered at the back of her mind.
Monroe read the message twice. Fury pushed its way to the fore.“I’m sure you’ve already sorted it?”she muttered aloud, incredulous.
She tapped out a new message.
Monroe: Have I just become your live-in skivvy?
Her blood pulsed and boiled as she lifted her coffee and took a slow sip. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she carried the cup out to the garden and settled at the table, gazing out over the orchard.
It was beautiful. Peaceful.
In a moment, she would finish her coffee, get dressed, and get to work. Because anything else would just piss her off even more.
sixty-two
Monroe’s bag was packed. She wasn’t taking much—most of her clothes were still back home, and she’d only be gone a few days. Kitty’s eighth birthday was something she’d been looking forward to.
“What time’s your flight again?” Chloé asked, already glancing at her watch.
“It’s still at one o’clock,” Monroe replied, a little too snappy. The flight time had been on the calendar since she moved in. She’d messaged Chloé several times to confirm she'd be free to drop her off and then pick her up on Monday.
“Yes, sorry…my mind is just—” Chloé fluttered her hands in the air helplessly. “Everywhere.”
Monroe sighed. “I know. And sometimes, it feels like I am too.”
Chloé blinked, caught off guard by the weight of the words. “That’s not fair. That’s not true.”
