Page 129 of Every Silent Lie
“What do you mean?”
“Bet your favourite’s black, isn’t it?”
“Actually, yes. And I bet yours is grey.”
He scrunches his nose and gets me in a headlock, mauling at my ear, and I laugh, easy, light, and . . . happy.
We pass a few pop-up stalls, all loaded with an array of Christmas gifts and decorations, none of which I’m interested in, but something catches my eye and I find myself steering us that way. I home in on a snow globe that’s been placed on a raised stand, set apart from the endless other snow globes. This one’s different from the colourful Christmas scenes in each and every other glass dome. This one has just a white feather inside it, nestled in snowflakes. “What is it?” Dec asks.
Trapped.
“Nothing.” I back away from the stall, forcing a smile when Dec looks at me. He doesn’t get a chance to push me. His phone rings, and he roots through his pocket and pulls it out, rejecting the call from Office. “Do you need to get that?” I ask.
“They’ll text or email if it’s urgent.”
“Could be about your potential acquisition of TF Shipping,” I say casually, watching my feet as I walk.
“I doubt it. Thomas Fryer is hardly prompt when it comes to replying in a timely manner.”
I laugh. “I feel your pain. What if he’s changed his mind?” I ask. “Off the back of you slashing your offer?”
“Then you get to keep the job you obviously hate.”
I nod, breathing in my reality. “Can you believe he was scared to fire me?”
“Yes.” Dec laughs, and I nudge him with my shoulder. He quietens down. “You’re not the woman you want the world to see, Camryn,” he says, hooking his arm around my neck and pulling me closer, pushing his mouth into the top of my head. “And I totally understand why you’re like that.”
“I don’t want to be like that.”
“I know that too,” he whispers. “And it’s one of the reasons why I love you so much.”
I smile.
And we walk on. Quiet. Just . . . together.
* * *
Hours later, after passing endless Christmas markets, enjoying a few more hot drinks, and having an impromptu mini tour of some of the landmarks hard-core Londoners neglect to appreciate when they’re immersed in the grandeur of the city daily, we find ourselves on King’s Road. I’ve talked about Noah non-stop, his funny little traits, his loves, his hates, and I didn’t break down once. My throat clogged up, my eyes stung, my heart squeezed, but I never fell apart. Dec listened. He asked me questions. He smiled with me, and he held me close to his side as we walked, squeezing me into him a little harder when I needed it and kissing my hair often. It’s been a lovely day—a special day—and I couldn’t have done any of it without him.
Dec stops us outside a store window, pulling me round to face it. I’m met by a mannequin in a muted gold mini shift dress, with a chic slash neckline. “You’d look amazing in that dress,” he says.
“It’s gold.” I frown at the beautiful dress.
“Try it on.”
“What? No.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me into the store. “Yes.”
“Dec, it’s a gold bloody dress. My favourite colour’s black, remember?” Gold is very nearly a shade of yellow, my least favourite colour.
“My girlfriend would like to try on the dress you have in the window.”
I freeze, those words knocking all fight out of me. His girlfriend. It probably sounds a bit stupid for me to balk at that statement, since declarations of love have been tossed around, but still. It’s shaken me. I’m his girlfriend. I’m his girlfriend whom he loves.
“Oh, it would look fantastic on her,” the assistant gushes, coming out from behind the counter, all big, bouncy hair and lashes. “Your colouring, your legs.”
“You can’t see my legs,” I murmur, looking down at my jeans.
