Page 7 of Isla

Me: What do you need to change?

Maybe he wanted to call off the wedding; come out and tell me the truth. Maybe he wanted to apologise because I hadn’t spoken to him since he shouted at me.

Noah: Thank god, Isla. I was worried about you.

Me: It’s too late to change anything now.

Noah: I’m sorry for shouting at you.

Me: It wasn’t the first time.

Noah: I’m stressed with work and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about because I think I’ll have to reduce my days overseas.

My mobile rang out. I answered with a hiss. “Why Noah? This is your honeymoon, your wedding.”

“I promised a new start-up that I’ll have all documents to him before their launch day,” he said, his voice deep and masculine.

“How much do you want to shorten it?” I asked, looking at my chipped nails and hoping my manicurist would turn up on time later this evening.

“We can go to Vegas for three days and I’ll come back to London. But I don’t want you missing out. You can still go to the Bahamas.”

“What if you miss my heat?” I whispered.

“I won’t. Your perfume was strong when you were in my office. That’s why I was angry with you, babe.”

Babe.

“That’s why I shouted at you to leave.”

I stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

I wanted to scream “no,” but I didn’t. I said, “Yeah, I need to go. My parents are turning up soon for dinner. Are you coming?”

“Sorry, I’m going to be working until midnight the way things are going, but enjoy yourself and charge it to the room.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“See you tomorrow Isla.”

Love you Isla. Love you too, Noah.

No, neither of us said that either.

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