Page 68 of P.S. I Loathe You

He nods. “Yeah, you. And Natasha, I guess.”

Ahh, the emails. Shit, that feels like a million years ago now. A thought occurs to me, and I bite my lip in hesitation before venturing it. It’s something that’s crossed my mind a few times, but I’ve never been sure whether I wanted to know the answer or not. Or whether the answer even mattered that much. “So…is it true that you guys weren’t…um…very physical anymore?”

Devon arches a pointed brow, clearly amused by my stuttering question. “Are you sure you want to go into this topic?”

My face screws up in distaste. “Not really, but I think it could help to know.”

He offers an indulgent smile. “Okay, fine. Yes, it’s true. It was easy to put it down to being swamped with work and wedding preparations, that sort of thing…but in reality, there just wasn’t really a spark. I don’t think there ever was, to be honest.” He grins and rolls us over so he’s straddling my waist. “Notlike there is here.”

I tug him down against me, claiming his mouth for a fierce kiss. “So many sparks,” I murmur against his lips.

He groans, nodding. “All the sparks.”

True to my prediction, Emma shows up at my house forty-five minutes before we were due to meet for lunch. Fortunately, I made it back home in plenty of time and have showered, changed, and am lazing on the couch with my sketch pad when she knocks.

I set down my sketch pad and go to answer the door, sweeping her into a fierce hug.

“Oh, wow. You’re cuddly today,” she says wryly as we break apart.

“What, I can’t be happy to see you?”

She grins at me and steps further into my flat, patting me on the arm as she passes by. “I appreciate the love, brother. Ooh, do you have some new drawings?” she asks, reaching for my discarded sketch pad on the sofa.

I quickly snatch it up before she can look at it. “Oh, no, it’s just half-finished stuff.”

She gives a little tinkling chuckle. “So? Since when are you shy about your artwork.”

Since I started drawing nude sketches of your ex-fiancé?

I shrug. “It’s not that. I just don’t really have anything worth showing in here. All my good stuff’s on the shop’s Instagram page.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve already seen all of that.”

“Well, then you’re up to date.”

She gives a little one-shouldered shrug. “Okay. Did you want to go now? I haven’t booked anywhere.”

I grab my coat and we head outside, wandering down the high street with Emma showing uncharacteristic pickiness, screwing her face up and shaking her head at a number of pubs and cafes that we pass until she finally gives the nod of approval to my local Chinese. It’s not exactly what I anticipated for lunch today, but I know the food’s good and, really, right now all I want is to be out of the cold.

“Hi, Wes!” Mia, the owners’ daughter calls out to me as I guide Emma to a table by the window.

“Hey, Mia. How’s your dad doing?”

She rolls her eyes. “Still working even though the doctor told him he has to rest his back. You know what he’s like.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, sounds about right.” I’ve been coming to this place at all different times of the day and on all different days of the week for more than fifteen years now and I’d say there’s been a grand total of two times where Mr Wu hasn’t been working.

“Okay, so I kind of have some news,” Mia says after we’ve placed our orders. “And I want you to promise not to freak out on me. I swear, everything’s fine—“

Dread falls like a weight to the pit of my stomach at her words. Looking closer now, I can see she looks tired, and definitely a lot less put together than I’m used to seeing from my fashion-conscious little sister. “Oh my god, Em. What is it? Are you sick?”

She shakes her head, offering a wry smile. “No, I’m not sick. Or at least…I feel like balls but it’s only morning sickness.”

“Morning sickness?”I croak out, feeling completely spun out. I mean, I’m glad to know she’s not dying of some strange disease, but my baby sister can’t be pregnant! She’s just a kid!

She nods. “Yeah. They say it’s only supposed to last the first trimester, but that’s a bloody lie. Here I am, four months in, still puking at the smell of ham. It’s fucking Christmas, Wes—there’s ham smell everywhere!”

Four months…which was right around the time she and Devon broke up. I shake the thought out of my head. Surely that’s not possible…right? We went over all this just this morning…it can’t be possible…

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