Page 35 of I'm Not Done with You Yet

I shake my head. “It’s fine.” It’s not fine. “So when are you going to ask him for help?”

The excitement leaks from her face. “I don’t know. I kind of don’t want to now. I just—it feels so slimy doing that, and what we had yesterday, that was real, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

I stare at her. At her pale, slim neck. I imagine putting my hands around it. “But your mom,” I say dumbly.

“I know,” she sighs. “I’ll tell him about her soon. I just—not yet. It’s too soon.”

Great. I guess I just have to grin and bear it as she continues seducing him for the rest of his stay here. What could possibly go wrong?

If I thought that Antoine was bad, Ivan is worse. So much worse. Because Antoine is your stereotypical French dudebro—oozing sex appeal and romantic quotes, which is bad, but reeks of short-term fling. Burns hot and fast before dying out. She breaks up with him without any preamble, a task on her to-do list crossed off just like that.

I wonder at her ruthless efficiency when she tells me about it the night after her magical day with Ivan.

“He was so angry,” she says with a slight shiver. “It was so unattractive. Ugh. The way he spoke. I’m just glad I’m no longer with him.”

I try to imagine Antoine radiating with spurned anger, and I’m surprised to find that the image comes to me easily. His handsome features contorting, turning him ugly with hate. His big hands turning into fists. Yeah, I can imagine it easily enough.

Meanwhile, Ivan ishusband material. This is what Thalia actually says to me after spending a second day with him. Husband material, like men are made of different ingredients and this one happens to have the organic, wholesome ones she’s been looking for all along.

It sickens me to the point where I almost hate her. Almost. But I am spineless, so the following week, I merely watch from the sidelines as she traipses around Oxford with her future husband (because let’s face it, once Thalia decides she’s going to marry you, you’re going to walk down that aisle with her). When his week in Oxford is up, he returns to London, but my relief is short-lived. Instead of staying on in London as planned, he comes back after just one day. (“He said he just couldn’t bear to stay away from me!” Thalia squeals.) And his second week here, they’re even more in love, entwined even tighter.

And she’s right, Ivan IS husband material. Romantic but not too romantic, so you know he isn’t just being carried away by the newness of their relationship. Calm, so he’ll make a good husband and father. And a bit of a workaholic, so if he turns out to be a terrible husband, at least she won’t have to see too much of him. The occasions that the four of us spend together, Ivan has to excuse himself a couple of times to take a work-related call. Tonight is no different.

“Poor Koko, having to run an empire must be sooo hard,” Ani purrs when he comes back to our table. “You know what would help? Letting your own blood relation have company shares so she can assist you.”

“We’ll talk about that when you’re done with your MBA,” Ivan says in a tone that makes me look up, because there’s a quiet rage simmering underneath it. So he has a bit of a temper when it comes to Ani. What else is new? I can barely keep myself from choking the girl.

Thalia and Ivan share a look and a soft smile, so I push my fork off the table and bend down to pick it up. I glance under the table as I bend down, and sure enough, she’s found his hand and is squeezing it. A secret message, an alliance against Ani. It’s this small gesture that plunges the knife deep in my gut and twists. They’ve only been going out for about two weeks, but already they’re close enough to have secret gestures, and she’s offering him support over his bratty sister. Thalia is no longer Ani’s and my friend first, but Ivan’s girlfriend first, our friend second. And I can’t forgive her for that. I cannot, not after everything.

I’m changing the plan. The plan is shit. The plan needs to die a swift death. I could just about tolerate the plan when it was about Thalia playing a part to get some quick cash from Ivan so she could stay in Oxford with me. She wasn’t supposed to actually fall for the guy. This has gone too far. It’s time to put a stop to it. She’ll thank me for it later, when she’s no longer under Ivan’s spell.

After dinner, I tell them I’m too tired to go pub-hopping with them and walk in the direction of Pemberton, hoping madly that none of them will try to follow. I turn the corner and wait. None of them follows. Disappointment clutches my chest, then relief. This is okay. This is exactly what I wanted.

I go in the opposite direction, down St. Giles’, until I reach Jericho, where there’s a cluster of hip bars and nightclubs. I check Google Maps, just to make sure I’ve got the right place. Thalia and Ani have gone to Antoine’s bar several times, but Icould never make myself go. I’d imagined it being as sleazy as Antoine, low lights, throbbing music, and date rape drugs. But as it turns out, Vin+ is a classier place than that. The lights are low, but so is the music, and the crowd in here trends older; post-grads instead of undergrads. I wrap my coat around myself tight, feeling massively out of place, and skirt the edges until I get near the bar, where I spot Antoine.

I watch him for a while as he chats with customers and pours different drinks for them. How strange to be watching him in his own element, minus the Thalia effect. He’s less disgusting now, on his own. I almost turn around and go back to Pemberton, but I make myself walk up to the bar. When he sees me, a look of such naked hope appears that I want to scratch him.

“Janice!” he says, delighted.

“Jane,” I say, but he’s not even listening, he’s so excited.

“This is a nice surprise. Are you with...”

“No,” I say quickly, and he deflates.

“Oh.” He picks up a towel and starts wiping down the bar. “Did you want something to drink, or...” Clearly, without Thalia accompanying me, the conversation might as well be done.

“Uh. Just water. No, white wine. The house white.” I need some liquid courage for what I’m about to say.

I watch as he pours the white wine, the sides of the glass turning frosty from condensation. When he slides the glass over, I take a long swallow.

“So what can I do for you?” There’s that French accent.

“Um, actually, I’m worried about Thalia.”

His handsome face darkens, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a sad-face emoji. This man is a walking cartoon character. “Oh, Janice, I am so glad you bring her up. I haven’t beenable to stop thinking about her, you know? The way she broke up with me was so abrupt—”

“I know, but trust me when I say she’s still not over you. She’s kind of... easily influenced. She’s been pushed into getting together with this guy—god, he’s bad news, Antoine. He’s horrible, a monster, and Thalia—you know how she is, so kind and such a pushover—”

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