Page 33 of One True Love

I thought you said you’d never dated anyone long-term?

You were also on your period at Christmas. Did you shag him while on?

I meant what I said, Stacie is angry about work. Nothing else.

Can’t we go for a drink after work and just talk?

I wanna lick out your pussy so bad but if we can’t, just talking will suffice. Anything x

I take a deep breath and message back:

Sorry, colleague was trying to look at my screen.

I haven’t dated long-term, but I grew up with him. So there’s … history.

Lies, lies, lies. Let’s see if my fabrication doesn’t trigger something, however.

You know how it is at Christmas. The mood takes people, doesn’t it?

Tomorrow, we might decide not to give it a go, after all. Who knows.

Anyway, I can go for one drink after work today. Same place as usual?

His reply comes quickly:Absolutely, see you there. Can’t wait x

Chapter Five

The Marylebone area we work in is certainly not short on traditional Victorian pubs by any stretch of the imagination, and all are nearly as much of a carbon copy as any other, but he and I have always had to frequent the Carpenters Arms right on the other side of the borough (at his command), probably because it’s nowhere near the office (on Nottingham Place). Not that there’s anything wrong with the Carpenters, it’s fine, but there are slightly less raucous places around. In fact, there’s nothing wrong with the Prince Regent nearer the office; it’s actually more sort of couple-friendly than this sports-mad nook tucked away in the south-east corner of our neighbourhood. Yet the reason, now I know better, is obviously that the Carpenters affords more privacy, being so tucked away and busy. We always walk here separately and there are various routes to get here, meaning his other admirers might not successfully follow him to this destination—thus figuring out he is most certainly not a one-woman man. It also affords him the convenience of being right near Marble Arch tube station, meaning he can hop on a train home to Oxford Circus right after he’s ditched me.

He returns to our small table for two carrying a pint of something that’s no doubt a real ale, plus a gin and tonic for me. I still want him to think I’m a classy woman, not a tough commoner plotting his grisly demise behind my shiny smile.

Miles is seriously handsome and half the women in here are checking him out, but the fun thing is, more men are checking me out. I’ve worn form-fitting dresses since returning to the office post-Christmas, knowing it would drive him insane. We’ve got the corner table so we can see everyone coming or going and we’re sat beneath a bunch of ancient, framed mirrors with old breweries advertised on them.

I’m weighing up getting a bus or a cab home, when he says lightly, “Whatever you hear this week, don’t pay any heed, okay?”

We’re sat side by side, bodies tightly together from shoulder to knee, so I can feel his heat and the way he’s nervously twitching. He takes my hand and wraps his fingers around mine.

“Don’t like—don’t—get back with your boyfriend, all right? I don’t wanna have to fight for your attention.”

I gulp down my amusement. He just got married, for fuck’s sake!

Looking down, I notice his ring finger is empty, but there’s a slight indentation left behind. He must have removed it just before we came here. That means he wore it in the office because Chrissy must’ve known he was getting married, but tonight, he doesn’t want people looking at him being cosy with me, seeing his ring, then seeing my hand empty.

“Uh, well, what might I hear? At the office. Like, some gossip or something?” I’m trying to sounds as ignorant as possible, squeezing his hand in return to reassure him.

We’re only catching glances at one another as we chat, mostly because of the way we’re seated in this cramped place, but also because we’re both lying through our teeth and can’t look the other in the eye.

“Listen, Mirabelle, you’re the best fucking woman I’ve ever known, and if we could just leave this town and fuck off together, I would. Wouldn’t you?”

The strangled laugh that leaves me is not only disbelief, but pure shock. “What? Are you serious?”

I turn more towards him and see he looks deadly serious, his face full of despair, anxiety and even dread. What the hell does his new wife have over him? Or is he merely a spectacular actor?

“I’m serious,” he says, and leans forward to give me a gentle kiss.

For a second, I’m almost taken in. Almost.

“What is it Stacie was really upset about?” I ask innocently, though inside, I’m narrowing my gaze.

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