Page 18 of Love and Loathing

“Gosh. We really do hold a grudge, don’t we?”

Aubrey breathed a laugh. “The problem with you, Liv, is that I didn’t hold a grudge anywhere near long enough. I was stupid enough to take you back.”

She only smiled, a little sadly. Then, with a different sort of smile, put her hand on his chest and slid it up to his neck, his jaw. The touch was jolting, unexpected. And surprisingly unpleasant.

“It was worth it, though, wasn’t it? We had something special.” She stroked a finger along the edge of his jaw, her skin rasping slightly on his faint stubble. A shiver went down his spine. Or maybe it was a shudder.

“You’re looking good, Aubrey,” she said. “But you always do.”

He pushed her hand away. “Yes, Liv. You like everything about me except the fact I can’t advance your career. I know.”

She laughed. “Other than that, you’re perfect.”

He hid his expression with a sip of drink, hoping to hell she didn’t spot his hand trembling. Just then, Domnall and George walked into the room. He’d never been more glad to see them. He looked in vain for Evie behind them. Liv noticed him looking, gave a tiny smirk.

How Liv would love it if Evie stood him up, embarrassed him. He knew exactly what game she was playing by the way she went now to Domnall, wrapped her arm around his waist, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.“We could really make her jealous…”Evie’s voice whispered in his mind. But God damn it, he wasn’t that petty. He refused to stoop to childish tricks. Long experience had taught him that the only way through something was simply to get through it. Opt not to care, not to look, and keep walking. The bits of his heart that Liv had left behind might still belong to her—like all the possessions she’d abandoned without a second glance when she left him, as she always did, walking out of the life they’d built and letting him clean up the mess, fill the black bin bags, sell the furniture, sell the flat…He cleaned it all away eventually. Maybe this weekend would let him pack away the rest of his heart, the ragged, remaining shards. Tape them up in a box. Toss it on the kerb, unwanted.

“Sit, sit,” George was saying, unctuous, affable, fixing everyone with drinks. Aubrey found himself on a small Chesterfield sofa, Domnall and Liv opposite, George to his left in a wingback chair. He was describing dinner, venison and crushed potatoes and fucking hell, Aubrey couldn’t care less, it would all taste like ashes. Then the drone of George’s voice broke off and Aubrey looked up and watched Evie cross the room. She was dressed in silky, tasselled black, exactly like that nineteen-twenties flapper, all bare legs and long, elegant lines.

“Don’t stop for me,” she said gaily, coming over to where Aubrey sat and sitting down snug beside him, giving a little wriggle until they were hip to hip, her shoulder against his, seeming perfectly casual and natural, as though they sat like this every night.

George, perhaps realising he was the one drawing attention to her by his irritated silence, cut short his glare and resumed his host’s litany. Heedless of talking over him, Evie said to Liv, who was staring at her, “That’s a lovely dress! The colour complements your hair so well.”

Being forced into choosing between the rudeness of not replying or the rudeness of talking over George, Liv looked momentarily put out. “Thank you,” she murmured, opting for a weak middle-ground. Aubrey smiled into his bourbon, wondering if Liv had finally met her match. Then immediately doubting it, because as much as Evie appalled him, he suspected all her faults came from having an excess of heart. Whereas Liv had none.

Evie shifted beside him, her warm little shoulder digging into his, the faint press of a small breast as she leant right in and whispered in his ear, “The capital of Paraguay is Asunción.”

“What?” asked Aubrey, voice low to match her whisper, half-laughing in surprise.

Her face was very close, clear mischief in the blue eyes. “Exactly,” she murmured, and the lips, glossy tonight, curved in a slow smile.

This was the bar thing again, wasn’t it? The‘imagine bending me…’trick she’d played at the awards to snag his attention, bring his full focus to her. And yes, he was sure Liv was watching, could feel the press of her attention on him, so aware of her from the corner of his eye. But he didn’t want to play this game.

He held Evie’s eye, trying to convey that without letting any trace of a frown cross his face.No, Evie…He said it with his eyes on hers, cursing the laughing look there, the amusement curling the corners of that sweet, sulky mouth, the pointed little chin, the fine-boned cheeks, black hair brushing a slender, pale throat…

“Aubrey. Evie.”

“How cruel to interrupt them, George,” said Domnall.

He looked up. The others were all standing, waiting, Domnall grinning, George impatient, Liv scowling.

God damn it.

He got hastily to his feet, Evie’s hand finding its way into his.

“If you’re quite ready,” said George, “dinner is served.”

NINE

Aubrey stopped her beforethey walked into the dining room, using their joined hands to drag her to an empty side room, out of sight, where he swiftly let go.

“Whatever game you’re playing, stop it.”

“Game?” she queried, knowing it would provoke him, but unable to help herself. Just as she hadn’t been able to stop herself leaning in and whispering in his ear, not with Liv staring at her like she was a potato she was about to cut into chips.

“The Paraguay thing! The hand-holding!”

“I thought we’d decided to go along with this ruse, for both our sakes?”

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