Page 82 of Paper Roses

I stare at him. “Was that because I laughed at all your jokes? I can assure you one of those things is not like the other.”

He twitches as though something’s bitten him, but he apparently decides to ignore my comments. “Budge up,” he says, gesturing to my side of the booth.

“No, I don’t think so,” I reply quietly. “You can sit over the other side.”

“What thefuck?”

I shrug. “You’ve been sitting far too close, Ben, and touching me all the time. It’s wrong when I’m with someone. If Jed behaved the same with an old friend, I wouldn’t like it.”

I’d more than not like it, but I won’t share that.

“An old friend? I was a lot more than that.”

I note the spoilt pout of his lips and the tightness around his eyes. He’s always been unpleasant when thwarted, and I used to run rings to avoid displeasing him. It seems silly to me now that I’ve been with a man who’s so different. Jed never manipulatesme or plays games. He’s honest and forthright and always puts me first.

The revelation gives me even more courage. “No, I don’t think you were ever more than a friend, Ben. I know that now.”

“What the hell doesthatmean?”

“Nothing. I think I’m going to go. It’s been nice,” I lie, standing up.

“No, wait.” He tugs on my hand, keeping me in my seat. “Why are you so anxious to get back to him?”

“Because he’s my husband,” I say patiently.

He rolls his eyes and then leans closer. “Listen, Iknow.”

Anger stirs at his supercilious expression. “What do you know? How to irritate me? Well, you’re completely right with that assumption.”

“I don’t think I recognise you anymore.”

“Well, we all change. You and I are different people now.”

“Not that much. I still want you.”

I gape at him. I’d have been less stunned if he’d socked me in the face with a packet of fish.

His look is almost defiant. “Why are you looking at me like that? I do. I’ve missed you so much while I was away.” He leans in closer over the table.

I pull back. “Where has this come from?”

“Listen.” He takes my hand, but I only pull away again, making his mouth tighten. “I know about your marriage.”

Alarm seizes me, and I stare at him with wide eyes. “Pardon?”

“Guess who’s my mother’s housekeeper?” he asks, his tone triumphant.

“I can’t even begin to imagine,” I say wearily. He likes a fanfare more than the king. “Is it Taylor Swift?”

“It’s Violet.”

I look blankly at him.

He gestures impatiently. “Your stepmother’s old cleaner.”

“Oh.”

He nods, his eyes bright with enjoyment. “She told us all about the bequest.”

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