Page 59 of The Suitcase Swap

Mike could already see where this was going, his gut pre-emptively filling with cold dread and hot rage. ‘He didn’t.’

Sophie grimaced. ‘He did. Something wasn’t right and my doctor ran some tests, including to check for an STI. I never would have thought of that – why would I? I’d been married for ages, if not happily then at least monogamously, I thought. I was doubly lucky that it was one of the ones that could be treated with antibiotics.’

‘I deeply regret not hitting his photo with a bat.’ Mike was amazed how calm his voice sounded. Inside, it was an entirely different manner.

‘Thank you,’ Sophie said, turning so she could watch her finger as she traced it down his chest. ‘She was his assistant, you know. Which means everyone at work knew. They knew and not a single one of them told me.’

‘What did he say when you confronted him?’

‘He said maybe if I’d tried a little harder, paid more attention to him, or spent more time on my appearance, he wouldn’t have been driven into another woman’s arms. Also, he was in love and they were moving in together. He’d already talked to someone about putting the house on the market.’

Mike whistled, long and low. ‘Wow, he doesn’t do things in half-measures, does he? That’s brutal, that is. He’s also full of shit.’ He touched her chin, nudging it until she was looking at him. ‘You know he’s wrong, right? Absolutely, completely, mind-numbingly wrong.’

She gave him a faint smile. ‘Thank you.’

He clucked his tongue. ‘Oh no, none of that. You sound like you bought some of his rubbish. Let me be very clear about a few things, Sophie Swann. Everything that man said to youwas a poorly constructed Jenga tower of lies to give himself an out. To keep himself blame-free. Try harder? What utter nonsense.’ He brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. ‘I may not have known you long, but I know you enough to know you put every bit of yourself into the things you do. I have no doubt that you were a good partner to that man. I have serious doubts as to whether he was a good partner toyou.’

He felt the edge of his thumb grow damp, and he swiped at the tear that had crawled its way down her cheek. ‘He’s not worth even that. As to your appearance . . .’ Mike blew out a slow breath. ‘Well, I think we both know I’m horribly biased when it comes to your appearance.’

‘You are?’

He nodded slowly. ‘I am, because I happen to think you’re a beautiful woman with a hell of a swing.’ He leaned until he could brush his lips against hers. Then he did it again, because life was short, unpredictable, and kissing her made it worth it. ‘Which it turns out I’m very into.’

She hummed in response, swooping in to steal a kiss of her own.

‘You know,’ Mike said, trying to sound casual, but not quite managing due to the breathlessness of his words, ‘if you decided to murder him, I’d happily give you an alibi. I’m very good under pressure and I don’t mind morally grey areas when it comes to protecting my friends. I would have no problem lying on the stand.’

Sophie huffed a laugh. ‘You know, Edie said almost exactly the same thing.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, only with more profanity and a list of murder suggestions. She was quite graphic and oddly specific, so I guess less “alibi” and more “accomplice”. She’d never really been fond of Andrew and with the divorce . . . well, I believe she said she, “wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire”. Whichnever made sense to me, because if you hate someone, you would think you’d still want to wee on them, even if it meant inadvertently saving their lives.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t argue with her too much when she said it, though, because she was practically spitting, she was so angry, and also drunk, and I was mostly concerned she would actually go after him in that state.’

‘I think I like Edie,’ Mike said.

Sophie screwed up her face. ‘I’m starting to wonder if I attract bloodthirsty people. First Edie’s threats, then Marisa’s threats and her decision to call Andrew the Wicker Man, with all that entails. Now you’re willing to cover my murderous tracks.’

‘I don’t normally consider myself a bloodthirsty person, but I think I’d make an exception for your ex. Death isn’t good enough for him. I cannot believe he not only did that to you but tried to place the blame at your feet.’

‘I can believe it,’ she said, her last word cracking on a yawn. ‘Sorry.’

He tucked her head back against his chest. ‘Go to sleep. Everything will keep until the morning.’ He wasn’t even sure she’d heard the last bit before she started snoring.

Chapter Eighteen

When you’re far from home, sometimes you find yourself missing the things you don’t even like about where you live. Even the tube, where you’re jammed up against strangers, trying to ignore the fact that you’re touching so many people at once and you’re so close to someone that you can hear their audiobook even though they’ve got earbuds in. The wonderful thing about New York is that the subway can fill that gap for you. You can travel about the city, watching the confusing display of human theatre on the train, everyone wondering if the man spouting poetry was naked when he got on, or if he stripped after, but no one actually acknowledging his presence. You can spot a rat running across the track and smile because it reminds you of the mice on the rails at home.

– Excerpt fromSwanning About

When Sophie woke up the next morning, she was alone in her bed. There was no sign of Mike at all, and for a brief moment she thought maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing. Like maybe the Instagram post, the rage room, and Mike holding her while she slept had all been some sort of fever dream, beautiful and terrible all at once.

It made her sad.

The feeling only lasted until she stepped into her kitchenette and found a note propped up against her teacup. Mike had laid out mug, tea bag and spoon, and filled the kettle so all she had to do was turn on the burner. Such a little thing,but it warmed her to her toes. She plucked the note from the counter and read Mike’s neat, slanted script.

Had to go to work and didn’t want to wake you. If you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to make you dinner tonight. 7 p.m.? – Mike

Sophie stared at the note for a long time. Then she set it aside and put the kettle on. Once her tea was brewing, she put the toast in the toaster and checked her texts. There was one from Manny, asking her if she could walk Stanley Poochie this afternoon. She said yes to that one without thinking. The other from Mike, wishing her a good morning with a selfie of him with his coffee in some sort of office. That one she didn’t answer straight away.

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