Page 104 of The Truth About Love

“In fact,” she says, despite the daggers I’m firing through my eyes in her direction. “She’s free Saturday. Her favourite food is Italian. I’ll leave you the address and you can pick her up at eight.”

My mouth falls open in horror, words of refusal desperate to escape but dying silently on my lips. I’m going to kill her. In what world would be a good idea for me to go on a date two weeks after getting my heart broken?

But I’m too late to put a stop to her madness, because she’s already scribbling my address down on a napkin. I make a grab for it, but she swipes it up quickly, folds it into four and tucks it into the pocket of Max’s apron.

“Guess we’re going on a date then, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk, sauntering away before I’m able to set him straight.

***

Marlowe is particularly skilled in two things; driving me insane and convincing me to do things I don’t really want to do.

It’s because of the latter that I find myself sitting opposite Max in a trendy Italian bistro on Saturday night, the lights low and twinkling guitar chords carrying atmospherically around the room.

I study him in the glow of the flickering candlelight. His hair, as always, is curly in a deliberately wild kind of way and his rich hazel eyes sparkle like diamonds whenever the flames dance across them. He’s an undeniably beautiful man and yet it isn’t him who I see sitting across from me.

It’s the seventeen-year-old boy who took me on my first date all those years ago. The boy who introduced me to Captain Arthur Harris?who must be long dead by now?and walked barefoot with me on the sand. The boy who tasted like first loves and lemonade when he kissed me at the end of the night.

I could be sitting in that very same restaurant right now with how vivid the memories are.

“You’re distracted,” Max says with a gentle smile, pulling me back to the present. His voice, like his expression, is kind rather than chastising and it makes my stomach twinge with guilt that I’ve been sat here wishing he was a different man.

“I’m sorry.” I look down at my barely-touched plate of pasta.

“Don’t be. I’ve been where you are, I get it.”

But before he can elaborate, we’re interrupted by a woman I hoped I’d never have to see again as she struts towards us in heels higher than I could ever walk in. I resist the urge to look down self-consciously at the chucks on my own feet.

Cara reaches the table, towering over us in her designer shoes, and it takes everything in me to stop my eyes tearing at the sight of her.

She’s stunning in a severe kind of way. Her face is a picture of sharp lines and rigid angles, straddling the line between modelesque and gaunt. If she’s wearing makeup, it’s been applied by an expert hand to make her appear fresh-faced, with the exception of her lips that have been painted the boldest shade of red to match the colour of her skin-tight dress.

“Summer.” Her lyrical voice goes through me like microphone feedback.

“Cara.”

My heart jumps.

Is he here too?

I fight to remain expressionless, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing the depth of my heartache. She’s looking for it though, my pain. I see her studying my face with arrogant, triumphant eyes.

She got the guy.

She won the game I didn’t even know I was playing.

She stole the only chance of happiness that I will ever have.

“And who’s this?” Her smug gaze rakes over my dinner date.

“Max.” He stands and holds out his hand for her to shake.

She fakes a laugh and leans into him. “I’m a woman, Max,” she says, as if he hadn’t already noticed. Every man in this damn place is well aware of her womanhood if the gaping mouths and floppy tongues are any indication. “I do hugs not handshakes.”

My hands clench into fists underneath the table.

Max though, to his credit, frees himself from her grasp and sits down awkwardly, reaching across the table with his hand palm side up. I stare at it for a minute before realising his intention. My hand slips into his.

Cara eyes the movement with a creased forehead. “Are you together?” she asks, looking only at him.

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