Page 99 of The Truth About Love

Peaches and bergamot.

The smell assaults me while I’m folding laundry in my bedroom. At first, I think I’m imagining it, but as the scent grows stronger, I realise with blinding clarity that it’s real.

She’s here.

I follow the sweetness down the hallway, my heart flipping over and over the closer I get to the front door.

But it’s Cara who gets there first.

I watch in wide-eyed horror as she opens the door in only her nightwear, her body seizing with hostility as recognition dawns. I can’t see the person on the other side of the door, but I know who it is. A smug smile spreads across Cara’s face as she positions her hand on the doorframe so that her wedding band and engagement ring are on full display.

It’s a petty move, cruel even, but it has the desired effect. Because the girl on the other side of the door releases a gasp as if in excruciating pain. The sound cripples me.

This shouldn’t have been how she found out.

I should have been the one to tell her.

But I’ve had over a year to reach out and I haven’t. I’m a coward, I know that. I fucked up by not telling her. God, I fucked up by doing a lot of things. But allowing her to be blindsided by this is possibly the worst fuckup of them all.

She doesn’t deserve any of this.

My poor sweet Summer-Raine.

I’m blinded by a flash of gold as she turns and runs. I can hear her sobs from here as she hurtles down the corridor and presses the button to call for the elevator.

I’m right behind her.

I ignore Cara’s scowl as I charge past her, my heart in my throat and panic in my gut. I don’t bother waiting for the elevator, it’s already gone, carrying Summer-Raine further and further away from me. I bolt into the stairwell, flying down flight after flight until I crash through the door to the foyer and out of the building.

But the second I feel the fresh air on my skin, I slow to a stop.

Summer-Raine stands just metres away, hunched over a three-foot wall as she wretches over it. Her hair catches in the wind and blows across her face, strands getting caught in the path of her vomit.

It doesn’t make her any less beautiful.

Even like this, with her eyes red and puffy, makeup streaming down her cheeks in murky black waterfalls and vomit in her hair, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She may not be mine anymore, she may never be again, but it doesn’t make that fact any less true.

I’ll still always rather watch her than the sunset.

“Summer-Raine,” I whisper.

“Don’t.”

She won’t look at me. She just stays there, hand resting on the wall, her eyes clenched shut as she sucks in short breaths. Every so often, I hear her whimper. It’s a sound as gut-wrenching as the noise a dog makes when it’s kicked or the cry of a frightened child. Now I know what it sounds like when a heart breaks and I never want to hear it again.

I ache to go to her, but I don’t. Ican’t.I have no choice but to watch on helplessly. Because I did this to her. I could have spared her some of this pain, if only I’d been brave enough to tell her about Cara sooner.

I don’t know how long it is but finally, she steels herself and stands to her full height. Her breaths have evened out now, though I can tell she’s fighting to keep them steady and her hands are clenched into fists at her side as if preparing herself for a fight.

“When?” That’s all she asks.

But she still won’t look at me. She won’t even open her eyes.

“About fourteen months ago.”

She flinches. It’s only a small movement. So slight, it’s almost imperceptible. But I notice it. I notice everything about her.

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