Page 68 of The Last Saturday In July
‘Nobody does that, Simon,’ she’d hissed, mortified when he asked Luca to re-cork it. ‘There’s only about a glassful left. Let’s just finish it or leave it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jess.’ Simon had sounded a bit exasperated as he paid, added a ten percent tip, and collected his coat.
He’d dismissed her suggestion that they go to see a late movie. ‘I want to get you straight home to bed.’ He’d sounded firmer than usual.
This was more like it, Jess thought, suddenly keen to get home quickly. Their relationship needed something exciting. Because after only three years, their sex life was fairly predictable. But right at that moment, it seemed, Simon had decided to take charge. Maybe he wanted to surprise her. Shock her, even.
Now she snapped back to reality as she crossed the foyer, giving Emily a small wave. Emily shot her a sympathetic look in return. ‘Hey, Jess, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look stressed out. I totally get it, though, if this wedding doesn’t go ahead ...’
Jess stopped. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You haven’t seen it? TMZ are saying that Chelsea and Leo aren’t with each other, like, they’re not even talking to each other. He’s accusing her of being a gold-digger and she’s saying he’s just using her for her fame.’ Emily’s eyes narrowed. ‘I still think Brandi is the leak – she knows everything that Chelsea does.’ She arched her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘She’s meant to be pretty close to Leo too.’
God, it was way too early for this. She needed more coffee. Or a lie-down. Or both. ‘Emily, it’s just gossip. I’m sure Chelsea and Leo have already made a statement.’
Emily flicked back her hair. ‘Nope.’
Jess suppressed a sigh. ‘Well, let’s not worry until we have a reason to worry.’ Or the energy to worry. ‘Talk to you later.’
Jess hit the button for the lift, and leaned back against the wall as she waited, her thoughts drifting again to the previous night.
Simon had shocked her all right. He’d helped her off with her shoes and coat before disappearing to the kitchen. Encouraged by the prospect of something exciting, she’d stripped off, thrown on her sexiest underwear, generously spritzed on someGood Girl Eau de Parfum, and sprawled in the middle of the bed with her arms above her head. Moments later, Simon had returned with a glass of water and ordered her to drink it. Right before he changed into his stripy pyjamas, lay down and turned on his side to go to sleep.
The lift appeared and she stepped in, relieved to be on her own. This morning, as always, Simon had been up at ridiculous o’clock to go to the gym, where he’d no doubt done a thirty-minute aerobic workout, showered, changed and gone straight to work. Off to fight for clients in the heady world of big finance and save the world from injustice … or was it justice? Whilst she got on with … well, staying upright and not getting sick would be a major achievement. The lift stopped and she peered out.
The corridor was clear, so she sprinted down to her office and slunk in, closing the door. Okay, things might be a bit terrible right now, but at least she still had a brilliant job that she absolutely loved. She also had a responsible, hardworking, decent fiancé. So, basically amazing. So why didn’t she feel that buzz of excitement she used to feel? She could understand relationships going stale after ten years. No, that didn’t sound very long. Twenty years: that was ages. A lifetime, in fact. But three years?
Oh God, she was starting to feel faint. She needed chocolate.
The office phone rang before she had a chance to eat anything, and with a slightly uneasy feeling she answered.
It was Ian Finnegan.
‘Jess, I’m sure you know why I’m calling.’
She hadn’t thought it was possible for her headache to get any worse. ‘Please don’t tell me the wedding is off.’
‘Let’s not jinx anything now.’ Ian paused. ‘I’m not sure what to believe, though. We’ve had reporters phoning the hotel all morning, and I’ve left messages with Angel and Leo’s PA, but I’ve heard nothing back yet. I wanted to keep you updated, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, no, hopefully it’ll all work out.’
‘Fingers crossed, Jess. We need this mad wedding.’ Ian sighed. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
After Jess hung up, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on her back, stretching her legs up against the wall. That felt quite good. She wondered if it was an actual yoga position: it definitely should be. Her mobile rang and she sat up and reached for her bag.
It was Simon. Hoping it wouldn’t be another lecture, she swiped to answer. ‘Hi.’
‘Jess, did you send my boss some bloody letter offering him and his wife a weekend in one of your bloody hotels?’
Maybe she should have told him about that. But it wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong. Jess frowned. Was Simon gritting his teeth? ‘Yes, with a voucher. I thought it would be …’
‘Hisdeadwife.’
Jess felt a ringing in her ears. ‘What?’
‘I can’t believe you, Jess.’
‘I can’t believe his wife is dead.’
