Page 57 of The Alpha Escort Agency
“I thought we could make this work. I wanted to make it work. But things have changed. If I’d known, I would never have invited you home with me. I’m sorry if I hurt you.” There’s strain in his words and it confuses her even more. “Very sorry.”
“How have things changed?” It was only a couple of days ago. How could things have changed so quickly? They couldn’t have. No, it must be the agency.
Or he’s changed his mind. He’s realised he doesn’t want her.
There’s more silence on the other end of the phone. He’s always been economical with his words. A quiet man. It’s not bothered her before. Usually men won’t shut up.
But now it irritates her. She deserves an explanation. She deserves more than empty statements and long silences.
“Youcan’tsee me or you don’twantto see me?” she snaps.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats weakly, and then the phone goes dead.
She drags it away from her ear, and it shakes in her hand. She plants her feet on the floor, screwing up her eyes, willing the world to stop from spinning as she falls, the air racing through her hair, whistling past her ears as she tumbles deeper and deeper. The pain in her chest pierces so intensely she thinks she might faint, a thick tar taste building in the back of her throat, coating her tongue.
She grips the sofa, steadying herself and inhales.
She’s fine.
She swallows down the acid swimming in her mouth.
Yes, she’s absolutely fine.
Then there’s the yank of the curtain and silk rustling.
“What do you think?” Maria asks.
She prizes open her eyes, plastering a smile across her face, focusing her gaze on Maria in the white dress.
She’s fine, completely fine.
“Wow,” she croaks.
“I know, right?” Maria says, her own voice cracking.
“It’s beautiful.” She can feel a tear trickling down her cheek and she swipes it away. “You look beautiful, Maria.”
Chapter 16
He can hear them talking in the other room, a muffled hum, so familiar it sweeps him back to the nights he’d lie in bed as a child listening to their voices float up through the floorboards, the deep rumble of his grandad’s laugh, the animated voice of his nan. He could hear the companionship, the closeness, even then as a child. Something he hoped he’d have one day.
Now as he hears it through the thin walls of their flat while he stands at the sink washing the dishes, it isn’t comforting or reassuring. It is taunting. Reminding him of things he will never have.
He will never find that passion for another person. He will never have that bond. He will always be alone.
First Joanna, a woman he thought he would be with forever, who’d taught him it didn’t matter how much you thought you loved someone, if they didn’t want you back.
Now Alice.
Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice.
He runs the wet sponge around the inside of a mug, wiping away the dark tea stains, ducking the mug under the tepid water to wash away the soapy suds.
What has his experience with Alice taught him?
That’s he’s a fool for ever believing he could have nice things. That a relationship would ever work for someone like him.
He places the cup upside down on the rack, watching as the remaining bubbles glide down its sides and drip onto the draining board.
