“I’ve not spoken to him since I left.”
“So call him. Or ask him to come over.”
I picked up the A4 brown envelope from the coffee table that had been delivered earlier and handed it to her.
She took it from me, her eyes not leaving mine as she opened it. “Postnup? And divorce papers?”
“We had them all drawn up before getting married. We were both given copies. Never got round to signing the postnup. I guess he decided he’d do both at the same time.” I tapped on the back page where Tristan had signed the divorce papers.
“So, you’re divorced now?”
“We have to wait a year. But I don’t have to see him again.”
“You think he’s just trying to make life easier for you, or do you think he’s sending you a message that he’s out?”
I let out a bitter half-laugh. “I’m not sure we need to make a distinction. He’s done.”
“But maybe he just thinks you’re done.”
“I am.” I took the papers from her and shoved them back into the envelope. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I’m sorry,” Sutton said.
“It doesn’t matter. Four months ago, I’d never even laid eyes on the guy. This will pass.” As I said it, my heart banged in my ribcage, shouting Don’t be so sure about that. “I just wish . . . I feel like at the first opportunity to run, off he went. I was hurt—I am hurt by the fact that he knew my father knew our wedding was a ploy to get hold of my trust fund. But I wanted to get over it. I wanted him to say he was sorry and prove that since then things have changed. I wanted to know his loyalty was with me now. I wanted to get over it and then bam, the email monitoring? It puts him in a completely different light . . . I really liked him.” My voice began to crack. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears. “I thought he was different to who he turned out to be.”
Sutton took my hand and pulled it into her lap. “This is awful. But I don’t think he was just looking for a way out and he took the first exit he was offered. I don’t know him that well, but he came across as a guy who just wanted to make you happy.”
“You have another explanation for divorce papers?”
“What if he thought that’s what you wanted? Maybe you should go round and see him? Can you use the excuse of going to collect your stuff?”
I sighed. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to be with a man who pretends to be one thing—honest and trustworthy and focused on me and what will make me happy, like you said—when in fact he’s monitoring me without telling me and reading my private messages. Mike wasn’t the man I thought he was. Tristan wasn’t the man I thought he was. I clearly can’t be trusted to see what’s right in front of me.” I needed to go back to my life before Tristan. I’d been perfectly happy and I would be again. I hoped.
Thirty-Two
Tristan
The last thing I wanted to do was go for drinks with mates. But being at home just reminded me of Parker. I’d eaten nothing but Uber Eats for a week because I couldn’t spend any time in the kitchen. I’d moved bedrooms to the top floor because I couldn’t sleep in my bed without her. I was stretching out the time I spent in my office because what else would I do but work?
Not being with Parker was worse than expected. I was more miserable than I could have possibly imagined.
“Hey, Tristan,” Brigette, the hostess at the Mayfair bar Beck had nominated today, greeted me with warm familiarity.
I managed a smile. Brigette was five ten, blonde, smile as wide as the Atlantic. She was also usually subject to my very best flirtation. We’d usually go back and forth—I’d tell her I’d like to take her out, show her the best date of her life. She would tell me there was nothing she’d like better but she wasn’t allowed to date patrons. I would tell her that I was worth giving up her job for. She would tell me she’d have to have a ring first, etcetera.
But not tonight.
I didn’t have it in me.
“Great to see you again, how have you been doing?” she asked.
“Good,” I said. “Is Beck here yet?”
She stiffened at my reaction but I couldn’t bring myself to care. “Right this way.” She showed me to the table where Dexter and Beck were already seated.
“Holy shit, what happened?” Dexter asked. “You look like your cat died.”
“Have you ordered drinks?” I asked.
“What do you want?” Beck asked.
“Anything alcoholic,” I replied.
“I’ll get it,” Beck said. “Anyone object to champagne? I feel like we should celebrate the first baby of the group being born. That one is going to have to play referee between her parents her entire life.”