To Love Honour and Disobey

‘Thanks.’ He followed them through to the lounge. He’d had no intention of stopping for a drink. A quick goodbye and that was it. But perversity seemed necessary right now.

Phil sent him an assessing glance and went straight to the harder stuff. ‘Whisky?’

‘Thanks.’ Single malt. One thing to be said about Phil, he had impeccable taste.

‘I might just put my bag in my room.’ So Ana wanted to run, huh?

‘Jack will do it, darling,’ Phil said smoothly. He took a sip from his glass and then smiled. ‘Fancy you two meeting up in Africa.’

‘Just fancy,’ Seb said coolly, refusing to rise to Phil’s stirring. Ana would find out it had been her friend who’d told him where she’d gone. What she would read into that he was sure he didn’t care.

‘I didn’t know you guys knew each other all that well.’ Ana hadn’t touched her wine. She looked tired and suddenly Seb’s arms ached with emptiness.

‘Seb’s a client now,’ Phil answered.

‘A very valuable one,’ Seb added drily. He’d paid a huge fee to Phil. But he’d been worth it. Purely for the fringe benefits—namely his association with Ana. Phil had all the info. But even he hadn’t revealed she was actually staying with him.

Seb felt anger ripple through his body. He was angry about having to leave her here. And even angrier about feeling angry about it. He should be relieved. He should be over it. He’d had more sex in the last few days than he’d had all year. And the best sex of his life, if he stopped to think about it. Which he didn’t want to do, because now it was over. He stood. Time to go.

Phil and Jack were unusually silent, unusually observant as Seb waited for Ana to walk out to the hallway ahead of him.

She opened the front door and waited. He looked at her but she looked through him. All the intimacy was gone. She didn’t lean towards him, didn’t smile, just stood stiffer than a starched collar. It really was over for her, wasn’t it? She couldn’t wait for him to leave.

So he didn’t kiss her. Held back with more muscle control than he needed in the last leg of a triathlon. Angry with everything. Because it was what they’d agreed—Africa and that was it. Cut and dried, and damned if he was going to mess it up any more.

But the sharp edge of loneliness dug deep in the drive to his apartment. Cold, he tossed his bag by the door. He’d deal with it tomorrow. Better still get his laundry service to deal with it. He switched on his stereo to try to block the silence. Felt wrong inside. As if his stomach and his lungs had swapped places or something devastatingly uncomfortable.

Jet lag. That’d be it. Tiredness from the long flight. There was work to get on with and plenty of it, he noted as he skimmed his emails. There were details from his Dad as well on the next wedding of the century. Hell, if he had to work on another divorce for either of his folks that was it, he was charging them full fees. He shut down the computer, turned off the stereo too and cranked up the heating. He passed his bag in the hall, bent and pulled out the wooden bao set he’d bought on a whim on that last day. He held it in his hands, remembered the hours of frisky entertainment the game had spawned. Irritated, he put it high on the overcrowded bookcase and turned his back on it.

It. Was. Over.

Chapter Eight

‘SPILL it, Ana.’ Phil was sitting next to Jack on the sofa and together they were acting like an incompetent good-cop-bad-cop interview team.

‘Phil, she’ll talk if she wants to.’

‘I’m her oldest and dearest friend. I have the right to know.’

‘Only what she—’

‘I don’t need all the details, just—’

‘When she’s ready to tell you.’

‘Why don’t you go do the dishes? She’ll open up to me.’

‘Maybe she’d rather speak to someone who actually has ears, not ones that are just painted on.’

Ana watched them digging at each other with the teasing glint so evident in their eyes. Their banter was never serious and always cute. But tonight it grated. ‘Can I say something?’

‘Sure.’ They simultaneously turned their heads towards her with synchronised Abba-esque speed.

‘I’m going to get an early night.’ She stood.

‘Oh, yeah, you must be worn out from all those hot nights in Africa,’ Phil said, more sarcastic than sympathetic.

‘The flight was long.’ She aimed to quell.

‘And cosy. Bet you went business class.’

‘First class. It was very spacious, actually.’ Liar. She’d been too close to him for her nerves. Now they were beyond frayed and almost at break point.