Liar Liar

‘I’ll let you go when you listen to me, and when you stop behaving like a brat.’ He presses my wrists flat, his dark hair falling over his brow.

‘This brat that wishes she’d hit you harder back in March!’ I continue to rail at him, shaking my fists to the best of my abilities.

‘You hit me? You made me come off my motorcycle?’ His words are sharp and more than a little ugly, finger manacles tightening.

‘Yeah, sure. I saw you whizz past and launched a purple dildo at your helmet, just for the hell of it. It was four in the morning, you idiot. You crept up on me! You’re lucky it was the dildo I grabbed and not the can of pepper spray.’

‘Then I have to ask. Why were you carrying such a . . . deadly weapon in your bag?’

‘Don’t you laugh. It came in the mail.’

‘It came in the mail?’ As he begins to chuckle, I drop my head back against the tile.

‘Not even a cute. And not like that. It arrived . . . it hit my mailbox. Urgh!’ This is a minefield of innuendo. His pickle might be tickled, but I’m just annoyed. Trying again, I utter the words through barely moving lips. ‘My friend sent it from Australia as a joke. I’d collected the package that day on my way into work.’

‘I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t send you a cricket bat.’

‘I have different feelings on that, obviously.’

‘Ma Rose, there’s nothing obvious about you.’ From harsh words to soft, his smile spreads slow and sweet.

‘Meanwhile, you’re no different from a thousand other men. A million of them. Maybe you do have an agreement. Maybe you have some kind of open relationship. I don’t care. You lied to me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, all traces of his smile and mirth wiped from his face. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

Isn’t that what they all say?

With one last tiny throb of connection, he releases me, blood rushing back to my wrists. He sits, pressing his back to the wall, his arms draped across his bent knees. Even in the cramped corner between my bedroom and the lounge, he has the bearing of a prince. A prince who has taken liberties where he ought to have not.

‘I should’ve told you before now. I thought . . . I didn’t think it would come to this. I thought I could arrange things so you wouldn’t be hurt. So you wouldn’t think badly of me.’

‘So you wouldn’t have been caught. Caught hurting two women.’ Because after her display earlier, I’m pretty sure Amélie doesn’t know about me.

‘There is only you.’ His head rises, the light spilling from the bedroom, casting his high cheekbones in stark relief. ‘With Amélie, it’s been a business arrangement since the start. The only thing she’ll mourn is my credit card.’

My feckless heart gives a little leap.

‘It’s you I want. I’m done with keeping secrets, and I’m done with feeling like your dirty little secret.’

‘I played right into your hands with that, right? Super convenient for you.’ Stupid, stupid, Rose.

‘No, that’s not true. I was ending things with her. Ending the business arrangement that is is. What I said our first time here in Monaco, I meant it. I’ve never had another woman in my bed.’

‘I guess that’s the kind of thing all cheaters say.’

A muscle in his jaw beginning to clenching. ‘Whatever you think, whatever I’ve done, I was not unfaithful to you.’

‘So you just cheated on her?’

‘You can’t cheat in business. My mistake was waiting for us both to be in the same country for me to finish things.’

‘If it was purely a business arrangement, you could’ve told me. You might’ve warned me. You might’ve—’ At the first sign of a warble, I clamp my lips together, dropping my head again as I pretend the leaking at the outer corners of my eyes is rain.

Indoor rain. Nothing wrong with that.

‘I’m sorry, truly sorry, but none of this changes how I feel about you. I cannot be without you.’ I hear the determination. Feel his words. But it takes two to make a relationship, and while he might not have broken Amélie’s heart, mine currently needs a baggy and a tub of glue.

‘I need you to leave,’ I whisper as I finally stand and brush the hair from my face and straighten my clothes, trying to retain the last threads of my dignity as I begin to move. I don’t get far as he gracefully rocks to his feet and takes my shoulder in his hands.

‘Let me go, Remy.’

‘I can’t do that. I know I’ve hurt you, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

‘Just . . . just go away. I can’t deal with you or your lies.’

‘I won’t let you go.’ His hands cup my face, his words softly determined, and I wish I could harden my heart to him.