Page 30 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘That’s what Dad says.’ Behind her glasses, Phoebe fixes me with a withering look. ‘It’s been twenty years. Get over it.’

‘Wow,’ I whisper.

Phoebe only blinks.

‘What about this?’ I ask, pointing to the fourth wall, which has been painted in blackboard chalk.

Phoebe shrugs. ‘Me and my best friend Maya like making lists.’

I can’t help but notice that the one that has GRUDGES written at the top is quite long, several names on it ominously crossed out.

‘I like making lists too,’ I volunteer. I don’t have a huge amount of experience with talking to children and I worry that I sound like I’m trying too hard but Phoebe nods. It’s hardly a ringing endorsement, but I’ll take it.

There’s a knock against the doorframe, and Nico stands there. ‘Okay, little Bee,’ he says to his daughter. ‘Time to get ready for bed. No reading past eight-thirty, please.’

While Nico and Phoebe enter into bedtime negotiations (that I’m not certain Nico will win) I slip quietly out of the room. After a moment’s hesitation, I sit on the sofa, which has been cleared of laundry, next to Taco, who has curled up on one of the cushions. He lifts his head and places it on my knee with a happy sigh. Tentatively, I pat his head and he closes his eyes. He starts drooling on my trousers and when I try to move away he grumbles low in his throat.

I look at my phone and find I have messages waiting. A bunch of them are from Tara, who had been asking about book club when I abruptly hit her with the news I was getting on a plane.

WAIT. What do you mean you ACCIDENTALLY GOT MARRIED?????

And you’re GOING TO AMERICA???

To talk to your HUSBAND???????

Call me when you can. I want to know EVERYTHING.

This is interspersed with a frankly irresponsible number of gifs of people screaming.

There’s also a message from Adrian, which is unexpected and makes me feel a pang of guilt. He took our breakup well, but asked if we could stay friends.

I reply to both of them, telling Tara I’ll call tomorrow and telling Adrian I’m fine and away on business.

Finally, Nico reappears looking like he’s been put through the wringer. I get the impression that raising an eight-year-old is not a walk in the park. He looks down at me and his drooling dog, and smiles.

‘Time for a real drink?’ he asks.

‘Honestly, I already feel half-drunk on jetlag,’ I say. ‘Maybe a tea?’

‘Fortunately, I get proper teabags online,’ Nico moves around to the kitchen behind me and I hear the tap running. ‘Do you want something to eat? I can throw some pasta together or order a pizza?’

I yawn. ‘I’m fine. I think I’ll have an early night.’

He places two cups of tea on the coffee table in front of me and takes a seat in the empty chair. He leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees, and lets out a long breath. The silence stretches between us.

‘I don’t even know where to start,’ he admits.

‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘There’s quite a bit to unpack.’

Nico’s gaze slides away from mine. ‘The last time we saw each other—’

‘Let’s just forget about it,’ I say quickly.

His lips press together. ‘I didn’t like how we left things. It was my fault we ended up in that situation in the first place.’ His frown deepens. ‘It’s my fault we’re here at all. You wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for me. I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t have anything to apologise for,’ I insist, fighting the urge to wring my hands. Nico still seems determined to take the blame for our wild night out, and now instead of frustration I feel ashamed. I can’t bring myself to confess that if anyone was responsible for the impromptu wedding it was probably me: after all, I’ve dreamed of marrying Nico for most of my life.

‘And now you’ve been dragged half way across the world by my lunatic family,’ he continues, oblivious to my inner struggle.