Page 27 of Double or Nothing

And I’m in love with the woman waiting inside for us. Alice Rose Parker. A pastel rose on the outside, with vivid neon inside.

As much as I hate to admit it, Jack’s got it nailed. It’s true. I do love Alice. I always have done.

There are two L words equally prevalent in the air for me as I follow Jack into the wine bar.

Love and lust.

Both dangerous.

“You two get cosy, and I’ll get the champagne,” Jack says, and gestures to an empty table.

CHAPTER NINE

ALICE

Where on earth did the mysterious Jack Reid come from? Joker, art lover, absolute stunner.

This whole thing is so surreal, I hardly know what to make of it, other than elation. It’s as though I’ve stepped into another dimension.

I sit down with Bryce, and stare over at the blond beauty of a man at the bar who appeared like a whirlwind and spent sixty thousand pounds on my paintings out of nowhere. Now, on top of that, he’s accommodated the liaison I’ve been dreaming about for years.

Bryce is awkward as hell in my company, shuffling about as though he’s trying to get comfortable, but that’s always been typical of him. He’s great at building rapport when it comes to business, but around that, he’s always on guard. On edge. Or he used to be.

Seeing him up close like this brings back so many cherished memories.

I used to adore how he’d crack open his whole entire soul to me when our friendship was at its height, both of us sharing our insecurities and feeling like twin flames. Little sparks, illuminating each other in a world of chaos and pretence.

A while back, I finally managed to play down the memories as inflated illusions. Thank you, therapy. I put them down to my artistic side dancing around in fantasy land and overdramatising my feelings, but being next to him again – observing his familiar posture once he stops shuffling – brings them all back to life.

“Are you ok?” I ask, and he flashes his persona smile at me.

“Yes, I’m great, thank you. And I’m happy. For you. And for the hospice. It’s excellent. Absolutely marvellous.”

I wish I had the confidence to inch up closer to his side and ask him to let me back under the guard he holds up so tightly. I’d love nothing more than to squeeze his knee and remind him who I am, and who I was. Of who we were. But I’m too scared. His nervy stance makes me fidget, tapping at the tabletop. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

I look over at Jack ordering our drinks at the bar, attempting to break the tension.

“What a man you brought along with you tonight. Incredible,” I say to Bryce.

“Indeed.”

“I’m so glad you invited him.”

“Yes, me too.”

He doesn’t look quite so convinced about that. His breaths are shallow, and his smile almost gritted. His stare flits around the room as though we’re criminals for being here.

“Bryce,” I say, and he looks at me with wide eyes.

I’m wondering where to begin when the champagne flutes arrive on the table and Jack lets out a here we go. He pours our drinks, and there is nothing rigid whatsoever in his posture, or his smile. His energy is electric as he drops himself down between us and kicks his legs back with a cheers!

The three of us clink glasses, and I make sure my cheers is nice and vocal. Happy. Because I am happy. I’m ecstatic. I just sold three paintings in one go. I’m still in shock at that.

“Thank you,” I say to him. “Honestly, your donation means so much. The hospice will be able to achieve wonders with it.”

Jack kicks back some more. His smile is a jovial smirk.

“You don’t owe me any thanks, Alice. I owe you thanks. You’re the one who donated your work to charity. I bought some marvellous pieces of art. Nothing more.” He turns his head to Bryce. “I know you said there were some fantastic artists at the event, BT, but you excelled yourself with this suggestion.”