Page 53 of Third Time’s a Charm

A massive bed is piled with pristine white linen and is positioned perfectly for the view. Beyond it is a short set of steps leading to a sitting area below, where a leather couch is also angled for the view, without obscuring the vista from the bed. To the right a stone fireplace crackles with a freshly lit blaze.

What really grabs my attention, though, is the trail of red and pink rose petals scattered from the door to the bed, and in the open door of the bathroom, where a brass bowl full of them sits waiting on a wooden stool by the enormous bath, along with several fancy glass bottles and a luxurious-looking sponge on a marble tray.

I step further into the room and notice a bottle of sparkling wine in a silver ice bucket and a bowl of chocolates on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Propped up against the bucket is a card.

Congratulations Mr & Mrs Spencer-Jones.

“Fuck, that’s what she meant. This is the honeymoon suite,” I mutter. What a waste. I’ll be spending the night here alone.

My phone buzzes.

I think maybe I’ll just get room service and have an early night. I’m pretty tired.

Shit. I’m disappointed. And relieved. I can’t say I blame her. Dinner would be worse than awkward, given where things stand. But we have to work together. Spend the next week or so together. I’m about to type out a reply when I notice the dots bouncing, so I wait.

I’m not upset or angry with you or anything. Just need a minute to catch my breath and recentre myself.

Shit again. She’s hurt. And so she should be. She has every right to tear me a new one. I thoroughly deserve it. But even now, she’s making sure I’m not uncomfortable. This is how Louise operates. Always ensuring everyone around her is happy, never causing trouble or making demands. Even when she’s absolutely entitled to.

Which, of course, makes me feel worse.

I completely understand.

It seems so inadequate. And it’s not at all what I want to say. I want to tell her to yell at me. Throw something, maybe. Call me names. But I can’t.

I want to tell her I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry about what happened. If that’s all I ever have of her, I’ll cherish it forever. I’m only sorry I can’t explain why I’ve shut it down.

I hope you feel better in the morning.

I throw my phone onto the bed where it lands amid the petals and prowl the room. I’m restless. I’ll never settle tonight. It’s too dark to go for a run on unfamiliar roads. Maybe I’ll go to the bar. Have something to eat there. Alone. Which is what I deserve.

As I reach for my phone, an email alert comes in. I fumble it and drop it to the floor in my anxiety. Perhaps it’s from Tate. And it is.

Strangely, it’s an out of office reply.

I grip my phone so tight I’m in danger of cracking the screen. My teeth grind. Blood pounds in my ears.

That fucking fucker. This is classic Tate behaviour. He’s toying with me. Letting me know who’s in charge. And leaving me to second-guess what his intentions are.

Because being out of office is neither a yes nor a no. And the fact that it took hours to come through suggests it wasn’t in place when I sent my email.

On face value, if you didn’t know Tate, you might take it as an outright no.

But Tate loves to play with his dinner, cat-and-mouse style. He may well have every intention of saying yes, but he’ll be wanting me to work for it. Sweat over it.

I’m so thoroughly sick of his games. His arrogance.

I sit on the sofa and take some deep, calming breaths. Then call Edward.

“I know,” he drawls, in lieu of hello.

“What the fuck?” My voice is at least an octave lower than normal.

“Made a last-minute decision to go to that conference in Argentina, as far as I can tell. All very suspicious. Vintage Tate, though, I have to say.” His contempt for Tate eclipses even mine.

“He’s been riding me to get this thing in Australia wound up, and he’s the one failing to make decisions. Now he takes off on a junket?” It’s difficult to speak with my molars grinding so hard.

“That snooty bitch of a secretary of his is giving me nothing. It’s entirely possible he’s taken off on holiday with his latest sidepiece and used the conference as an excuse, or …”