"Oh, right."
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
I held up my packages, and because I had no excuse save to admit that I might now have a drinking problem, I said, “Uh, yeah. I also have a party.”
She laughed. " We should have you over again."
"Oh yeah, like it went so swimmingly last time?"
She laughed. "Well, okay, it could have gone better, true. But, you know, I think you had a point. Denning can be an arsehole."
My eyes went wide. "What?"
"Look, I know who I’m marrying. I do. There's nothing you could tell me about him that I don't know. He can be the worst, but when he has moments of kindness and vulnerability, it's amazing. And that is the Denning I know. I'm sorry you had a different experience."
"Yeah, if he makes you happy, it’s none of my business."
"Right. But are you okay? You looked a little scared."
The furrow of her brow, her wide blinking eyes, did say concern. But there was something just, I don't know, off about her being there.
“Why would say that?” I didn't know her that well. It was entirely possible she knew someone over here. After all, the flats in this neighborhood were high-end, fancy. All kinds of people lived in them. People who might even buy her art, after all.
"You're sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
She hesitated. "Do you want me to walk you to your party?"
What, and discover that it was a party of one? A pity party for myself? Hell no. "No, it's all good. I’m just going to head upstairs."
"Well, great. I'm glad to see you, Nyla. You have a good night, okay?"
I nodded and gave her a wan smile. Honestly, she was very nice, but her choice of Denning made her suspect, so I knew I couldn't trust her and would never be able to.
But, poor thing, she was definitely too good for him. And she had no idea.
Nyla
My glass bottles clinked as I placed my bags on the counter. I pulled out the white and the rosé, placing them in my refrigerator. The red I uncorked and let sit for a moment.
For several long beats I forced myself to take soothing deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart. I was fucking losing it. Three years ago, I'd had an ideal life. Why the fuck had I ever left MI5? I’d been happy. Rising. Doing well. My father respected me. I’d had friends, so many friends.
But now? God. My life had shrunk to this Interpol job, which I’d recently lost when I was suspended by my own father, an ex I hated who had ruined my soul, my one friend I saw regularly whom I’d also worked with, and a man who no longer wanted me.
To make matters worse, I was actually pining for it all. I wasn’t used to being a loser. I was a badass who took charge of things.
Oh yeah... You’re such a badass that you’re going to drink that entire bottle of wine without a glass, aren’t you?
I eyed the bottle curiously. Wasn’t I doing the environment a favor if I drank it straight from the bottle? For the first time in my life, I had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no case to follow up on, nothing. I should be relieved. I hadn't had a vacation in, God, how long? An honest to God vacation, relaxing and shit. At a beach. I should go to the beach, not in the UK, but somewhere sunny.
Some time away would certainly do me good. Everything was upside down, and I needed to figure out how to get back on equal footing. But how? I didn’t even know how I'd gotten off the right footing in the first place.
You know how. You trusted East Hale.
I grabbed the bottle, sans glass might I add, and headed for the living room. But before I passed the threshold, I tripped on something pink and frilly. Upon further inspection, said pink and frilly thing appeared to be my panties.
What. The. Hell?
We’d made love all over the flat the night before, but he’d gotten me naked in the living room, not the kitchen. So where had these come from?
Frowning I held them up. It was a fresh pair. They still had the faint scent of my detergent.
Maybe, they’d stuck to me when I’d gotten dressed this morning?
Or he knew he was leaving and tried to take a souvenir.
No. That was creep city.
But just the kind of shit he would do.
Unable to help myself, with bottle in hand, I searched my flat. If he’d been there, he had to have left some evidence.
I knew I wasn’t being rational. But with every sip of wine, logic flew out the window. Who needed rationality when I had wine?
I told myself I was being crazy, that I'd find no evidence. But in my bedroom, the hint of musky aftershave lingered in the air. And there was a divot on my duvet. I could see the faintest hint of an impression.
You're grasping at straws.
No. I wasn’t. He’d been there. But the question was, why?
I might’ve been angry with him. I might’ve thought that he was being a juvenile prick. And he might’ve even scared me just a little, but I still trusted him. I knew he'd been telling the truth about the London Lords. If I was being honest with myself, I'd known before I even started chasing them. What had irritated me the most about the Lords was that I didn't like to lose.
I fell back onto my bed, careful of my half-empty bottle of wine. How had my life gone from what I'd always wanted to this? Running around my flat, swearing I could smell the man who dumped me. If I hadn't started talking to East, started falling for him, my life would have been normal. Sure, I might have
