If last time we were together was the best one night stand I could ever have imagined, this is the worst second night stand in the history of my sex life. Maybe in the history of the world.
“I really am sorry,” I say again, standing at the side of the bed. “I’ve never had sex with anyone like I have with you.” Her eyes flutter shut as if she can’t bear to listen to me talk, but still I add, “That remains true.”
Her chin shifts, and her voice is quiet. “It was never meant to mean anything.”
Feeling terrible that I’ve hurt this young woman, I sit beside her as I fix my tie, which I can’t believe I’m still wearing, and straighten it. “No,” I agree. “It wasn’t.”
“Just sex.”
“Yes.”
She nods and climbs out of bed, grabbing her clothes and padding totally naked to the bathroom. She has a glorious body. Perfect, really. And fuck if it isn’t similar to Diana’s in her bikini. The sight of it makes me ache, and I clench my teeth to hold back the groan of frustration that seeks to rumble up my throat.
She closes the door, and I sit, waiting. But for what, I don’t fucking know, except that to disappear while she’s in thebathroom would be so rude, I can’t contemplate it. She doesn’t deserve that.
A few moments later, she comes out fully dressed and walks to the door without looking at me. Christ, this is awkward.
Her hand is on the door handle when she glances back at me. “You should tell her.”
“Excuse me?”
She swallows, and her voice falters slightly, so I can only just make out her words as she leaves the room. “You heard me.”
All thoughts evacuate my mind, replaced by the idea of telling my daughter’s best friend that I called out her name during sex with another woman.
I could never fucking do that.Never.
32
DIANA
It’s a strange feeling being rejected and accepted all at once, knowing you’ve been fucked by a man who didn’t really want you, who wasn’t really there with you, because he was thinking of someone else.
But that the someone else was, in fact, also you.
I feel so,sostupid.
I convinced myself he knew. When I called him Mr Bastion, I told myself he knew.He fucking knew.
When I leave Delirium, I walk the streets trying to clear my head, only hailing a cab when my feet start to ache. At the Emblem, I sneak into the building, hoping I don’t bump into Rafe in the lobby, hiding my outfit beneath a long trench coat so it isn’t obvious on any CCTV as I enter.
I lived with a father who was paranoid and watched my every move; I know how to avoid detection when I have to, and I wasn’t going to risk getting caught out by something so basic.
Letting myself in, I’m surprised to find every light off. It’s not that late. Not even midnight.
Maybe he never came back. Maybe he didn’t leave. Maybe he’s still at Delirium with someone else. The thought makes me want to weep.
I take a long, hot bath, relaxing as much as possible, which isn’t a lot. I wash my hair, scrub the make-up off, remove my nail varnish and clip my nails short, then hide my clothes and shoes in the back of my wardrobe. I can’t find my mask anywhere, but I took it off in the cab, so I probably left it there. It’s not like I’ll need it again anyway. I can’t go back to Delirium. Not now. The place will always be tainted by what happened tonight.
I try to sleep, but I can’t. My body is too hot, my mind too full of thoughts. I ache between my legs and can’t stop thinking about how hard he fucked me.
Every time there’s the tiniest noise, my heart leaps, convinced it’s him.
Eventually, I give up trying to sleep and make my way to the sitting room, where I turn on the TV and curl up in the corner of the sofa, pulling a blanket over me. I choose a Christmas-themed romance movie, and let it wash over me.
The film is halfway through when I hear the rumble of the lift and the sound of the doors opening.
He’s back.