‘Shut it, Rhys,’ I snapped. ‘You know damn well why I broke things off. So do us all a favour and back off.’
He clocked the death grip I had on the wine bottle and caught the look in my eyes—the sa look that said I wouldn’t think twice about smashing it over his infuriating head again, just like last ti.
Rhys froze. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. Like I’d just walked up and slapped him with a frozen salmon.
He simply couldn’t compute the fact that I was no longer the starry-eyed doormat who used to treat his words like gospel. Probably still catching up from that ti I’d literally slapped him during our breakup.
Honestly, I don’t think his ego had recovered.
Before Rhys could open his mouth again, a manager in a suit so sharp it could’ve sliced air walked over. He looked at Rhys and Catherine like they were yesterday’s expired prawns.
‘Sir, ma’am, I’m afraid you’re now on our banned list. You’re no longer welco here. Ever.’
Rhys spluttered like a clogged kettle. ‘W-what? You can’t be serious.’
Instead of explaining, the manager waved over security. Two very large n in very small earpieces started making their way towards our table.
Rhys kept yelling sothing about how he’d ‘file a complaint’ or whatever nonsense billionaires shout when things don’t go their way.
Catherine just hissed sothing under her breath and followed him out, her heels clicking like angry punctuation marks.
Once the chaos walked itself out, the manager turned to with a faint, polite smile. ‘Apologies for the disturbance, miss. Your dinner tonight is on the house.’
I blinked at him. ‘That’s... very generous of you.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’re a highly valued patron here at La Vache Dorée.’
‘Highly valued’. Right. I’d been here maybe twice this past month, and both tis I’d ordered the cheapest set nu and split a dessert with Yvaine.
I eyed the manager, whom I’d vaguely recognised from those visits—always polite, always professional, but never this... chummy. He gave big energy of soone who wouldn’t notice in a line-up unless I’d set the restaurant on fire.
Before I could probe into his sudden generosity, he handed a black card embossed with the restaurant’s logo.
‘The owner asked to pass this along. You’re welco to dine here, anyti. No charge.’
He gave a little bow and disappeared into the kitchen before I could so much as sputter a refusal.
Yvaine gawked at the card. ‘Wait, what? Mira, do you know the owner of this place?’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
But I had a hunch who it might be.
***
When I got back to my flat, still riding the high from watching Rhys and Catherine get chucked out of the restaurant like a couple of misbehaving toddlers, the universe decided I’d had enough fun for the night.
My landlord was waiting by my door, fiddling with his keys like they were rosary beads. Mr Donnelly, mid-fifties, who always slled faintly of microwaveable shepherd’s pie and wore socks with sandals, gave a look like I’d just run over his cat.
‘Miss Vance, I’m really sorry,’ he said, scratching his head in that way n do when they’re about to say sothing completely shitty but want to look sympathetic while doing it. ‘There’s going to be so, ah, urgent renovations. Safety stuff. You’ll need to, ah, vacate the apartnt by the end of the week.’
Right. And I was the Queen of England.
I could practically hear my mother’s voice behind his. Guess she’d made good on that charming threat.
I nodded. ‘I’ll be gone in two days.’
No argunts. No begging.
No point.
He gave an awkward nod and shuffled off, probably to microwave another shepherd’s pie.
I’d expected this. Just didn’t expect my mother to move this fast.
Moving wasn’t an issue. I could afford sowhere better. Bigger. With windows that didn’t jam and a kitchen that didn’t double as a sauna every ti I boiled water.
Hell, I could’ve offered Mr Donnelly double the rent and he’d probably have wept with joy and accepted.
But that would’ve been like duct-taping a crack in the Hoover Dam.
Even if I stayed, my mum knew where I lived. The calls, the visits, the threats dressed up as motherly concern—none of it would stop unless I gave in and married Leonard Shaw or whatever crusty aristocrat she dug up, or found a man powerful enough to scare her into silence.
Speaking of which...
I was halfway through ntally packing my jewellery tools and wondering if my next landlord would let solder in the living room when it hit —I’d agreed to fake an engagent with my very attractive neighbour, and I didn’t even know his bloody na.
Brilliant.
In my defence, I’d been a little preoccupied during that eting, mostly with the way his shirt hugged his shoulders.
And also with the very inconvenient, very vivid flashbacks to that night in the hotel room. The one with all the foggy bits and the completely uncalled-for heat.
So when he started going on about the details of our arrangent, I was too busy staring at his mouth and wondering if it still tasted the sa to take in much of anything else.
Still. Minor detail.
I scribbled a note:
Hey, just a heads-up—I’m moving out in two days. Long story. Here’s my number in case you still want to go ahead with the whole fake fiancé thing. Na’s Mira, by the way. Cheers.
I tucked it under his door across the hall. The lights were off, no sound from inside.
He was probably out doing hot mysterious things. Like brooding on a rooftop or teaching orphans how to box or whatever handso n do when they’re not accidentally getting roped into fake relationships.
Then I went back to my flat, plonked myself on the sofa, opened my laptop, and typed ‘apartnts that won’t ruin your life’ into the search bar.
Rhys rang just as I was elbow-deep in a bag of cheesy crisps, trying to ignore my tragic life by watching an aggressively cheerful baking show.
I answered because I was in a good mood and didn’t bother to check caller ID.
Stupid of , really.
He didn’t bother with small talk. ‘Dinner. Tomorrow night. With my family.’
I leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling like it owed an explanation. ‘Rhys, we’re not together anymore. In case your mory’s as selective as your morals.’
He huffed. ‘My mother wants to see you.’
Reviews
All reviews (0)