I take a deep breath. “I’m just tired.”
“You poor thing.” Simon pulls his hand out from my shorts and reaches around my waist to turn me over. Then I’m facing him, staring into his chocolate-brown eyes. He pushes a lock of hair out of my face, and his tenderness makes me want to cry. When he presses his nose to mine I have to close my eyes to block everything out.
“Kiss me,” he whispers.
I freeze. Hearing Niall’s words coming out of Simon’s mouth seems some sort of cruel joke. “I can’t.”
I can’t kiss Niall because I’m married to Simon. I can’t kiss Simon because I’m infatuated with Niall.
Infatuation, not love. That’s what it is.
Simon lets go of me, rolling onto his back in defeat. Flinging an arm across his face, he takes a deep breath.
“Okay,” he says slowly, “I understand. We need to take things slow. But being away this weekend gave me a lot of time to think, and I hate the way I’ve been treating you. I’m going to make it up to you, I promise.” He takes my hand in his, threading our fingers together. And though I eventually fall asleep, it’s neither restful nor reviving.
* * *
“You’re late.” Lara looks up from her lunch: a foil-wrapped ham sandwich and half a cup of tepid coffee. I suspect the latter has been hanging around most of the morning. Brown, sticky stains are dried on the side of her mug. She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth, yet still manages to talk. “You were supposed to be here at twelve.”
“I’m only a couple of minutes late.” I step away from the shower of crumbs that fly out from her mouth. “And you’re disgusting by the way.”
“Just time poor.” She balls up the foil and throws it in her bin. “I’ve a client at one, and from the look of you we’ll need more than fifty-five minutes to solve all your problems.”
“There’s not enough time in the world for that,” I mutter, then flop dramatically into the leather chair to the side of her desk. “Aren’t you supposed to counsel me without a desk between us?”
“Stop being a layman.” She takes a sip of her coffee then makes a face. “And anyway, this isn’t a counselling session. It’s lunch. Where you get to make me feel better about myself by telling me how crap your rich, privileged life is.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. She has this knack of seeing the ridiculous in everything. “If you mention first-world problems I’m going to slap you,” I warn.
“Hey, I make a living out of first-world problems, I’d never disrespect them.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk and clasping her hands together. “So, tell me all about it. I hope there’s sexual deviancy involved. I’ve missed that since I came here.”
“Does deviancy include refusing to have sex with your husband?”
“Nope, that’s what we like to call marriage.”
“Okay, great, you’ve solved all my problems.” I smile cheerily. “Now let’s go to work on world peace.”
“So the ice king thawed, then?” She ignores my jibe.
“He came home on Sunday, had a few drinks then tried to get it on with me. I guess you could call that a thaw.”
“Did he mention the silent treatment?”
“No, he just tried to kiss me. And I kissed Niall Joseph the night before,” I blurt out, totally unprompted.
Lara is taken aback. “What?” She leans toward me, her eyes wide. “You did what?”
“I kissed him, or he kissed me.” My heart is racing. I’m not sure if it’s at the memory or my confession. “We both kissed each other.”
“When, where? Oh my God, did you tell Simon?”
“You’re judging me,” I hiss. “Your face has gone all judgey and it’s not meant to do that. Don’t you remember your training?”
“I’m not your counsellor. I’m your friend and I’ll judge if I want to,” she retorts. “But I’m not judging you anyway. I’m surprised, shocked maybe, but not judging.” She sits back in her seat. “He came over for dinner last night and didn’t mention a thing.”
“You had him over for dinner?” I ask. “Without me?” It’s hard not to feel aggrieved. Like my two best friends have gone on a day out and forgotten to invite me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get the memo saying that you two had a snog and now must be treated as an inseparable couple. Is that what you are now?”