“What changed, for him?”
“Great question.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I doubt I ever will. It’s as though one day he just decided he didn’t want to be with me anymore. There was no one else involved. I believe him one hundred per cent on that score; Ashton’s not a good liar; he’s not capable of it.”
“What reason did he give you then?”
Her smile was a weak facsimile. “He didn’t love me anymore.” She blinked as she stared at him. “He said he didn’t know what he wanted but that it wasn’t this.” She pointed to the table but it was clear she was speaking about her relationship. “He was bored of our life. Bored of the domesticity of it all. He wanted to travel, to ‘live’,” she said, lifting her fingers to either side of her head and gesturing with air quotes.
“And this he could not do with you?”
“He didn’t want to do it with me. Look at the woman he’s replaced me with! We couldn’t be more different.”
He frowned, trying to remember anything he could about the woman he’d noticed waiting for Ashton.
“What about her?”
“She’s gorgeous,” she snapped, draining her cocktail and pushing the glass away. “Elegant and tall and all blonde and perfect.”
“You think you’re not gorgeous and elegant?”
She shook her head. “I know I’m not. And I don’t really care – but seeing him with someone like that, seeing the kind of woman he’s with now –,”
“Stop.” He reached across and pressed a finger to her lips, forgetting for a moment that they worked together, forgetting this was all just an elaborate ruse, and treating Bronte as he would any woman he was spending time with. It was a mistake though. Her lips were soft to the touch, and her breath was warm, flooding him with a rush of desire that came out of nowhere.
“You are smart, and kind, and very, very beautiful, so do not talk down about yourself in comparison to this other woman.”
Her eyes were on the table. “You don’t have to say that.”
“Apparently I do, if you can look at his new girlfriend and feel inferior in any way.”
But Bronte wasn’t easily convinced. She shook her head, dislodging his finger. He let his hand drop between them, even as his fingertip was aching to be back against her lips, moving between the soft, pillowy flesh, pushing into the moist warmth of her mouth…Cristo. Get a grip.
“You don’t need to do this. I’m okay.”
“Would you like anything to eat? Drink?” A young waiter approached the table, interrupting their conversation.
“You should eat,” he said, thinking of the glasses of champagne she’d had and the cocktail that had disappeared quickly.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will be later. And I’m starving. Can you grab us some menus?” He directed the question to the waiter.
“And another one of these?” She lifted the empty cocktail glass.
He turned back to face her.
“It’s just strange to feel like your life was on one path and then suddenly it took a different turn, you know?”
“Si.”
“I really thought we were going to get married.”
“And that’s what you wanted?”
She opened her mouth to speak then closed it again, frowning. “Do you know what? No one’s asked me that. I don’t… know how to answer.”