Page 28 of Forever, Never, Always (Forever #2)

I get to the restaurant twenty minutes later and head inside. The host stops me at the door, and I shift Harry in my arms. “There was a table booked for one o’clock in the name of Heart. Are they still here?”

“I believe one of the diners is, yes,” he says. “Follow me.”

Sofia has her head down on the table, shoulders trembling, hair falling like a curtain around her face. The host throws me a quizzical look, but I offer him a tight, polite smile, the kind that says, Please don’t ask .

I slide into the booth beside her and wrap my arm around her gently, like I’m afraid she might break.

She startles at the touch then lifts her head. The second she sees it’s me, she collapses into my chest with a sound that cracks right through me, a sob pulled from somewhere deep, raw and painful. Her hands fist my coat. Her whole body is shaking.

Harry, blissfully unaware, grabs a fistful of her hair and tries to shove it into his mouth.

I hold her tighter and press my cheek to the top of her head, trying to steady her breathing with mine. “Shh. I’m right here.”

My eyes scan the table—the untouched food, the bottle of Champagne, a half-empty glass of wine. I wince. “It didn’t go well?”

“She already knew,” she chokes out, dragging the sleeve of her jumper across her face. “She didn’t even let me explain. She just . . . she ordered everything and left. The bill’s almost three hundred pounds.”

“I’ll cover it,” I murmur, already reaching for my wallet. “It’s all going to work out.”

“She hates me,” she whispers, like saying it aloud makes it more real. Her voice cracks on the last word.

“She’s just upset,” I say gently, rubbing slow circles into her back. “It’ll settle down.”

“You weren’t there,” she says, lifting her head. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her mascara smudged like shadows beneath them. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me.”

I place my card on the bill and wave the waiter over. “Clear this away, please. And . . . take the Champagne to another couple. On me.”

The waiter gives a small nod, retreating quickly.

I turn back to Sofia. She’s still staring ahead, hollowed out. Her hands are in her lap now, clenched so tightly, her knuckles are white.

“Sofia,” I say, gently tipping her chin so she meets my eyes. “It will blow over. I promise.”

But the look she gives me stops my heart.

It’s not just heartbreak. It’s loss . That helpless, crumpling grief that comes from knowing you might not be able to put something back together again.

And for the first time, I panic.

Zoe

Meg opens the door and her smile falters. I wonder if Sofia’s already called ahead of my arrival with a sob story, playing the victim.

“Should I just stay out here?” I ask, my tone light and teasing.

She laughs a little louder than usual, like she’s nervous, and opens the door wider. “Of course, come in.”

“Sorry I cancelled last minute,” I say, following her into the kitchen.

“I’ve just opened a bottle,” Meg says, holding up a beer. “Do you want the same?” I nod, and she grabs me one, flipping the cap off and handing it to me. I follow her into the garden.

“I thought it would be better to see Sofia first,” I say, folding my arms. “She had a few things she needed to get off her chest.”

Meg’s step falters. As she lowers herself into the chair, guilt washes over her face like a tide she can’t fight.

“I left her at The Ivy,” I add coolly, “with a three-hundred-pound bill.” Meg winces, her eyes finding mine. I smile, sharp and humourless. “It’s the least she deserved.”

I let the silence stretch for a beat then tilt my head. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Her mouth opens, and I laugh. It’s hollow. “Of course, you’re not, because you already know.”

Her face crumples. “Oh god, Zoe, I’m so sorry.”

“Shall I tell you how I found out?” I ask, slowly turning my chair to face her, each movement deliberate, precise.

“Not from her. Not from him. Not even from you .” She flinches before I’ve even said it.

“No. I found out because I heard them.” My voice shakes now, the memory still raw. “I had to listen to them fucking.”

Meg gasps, a hand flying to her mouth.

“But you know how that feels, don’t you, Meg? Hearing the man you love fuck someone else?” Her face hardens, and I smirk. “Oh please,” I sneer. “Don’t even try to play the victim. How could you lie to me?”

“I told her to tell you,” she says quickly. “It wasn’t my place. I was stuck in the middle.”

“No,” I snap, “ I was stuck in the middle. Everyone knew but me.” My chest is heaving now, the words rushing out like floodwater. “I thought you were my friend. And if you’d just had my back, just once , maybe I wouldn’t feel so completely, pathetically betrayed.”

“I am your friend,” she says, but it sounds more like a plea.

“I was there for you when Dan fucked off, remember? I backed you a hundred percent. No questions. No grey areas. And what did you do?” I gesture wildly. “You practically patted Sofia on the back and handed her the green light.”

“That’s not how it was,” she mutters, staring at the table.

I laugh again, a different kind this time. Sadder. Smaller. “No. Of course not. She fits into your little family now, doesn’t she? You and Hugo, her and Ric. Matching Christmas jumpers. Board games with the in-laws. I never stood a chance.”

“I was angry at first,” she says quietly. “But I’ve seen them together, and they’re . . . in love.” My throat tightens. The words hit harder than I expect. “I know that’s hard to hear,” she adds gently, “but they are. And you can’t force Ric to love you instead. No one can.”

I push up from the chair, jaw clenched, throat burning. I set my beer down too hard on the table. “We’ll see how much she loves him.”

Meg blinks. “What does that mean?”

“I gave her a choice,” I say, my voice like ice. “Me or him.”

She stands too, alarm spreading across her face. “Zoe, come on. Why can’t she just have both?”

“Because she can’t !” I yell louder than I mean to. “It’s me or him.”