Page 161 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘I was walking by. I saw it was happening.’

‘Nevertheless, it was nice to know you cared enough.’

‘I was with that book from the start. Of course I cared.’

‘You made me write it, after all,’ he says.

‘No I didn’t.’

‘You did,’ he insists. ‘I’d still be faffing around with Springs Eternal if it weren’t for you. And it would’ve been a shit book, I know it would.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’d have turned it into something brilliant. You always do.’

‘Always?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought you’d only read Winter’s Heartbreak.’

‘I had to read the others. Especially after Ariel said you put real people in them.’

‘I don’t,’ he says. ‘I might . . . borrow events, but that’s all.’

‘So your next book?’ I ask. ‘Crime or a tear-jerker?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘A jilted fiancé who goes on a murderous rampage? Or a fiancée whose heart is so broken she can’t function in normal society. Until she gets her hands on poison.’

‘You should write a crime book yourself,’ he says. ‘You have the best ideas.’

‘I could never, ever write a book. Though I’m better at my reports since I moved jobs.’

‘How’s that going?’

‘Good. I like it.’

‘And an easy commute from Marino.’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you don’t believe that Ariel coming to the house that night was completely unexpected,’ he says. ‘But it was.’

‘Whether it was or wasn’t doesn’t matter,’ I say.

‘It matters to me.’ His tone is fierce. ‘A lot. Even if I never see you again after today, it matters that you believe me. That I hadn’t invited her, that she only came because she had news about her company and—’

‘And you didn’t say it’s not appropriate to come to the house tonight, let’s meet somewhere tomorrow instead,’ I finish for him. ‘Instead you poured her a glass of champagne and danced with her.’

He stops walking and turns to me. ‘I agree that would have been the right thing to say. I’m sorry I didn’t say it, and I’m even more sorry about the champagne and the dancing.’

‘So am I.’

‘But you really do have to understand that it was impromptu.’

‘I understand. It’s fine. I forgive you.’

‘Oh.’

We begin walking again.

‘You and I were always a romantic fiction,’ I tell him. ‘A younger woman. An older man. Falling in love on a tropical island. Me with an already broken heart. You . . . Well, your heart was fine despite your agent-slash-ex, but you were struggling with your book. Throw in cocktails on the beach and sex in your poolside villa. It’d be more surprising if we hadn’t fallen for each other.’