Book 4 - Page 93 (1/2)

“Well, I’m not sure if we’re a thing anymore, but it is what it is.” She leaned forward, tilting her head as she asked, “Tell me what happened?”

And like this, with my head in my hands and pulse thudding anxiously in my throat, I confessed the entire affair to Portia.

I told her about New York, Tony’s not being able to come and Ruby coming in his place. I told her about Ruby’s feelings for months before I was aware, her beauty, her humor, and how she put me at ease so immediately. I told her about my fears, my longing, my hesitation. And, although I likely didn’t need to, I told her how I knew she needed more from me—more communication, more intimacy—and I sincerely tried to do it right.

“And then I came here for dinner,” I admitted. “I couldn’t tell her it was nothing without feeling like I was lying—because I did intend to hear you out, Portia—but I didn’t want her to think that I was coming back to you, either. She looked shattered.” I groaned, remembering her vacant expression, the way she’d absently wandered from the room and out of the building entirely. “I’ve made a terrible mess of this.”

“Niall,” she said, voice soothing. “You know you’ve got to fix it.”

I nodded, feeling sick. I didn’t know if it was that easy. I’d messed up, enormously.

She paused. “I love you, you know?”

Her voice held a rare poignancy. She’d said this only a handful of times during our marriage and here, the words spilled out so much more readily.

Smiling up at her, I said, “Love you, too, Porsh.”

And then, the familiar command returned: “Fix it.”

I jogged down the steps to the street, already dialing Ruby’s number.

It rang, and rang.

I’d never heard her voice mail recording before, and hearing her voice while my heart was clutched with an uneasy panic only made me feel more urgent.

“Hi, this is Ruby! Leave me a message and I’ll probably just text you back because I’m terrible about calling but if you’re calling this number you probably already know that about me and I’m already forgiven.” Beep.

“Ruby,” I began, “it’s me, Niall. I’ve . . .” I trailed off, pulling at my hair. “I’ve just left Portia’s. Ruby, I don’t know why I went there. I shouldn’t have gone. Please, just call me. I want to see you tonight. This was all absurd. I need to see you.”

But hour after hour, she didn’t call, and she didn’t text.

Admittedly I arrived at work early the next morning but I was still surprised that Ruby wasn’t yet at her desk.

Her friend Pippa was there, though, and when I approached—knowing full well Pippa was aware of our relations.h.i.+p—she blinked away from me in a scowl.

“Pippa?”

She looked up at me again, eyes level and a.s.sessing. “Yeah?”

“Have you heard from Ruby or know when she’s expected in?”

Her expression s.h.i.+fted from annoyed to baffled. “ ‘Expected in’?”

“In to work,” I clarified, a bit unnecessarily I felt.