“Of course I do!” The anger inside me bursting out. “Everyone will think that.”
“Let them think it! As long as you and the people who love you know the truth, it doesn’t matter.”
I raise my hands, “I can’t listen to this. It’s not enough.”
“You love her Danny, of course it’s enough.”
I freeze and stare at her.
“You love her, don’t you?”
Words stick in my throat. The air in the room evaporates.
“I’m tired,” I manage to grit out. “I’m going to bed.”
I let my bag drop to the floor in the bedroom Pip keeps for me in the house. I don’t bother to open the blinds or turn on the light before collapsing onto the plush bedding.
Pip hired an interior designer to craft every inch of her house, including my room. Mahogany furniture with soft white furnishings give the room a cozy feel, but I can’t get comfortable. The bed is too soft, the duvet too silky, the room too quiet. I close my eyes and picture Anya’s bedroom, noises from the bustling street below filtering through the Juliet balcony, her warm body curled around mine and her hair tickling my nose.
You love her, don’t you?
The question spins in my head.
Falling in love with Anya was easier than falling asleep. Falling out of love with Anya will be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.
Chapter 39
ANYA
It’s very easy to feel like the last few months have been a complete dream when I’m back on Rosie’s couch drinking cheap Sauvignon Blanc and sobbing.
I got back to London yesterday, the seat next to me empty of any grumpy, attractive men. I did manage to make it all the way back to Rosie’s place before completely breaking down, where I quickly realized that not telling my best friend anything about the man I have been secretly in love with for the past two months was probably not my best idea.
“Danny Covington.” Rosie repeats for the fifth time after I’ve spilled the whole story to her.
“Yes,” I wail, blowing my nose.
“Danny Covington.” It’s like she’s having a software malfunction.
“Rosie,” I moan, gulping my non-French wine like it’s water.
“Danny Cov—”
I throw a cushion at her, her hands catch it before it dislodges the glasses perched on her nose.
“I’m sorry! It’s just taking me a second to absorb. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I sniff. “We didn’t tell anyone.”
“Does your mum know?”
“No. Only Jaques the driver. And his sister.” I wince. “And Cassie.”
“His sister? Wait, Cassie as inCassandra?” Rosie shrieks.
I nod miserably.
“Oh my god. This is the best day ever.”
