The words tumbled out in such a rush that she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. ‘Paris …?’ Nope, her brain still wasn’t catching on. Nothing he was saying made any sense. ‘I don’t understand. What job in Paris?’
He shrugged. ‘It all came about quite suddenly.’
‘What, since this morning?’ It was no good, she had to move the suitcase before it ruined the carpet. Slipping off her Carvela courts, she tilted the suitcase against the bed. Blimey, how much stuff was he taking with him? ‘We ate breakfast together. We discussed our plans for the day. You didn’t think to mention you were off to Paris?’
Scooping up the clothes on the bed, he dumped them in the second suitcase and zipped it shut. ‘I thought it was easier this way.’ His tone bordered on belligerent.
‘I don’t understand.’ She smoothed away a crease in her grey skirt. ‘How long is this job for? A week? A month?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s permanent.’
It took a moment before the penny dropped. ‘Are … are you leaving me?’
If she expected instant denial and assurances that she was mistaken, followed by a plausible explanation as to why he was taking a job in another country, it didn’t come.
His eyes dropped to the floor. Silence descended. It was a good while before he nodded, confirming her fears.
The heat she’d felt just moments before turned to an icy chill. Her skin contracted, sending shivers racing up her arms. ‘But … why?’
He rubbed his forehead. ‘You can’t be that surprised, Charlotte. Things haven’t been good for a while.’ He rammed the suit-carrier bag into the suitcase.
Hadn’t they? This was news to her. ‘Things are fine … aren’t they?’ She walked towards him. He’d crease his suit if he carried on shoving it like that. Why was she thinking about his suit at a time like this? But she knew why. When faced with adversity, her default setting was to try and erase the problem. She cleaned, she straightened, she dusted and scrubbed, anything to maintain the polished exterior and disguise the mess lying beneath. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
He wheeled one of the cases from the bedroom, refusing to make eye contact. ‘I’m not happy.’
She followed him into the open-plan lounge. ‘What’s not to be happy about?’ She gestured to the space around them, the pale dove-grey walls and glass French doors leading onto a balcony overlooking the Thames. ‘We’ve created a beautiful home together. We have good jobs … or at least we did until an hour ago.’ She shook her head, still trying to come to terms with her new unemployed status. ‘We eat at fancy restaurants. We’re planning to visit interesting destinations. We lead the perfect life …’
‘And that’s the problem, Charlotte. Everything has to be perfect.’ He picked up one of the mauve-silk cushions, strategically placed in the middle of the corner sofa. ‘There’s no room for spontaneity. Everything has to be planned and logged on that bloody calendar of yours.’ He threw the cushion against the wall. ‘We’ve never even visited any of the places on that damned list.’
She flinched. The soft furnishings hadn’t come cheap. Instinctively, she padded across the wooden flooring in her bare feet and picked up the cushion. ‘But we lead such busy lives …’
He threw his hands in the air. ‘I know, but it’s like my whole existence is mapped out for me. I can’t take it anymore, you’re too exacting, too uptight. Look at you, even now you’re tidying up.’
She glanced down at the cushion. He had a point. ‘I like a tidy house. I thought you did too?’
He shook his head. ‘But you take it to the extreme. You won’t even let me make you a cup of tea because I don’t make it to your specific requirements.’
She hugged the cushion, trying to stem the onset of tears. ‘That’s hardly a reason to break up.’
He walked towards her, his gait animated. ‘The other night you said no to sex on the couch.’
Why on earth was he bringing that up? ‘Well, of course I did. It’s brand new.’
He ripped the cushion from her hand, making her flinch. ‘It’s a couch! Who cares?’
The sight of her carefully chosen accessory being tossed away as if it were a used tissue triggered a surge of indignation. She was tired of being blamed for all that was amiss in the world. ‘I thought you appreciated having a nice home? I’ve spent the last two years creating a beautiful living space for us to enjoy as a couple, and now you’re saying it’s not what you want?’
‘It’s too …’
‘What, Ethan?’ She rounded on him, hurt fuelling her anger. ‘Because I don’t understand. What is it that’s so bad you feel the need to up sticks and leave for Paris?’
He seemed to search for the appropriate word. ‘Suffocating.’
The word landed like a blow. Hard. Fast. Zapping the air from her lungs.
Suffocating …?
Ethan looked at her, defiance in his stance. ‘There, I said it. I didn’t want to, but you forced my hand.’ He turned and marched back into the bedroom to fetch the second suitcase. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to be like this.’
She followed him. ‘I’m sure you didn’t, which is why you were planning to sneak out without even telling me. What were you going to do, text me when you arrived in Paris?’ She had to jump out of the way when he wheeled the suitcase past, perilously close to her toes. ‘I deserve better. At least say it to my face.’
He turned abruptly, causing her to nearly bump into him. ‘Fine. I’m leaving you, Charlotte. I don’t want to be with you anymore. I’ve accepted a cash offer on the flat. The buyers will be renting it furnished for three months first. They move in at the end of May.’
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘That’s only three weeks away.’
For the first time since she’d arrived home he looked contrite, but only fleetingly. ‘Sorry, it was too good an opportunity to pass up.’
That was it? ‘But surely you can’t do that without my consent?’
‘Actually, I can.’ He went into the hallway and unhooked his jacket from the stand. ‘I’ve owned the place for seven years. The mortgage is in my name. You’ve lived here for less than two. That doesn’t entitle you to claim a beneficial interest. I’ve checked.’
Her head throbbed, each pulsating thump as painful as the impact of his words. Who was this man? She barely recognised him. They’d shared a life together, a bed, a five-year plan, and all he could say was that she had no legal right to anything? ‘But you could’ve told me you were selling up. You didn’t have to spring it on me last minute. Didn’t I at least deserve that?’
He slipped his jacket on. ‘Probably. I’m being selfish, I know.’
She folded her arms, in an effort to stop herself from shaking. ‘You said it.’
For a moment, he looked like he was about to retaliate, but then sighed. ‘I thought that’s how we worked. We’ve never been overly mushy or sentimental. Our relationship has been pragmatic and mutually beneficial. I bought the place, you did it up. An agreeable business arrangement.’
‘A business arrangement?’ Was that really how he saw it? How could he be so cold, so unfeeling?
He shrugged. ‘Of sorts, yes.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder, the weight of it unwelcome and invasive. ‘Come on, you have to admit it was never going to go the distance.’ He held her gaze. ‘It’s better this way.’
Tears