A week after their return to London, Lucy was invited to a party to celebrate one of the England team’s recent victories.
‘Bring Khaled,’ Eric told her, his voice distant, as it had been since their return. ‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy his old stomping ground.’
Lucy smiled, feeling sick. Wouldn’t he just? she thought. The trouble was, she wouldn’t.
She mentioned it to Khaled that night, as they got ready for bed. ‘There’s a party tomorrow night, for the England team,’ she said. ‘We’ve been invited.’
Khaled stilled in the act of loosening his tie. ‘Have we?’ he said at last, his voice neutral. ‘How nice.’
‘Do you want to go?’ Lucy asked, half-hoping he would say no. Khaled smiled; there was an edge to it.
‘Why not? I’m hardly one to miss a party.’
‘Right,’ Lucy agreed. She watched as Khaled finished shrugging off his clothes, and then he climbed into bed, preparing for sleep. They hadn’t made love since they’d returned to London, and tonight looked to be no different.
‘Khaled…’ she began, not knowing what she was going to say, but wanting to say something, change something.
‘Yes, Lucy?’ Khaled waited, coolly expectant, and Lucy opened her mouth to say—what? What could she say that would change this awful tension between them, would change who they were as people?
I love you.
Three simple, little words that she couldn’t quite get off her tongue. Her heart raced, her adrenaline kicking in as if she were teetering on a precipice, preparing to jump.
And then, defeated, she took a step back, her heart slowing to a dull thud, her mouth dry and empty of words. She couldn’t, couldn’t risk it.
‘Goodnight.’
Khaled’s mouth curled in a sardonic smile that lacerated Lucy’s soul. Had he known what she wanted to say? Was he mocking her?
‘Goodnight,’ he replied, and rolled over.
The party was exactly the kind of event Lucy dreaded. It was in the private room of an upscale nightclub, with pounding music, pulsing lights and free-flowing cocktails.
Dressed in an open-necked shirt and dark trousers, Khaled looked confident, sexy and slightly rumpled. He looked like the man she’d fallen so hard for, Lucy thought. She remembered when she’d seen him in a club just like this one, and he’d beckoned her over with one little finger, handing her the drink he’d already bought.
She’d gone home with him that night. She’d never done that before, had never even considered holding herself so lightly. So cheaply. Yet with Khaled she hadn’t even considered another option.
She barely heard the buzz of chatter as they circulated among the guests—rugby players and their dates, the team’s entourage and hangers-on. Lucy knew many of the people, had worked with them for years, but she still couldn’t feel comfortable. Her gaze kept sliding to Khaled, watching as he smiled and laughed, chatted and flirted lightly. He was in his element.
She felt sick.
She accepted another glass of champagne, knowing she shouldn’t, as Eric stole to her side.
‘You don’t look like you’re having a good time,’ he said quietly and Lucy froze, the champagne flute halfway to her lips.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I know you, Lucy.’ There was a thread of bemusement in Eric’s voice. ‘And I can tell.’
She shrugged. ‘Then you know I never really was one for parties.’
‘Khaled’s enjoying himself.’
Lucy took a sip of champagne and let the bubbles fizz through her. ‘Yes, he is,’ she agreed, glad her voice sounded so unconcerned.
Eric, however, wasn’t fooled. ‘Why did you marry him, Lucy?’ he asked. His gaze met hers, direct and sorrowful. ‘After the way he hurt you…’
‘Don’t, Eric.’ She couldn’t take this, not now when she felt so raw, so fearful and uncertain. Eric, however, would not be deterred.
‘You know what he said to me in the hospital—right before he left?’
‘Don’t.’
‘I told him to see you, to speak to you. I said you’d been waiting, that you were worried…’
Lucy knew she should turn away. She shouldn’t hear this. Shouldn’t listen. Yet she remained, terribly transfixed.
‘I said,’ Eric continued, his voice hitching painfully, ‘after all you meant to him you deserved more, and you know what he said?’
She meant to tell him to stop, but instead found herself whispering, ‘What?’
‘He said, “She’s not that much to me”. And you’ve married him, Lucy! You know a man like that could never love you!’
Lucy shook her head. She felt numb. She’s not that much to me. Well, it was no more than she’d guessed. Than she’d feared, known. ‘People change,’ she whispered, and wanted to believe it. The trouble was, she didn’t. Not inside, where it mattered. Where it hurt.
Eric glanced scornfully over at Khaled, who tossed back his drink with a loud laugh. There were three starlet types fawning all over him. ‘Do they?’ he asked quietly. ‘Do they really?’
Lucy was quiet all the way home. Khaled glanced at her. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ he asked mildly, and Lucy clenched her jaw.
‘No.’
Khaled’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. ‘I saw you with Eric,’ he remarked blandly. ‘He always was in love with you.’
Lucy squirmed inwardly, for she’d long suspected Eric of having feelings for her. ‘He’s never said as much,’ she said after a moment as she stared out of the window.
Khaled was silent for so long that Lucy turned to look at him, and saw the sickly wash of street lights cast a yellow glow over his austere features. ‘Sometimes you don’t need to.’
He knows, Lucy thought. He knows I love him; he’s always known. She closed her eyes, feeling sick.
It couldn’t go on, she thought dourly two days later; this silence, this strangeness, this unbearable tension. The utter falseness of their marriage, of everything. It couldn’t last. It would break—and what then? Would he leave?
Was that what was happening? Was some part of her testing him, seeing how much he would take before he left, before she forced him to admit this was a mistake?
Lucy didn’t know; she felt like she didn’t know anything any more. She was too exhausted and emotionally drained even to recognise her own feelings. She just wanted a release of this tension, an end to the awkwardness.
And then it came.
Sam was spending the night at her mother’s, and Lucy came home in the early evening, dusk settling over the city as she rode the lift up to their penthouse suite. She felt bone-weary, aching in every muscle, and she dreaded another night of tension between her and Khaled, the awkwardness and discomfort, stiltedness and silence.
She opened the door to the suite—and she knew. She didn’t need to check the emptied cupboards or dresser drawers to discover what she felt in every fibre of her being, in the empty echo in her soul.
Khaled was gone.
The suite was heavy with a deeper silence, a silence