Love You Better (15 page)

So why does this feel so good?

And that’s when she realised the danger, the darkness she’d felt all evening had been because of him. The Hub, with its underground, slightly grubby feel, had transported her back to the clubs Smith loved so much, where they’d dance until sweat formed a film over their skin, and he’d pull her close, moving against her on the dance floor.

She held her breath, not wanting to break the spell.

The feeling of security just from being in his arms was overwhelming. The world could burst into flames, and she’d still feel safe, as long as Smith was there. She looked at his lips and back up into his grey eyes, melting as he slowly moved his thumb. Even through the material of her top and bra, it scorched, as if he’d touched her bare skin. The music buzzed through her like adrenalin. Did he remember that night after the carnival? The night they’d got together for the first time, when this very song played in the background?

He drew a small circle with his thumb, and she inched forward, closing the tiny gap between them until he was pressed right up against her. She pictured the chiselled abs she’d seen in the kitchen that hung-over morning and slowly put a hand on his hip. His grip tightened on her, and she whimpered as her heart pounded, her pulse beating in her ears louder than the music pumping from the speakers.

Kiss me.

She looked at him, willing him to do it. He was only inches away – all he had to do was lower his head a little. The heat of his body radiated from every square inch of him, through his T-shirt and onto her palm, from his face, from his jeans and between his legs. She could feel it,
see
it, as if she were looking at him through a
thermal
imaging camera.

Something behind him made her shift her gaze, and she looked past him, straight into Lou’s eyes. Lou arched her eyebrow, and Effie looked back up at Smith. She’d seen them, and if she’d seen them . . .

Oh, god. Olly.

She dropped her hand from his hip. ‘Smith, I . . .’

‘Shit. I’m sorry,’ he mumbled and stepped back, his cheeks
flaring
red as he shook his head.

He looked at the floor, behind the bar, anywhere but at her, and suddenly, he didn’t look like laddish, bad-boy Smith. He looked like James, the guy who used to stroke her hair as she fell asleep
and mak
e her cups of tea in the morning. She looked through the crowd for Oliver, her chest sinking with relief when she saw the tip of his head. He was talking to Mickey, with his back to them. He hadn’t seen. Blood pounded in her ears.

‘I don’t know what that was,’ Smith said, finally meeting her eyes as he scrunched his eyebrows together.

‘Yeah.’ Effie let out a nervous laugh. ‘Me neither.’

‘I only came over for beer.’

They looked each other in the eye again before bursting into laughter, shaking their heads and repeatedly telling each other how silly they were, and what
were
they thinking? Clearly she had a death wish, being so stupid. She looked over at Lou, who jerked her head towards the toilets as she mouthed
now
.

Balls.

‘I should go,’ Effie said.

Smith nodded and looked back at her with eyes that said so much more than the awkward, laughing words they’d shared just seconds ago. The look on his face seemed to be saying, ‘Don’t go.’ Was she being delusional?

‘Sure.’ He nodded again and Effie closed her eyes for a
second
.

Friends. They were Just Friends. And now she was in for a bollocking from Lou. She braced herself as she walked away from Smith, forcing herself not to look back at him as she headed down the stairs with Lou and into the Ladies toilet.

‘You’d better start speaking,’ Lou said, crossing her arms as soon as they got into the tiny bathroom.

Effie looked at the stickers covering the walls. What could
she say
?

‘What the hell are you doing? Do you have any idea of the game you’re playing? You practically just shagged your ex by the bar in front of your husband.’

Effie scowled. ‘I did no such thing.’

‘You said you didn’t feel anything for Smith.’

‘I don’t.’

Lou raised her eyebrows.

‘I don’t,’ Effie insisted, but as soon as the words had left her mouth, her body slouched against the wall. She let out a loud sigh and rubbed her hands over her face. ‘God. What a mess.’

‘What happened?’ Lou asked, taking a much softer tone.

‘I don’t know.’ Effie shrugged and let her arms flop with
resignation
. ‘We were just talking at the bar, and someone pushed into me. Smith grabbed me and . . .’

‘You were, like, this far away from kissing,’ Lou said, pinching her thumb and forefinger together.

‘I know. And the worst thing is, I wanted him to.’

‘What’s going on with you, Eff?’ Lou shook her head. ‘You’re married. To Olly. The sweetest guy in the world. Why are you
risking
it all for a quick flutter from
Smith
? Remember how he broke your heart, how unreliable he was? Anyone would think you’re in love with him instead of your husband.’

Effie looked down at the ground with tears welling in her eyes. ‘I don’t love Smith. How could I? You said it yourself – he broke my heart. I can’t go back to that, I just . . .’

She just, what? Lou was right. Why was she sabotaging what she had with Oliver for Smith?

‘I’m not having a go at you,’ Lou said, putting her hand on Effie’s shoulder. ‘I’m just worried. This isn’t like you.’

‘I know,’ Effie replied, shaking her head.

‘Eff, if you’re still in love with Smith—’

‘I’m not.’

‘
If
you are,’ Lou said, ‘you’ve got to be honest about it.’

Effie shook her head again. ‘I can’t trust the man as far as
I could t
hrow him.’

‘Just because you can’t trust him doesn’t mean you can’t
love hi
m.’

‘No, it doesn’t, but I love Olly.’

Loving Olly sounded right. It felt right. She was married to him; she’d made a big public show of how much she loved him and how certain they were about their relationship after only knowing each other for such a short space of time. How many other couples did that? What she had with Oliver meant something. How could she have put that in jeopardy for Smith? Besides, she couldn’t love two people at the same time – it didn’t work like that.

She wiped her eyes and looked at Lou. ‘You don’t need to be worried about me. You’re right, I came this close to screwing up, and I honestly don’t know why, but I won’t do it again. I won’t risk my marriage for him. I can’t. I love Olly, and we have a great life.’

It wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t always great. Since Valentine’s Day, there’d been times when it felt like her life was happening to someone else, like she was peering through a window at a life being led by someone who
should
be happy. Her marriage with Oliver wasn’t anywhere near as stomach-somersaulting exciting as things had been with Smith, but that was normal, wasn’t it?

Lou shook her head. ‘You’re lucky it was me who saw the two of you and not him, because most people would have looked at what happened like cheating. I know if I’d seen Mickey doing that, I’d have killed him.’

The toilet in the middle cubicle flushed, and Effie stood up straight, turning to look in the mirror. She’d caught the tears just in time, but her skin was flushed with heat from the exchange with Smith. A woman stepped out of the cubicle and smiled meekly at them before washing her hands. She was pretty, dressed in skinny jeans and a blouse – hardly exceptional in comparison to the other women upstairs – but anyone could tell they were designer clothes. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Effie didn’t have the mental energy to figure out why. The woman left the
bathroom
, and Effie turned to Lou.

‘We just need to pretend this didn’t happen, okay?’ She looked at Lou, who remained silent. ‘I mean it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do still have some feelings for Smith, but I definitely don’t love him. Like you said, I was only away from him for a month before meeting Olly, and maybe it was all too soon, but this, whatever it is,
will
fade.’

‘Really?’ Lou raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not condoning what you just did, but you and Smith are like . . .’

‘Like what?’

‘Fireworks.’ Lou set her mouth into a sad smile. ‘I hate to say it because he screwed you over so much, but it’s true. In those few seconds I saw you with Smith, I realised I’ve never seen you like that with Olly. Things like that don’t just fade.’

‘Fireworks have to burn out some time.’ Effie shrugged.

‘And then what?’

‘And then I’ll continue my life with Olly.’

Lou groaned. ‘Effie, there’s nothing wrong with admitting you made a mistake. You know I think Oliver is great, but what you just said sounds like a compromise nobody should have to make, and it’s not fair on him to have to just wait until your feelings for Smith are gone – and there’s no guarantee they will go. And I’ve got to say, it’s not fair on Smith either. Whichever way you look at it, it’s not fair on anyone, and someone’s going to end up getting hurt.’

‘Then that person will be Smith, because I’m married, and
marriage
means compromise,’ Effie replied and jutted out her chin.

‘Yeah, compromise as in watching the odd game of football in return for having dinner cooked or something, not compromising happiness.’

‘I am happy. And I don’t ever want to speak about tonight again. It was a lapse in judgement, but it didn’t mean anything. Promise me?’ She glared at Lou. ‘I’m serious, Lou.’

Lou sighed. ‘Fine.’

‘Pinky promise.’

‘Nobody pinky-promises past the age of ten,’ Lou said but she stuck her little finger out anyway, and they shook on the promise never to speak about her near vow-breaking moment with Smith again. ‘I’ll never mention it again unless you want me to. And I really didn’t mean to sound like I was having a go. I just want you to be happy, that’s all. You know I’m always here, whatever you decide.’

‘I know, and I love you for it.’

Effie gave her a hug, grateful to have a friend like Lou, someone who hadn’t passed judgement for what had been a mistake, one she knew she’d never repeat.

She tried to shake the last fifteen minutes from her head as they headed back upstairs and picked through the crowd, back to their tiny space in the corner of the bar. She caught a glimpse of Smith, and her face fell. Standing next to him was the girl from the toilets, the one who’d smiled at them before she’d left. Effie stood still in the sea of dancing bodies, and Lou stopped behind her.

‘What?’ Lou asked.

‘It’s the girl from the toilets. I knew she looked familiar. That’s Claire, the girl Smith met up with off
Tinder.’

‘Fuck,’ Lou said slowly.

Panic rose from the depths of Effie’s being, bubbling its way up to her throat. ‘She heard
everything
. She knows I nearly just copped off with him, she knows I’m married, she . . .’

‘Okay, okay, calm down,’ Lou said, standing in front of Effie and putting her hands on her shoulders. ‘It’ll be fine. She’s not going to say anything, especially not if she’s interested in him. If she’s got any sense at all, she’ll keep it to herself.’

‘What if she doesn’t? What if she blurts everything out?’

Lou frowned. ‘What’s she doing?’

Effie forced herself to look past Lou’s shoulder for a few
seconds. ‘La
ughing and drinking a beer.’

‘See?’ Lou smiled. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve got to say, though, if ever there were a case in point as to why Smith is not the man for you, this has to be it.’

Effie didn’t need to hear Lou say it; she was thinking the exact same thing herself. She looked over at the two of them again and shook her head. It wasn’t even that Claire had overheard everything they’d said. It was the fact that she was there at all that made Effie feel sick. James, the nice guy who’d let his guard down only minutes ago, was nowhere to be seen. Now, all she could see was Smith, the man who’d cheated on her and managed to keep her hanging on with the merest hint of a promise. He’d almost kissed her, and now he was parading his new woman around like a trophy, just like he had with Effie. She was willing to bet that he was probably
reluctant
to label whatever he had with Claire, just as he had with Effie. He had a knack for keeping girls close, so they’d be there when he needed them, and all the while keeping himself free to do whatever he wanted, knowing that he’d never promised anything to anyone. She’d almost fallen for it, but she damned well wouldn’t do it again.

‘Screw this. I’m going home.’

She didn’t need to see Smith with some other girl. Not when she had her supportive, loyal husband in her life. She walked over to Oliver and took his hand, pointedly ignoring Smith and Claire. ‘I’m tired. Shall we go?’

Oliver frowned. ‘But you’ve been talking about this launch for weeks. It’s still early.’

‘It’s fine,’ Effie said, trying to sound normal. ‘Sketch has
finished
. I don’t need to stay.’

‘You’re not leaving, are you, Eff?’ Smith asked, but she refused to look at him. Instead, she looked back at Oliver until he nodded and led her out into the cool air.

13.

H
appy birthday,’ Smith said, putting a cupcake on
her des
k.

Effie looked at its red velvet goodness. It was from The Hummingbird Bakery, her favourite. He always brought her a cupcake from there for her birthday, but she slid it back t
owards hi
m.

‘I’m on a diet.’

Smith frowned. ‘Since when?’

‘Since the Sketch launch.’

‘But I’ve seen you eating cake since then.’

She looked up at him. ‘Well, then I’ve been on a diet since whenever you last saw me eat cake.’

‘So that’d be yesterday, then?’ He folded his arms and looked at her. ‘You always said diets were stupid fads you refused to ever take part in.’

Effie sighed. ‘Smith, I’m busy. Nikki’s off sick, and I’ve got a heap of work to do. Thanks for the gift, but you really shouldn’t have bothered.’

She turned back to her keyboard and tapped the keys, hitting them with extra force as her eyes smarted. Since the launch party, she’d barely spoken to him unless it was absolutely necessary for work. The embarrassment she’d felt when she’d seen him with Claire had made her cringe. She’d been monumentally stupid, almost risking her marriage, and for what? Besides, it was her birthday, and tonight she was off to Le Gavroche for her slap-up meal. Smith could keep his pathetic cupcake.

Smith frowned and rubbed his forehead. ‘Have I done something to piss you off?’

‘Nope.’ Effie spat the word out and pushed the box farther towards him. Smith sighed, picking it up, and went back to this desk.

She watched as he sat in his chair with a puzzled look on his face, and when he looked back at her, she swivelled her gaze back to her computer screen. She only had two hours and forty minutes until she could leave and head to the hairdresser’s to start the beautifying process for tonight, and she had a heap of things to do.

James:
I saw the Dairy Milk sticking out of your bag. Diet my arse.

Effie sighed, reading the instant message flashing in the
corner
of her screen. She looked over at Smith, but he was staring intently at his monitor, apparently absorbed in work. He’d sent an instant message on purpose. If he’d sent an email, she could’ve pretended she hadn’t had time to read it. She sighed again and typed out
a repl
y.

Effie:
Chocolate is allowed. Cake isn’t.

She looked over at him as he noisily opened the cupcake box. He scooped a finger-full of speckled frosting and popped it in his mouth. She’d cut her nose off just to spite her face. Red velvet
was he
r favourite, and he knew it. She could almost feel his smugness when he sent her another message.

James:
Shame. Tastes good.

Effie:
That’s nice. I’ve got stuff to do before I leave.

James:
We’ll still be at Purl later, if you change your mind.

Effie:
Unlikely.

James:
You never know . . . Have a nice day, Eff.

Effie rolled her eyes and closed the chat window before setting her status to ‘Do not disturb’. She really did have a never-ending amount of work to do, and Smith had distracted her for long enough.

Despite Smith’s annoying cupcake intrusion, as birthdays went, her twenty-sixth was shaping up to be the best yet. Oliver had pre-booked her an appointment at a top salon in Knightsbridge, and she’d
had he
r curls chemically straightened, layered and sprinkled with
caramel
highlights. Her tight, corkscrew curls were gone,
and n
ow she had a glossy sheet of hair hanging down past her
shoulders
, and the whole way home, she couldn’t stop running
her ha
nds through it.

As she stepped through her front door, a grin spread across her face. She dropped her bag on the side table in the hallway and ran a finger across the velvety soft lily petals sitting in a vase. Oliver must have popped back home during the day, because, as she looked down at the floor, she saw hand-drawn arrows on individual slips of paper disappearing into the living room. She gave the lilies one last sniff before following the trail to the coffee table. She blinked at the box sitting on its wooden surface.

Effie knelt in front of it and traced her fingers along the
solitary
word on the box – ‘Dior’. She carefully lifted the lid, peeled back the tissue paper and lifted out a dress. It was feather-light in her hands, and she stood, holding it up against herself. Split into two sections, the top was loose and peach, while the bottom was black, with one side ruched up to the knee. It was exactly the kind of dress Oliver would pick out for her – sexy, but demure, and perfect for Le Gavroche. Her eyes flicked down to the coffee table again. Propped up against a bottle of champagne was a card. She carefully folded the dress and put it back in its box. Then, after popping the champagne open, she sat on the sofa and opened the card.

To the best wife a man could ever wish for, happy birthday. Hope the dress fits, can’t wait to tear it off you later. A car will pick you up at 6.45. I’ll see you there. Love you, baby. Olly xoxo

She smiled, reading his looped letters. It was easy to forget how romantic he could be when stalemates and arguments got in the way, but he was clearly trying to make it up to her. She took a sip of champagne and sat back on the sofa, looking at the Dior box. She shook her head as she thought about Smith. What had she been thinking? Guilt weighed down on her as she thought back to their near-kiss at the Sketch launch. She couldn’t let anything like that happen again. She had too much to lose and nothing to gain.

At 7.28, Effie stepped out of the black Mercedes CLS and smoothed down her dress. She smiled her thanks to the driver as he closed the door behind her, and looked up at the restaurant. Oliver
stood by
the door, leaning against the wall. He looked sharp in a tailored navy suit and crisp white shirt, and a smile was curling at his lips as she walked towards him.

‘Christ, you look good.’ He dropped a kiss on her lips and stepped back to look at her again.

She gave a playful twirl and laughed. ‘This is possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. Thank you.’

He hooked a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for another kiss. ‘A beautiful dress for a beautiful woman. Happy birthday, baby.’

Effie grinned as he took her hand and she saw the cufflinks she’d bought him for Valentine’s Day. His wearing them meant more to her than the dinner they were about to eat. She looked up at the town house exterior of the restaurant. It looked like every other building around it, and had Oliver not sent her a car to drop her off, chances were she’d have walked right past it. She’d wanted to eat here ever since she’d first seen Michel Roux Jnr on
MasterChef
, but she’d expected something grander. As Oliver had told her, luxury didn’t have to be ostentatious.

‘This is amazing – it’s so comfy,’ Effie said, looking around at the cosy interior of the restaurant after they’d been led to their table. Far from being modern and soulless as she might have expected, it reminded her of a Victorian parlour room with its stuffed cushion seating and circular tables. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Like I said, you deserve it. It’s your first
birthday
as my wife; I had to make it special.’

Oliver grinned and looked down into his menu. It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d stood her up on Valentine’s Day and slapped her. But then, she had to remind herself that it
had
been an accident. She couldn’t fault the effort he’d put into her birthday so far, and if this was a taste of future ones to come, she was more than ready for it.

When the waiter appeared with their first course, he set the plates on the table with a flourish. ‘For your first course, madam, marinated Var salmon accompanied by a lemon and vodka jelly. For sir, a lobster mousse with Aquitaine caviar and champagne but
ter sa
uce.’

He tipped his head and quietly slipped away, leaving Effie
staring
at her plate. It looked so beautiful, she wanted to take a photograph. Maybe she’d better not. She had a feeling Oliver would think it crass.

‘Do you want to try some caviar?’ Oliver asked, and Effie shook her head.

‘Fish eggs? No thanks.’

‘Come on,’ he said, holding his fork out. ‘It’s really nice.’

Effie looked at the tiny spheres and stopped herself from
pulling
a face. How many times in her life had she ever been offered
caviar
? She leaned forward, and he fed her a tiny mouthful. Her nose
wrinkled
as she chewed.

Oliver laughed. ‘It’s an acquired taste.’

She grimaced as she swallowed and washed the taste away with a glug of wine. ‘I’ve never understood that concept. Why force yourself to like something over time? Vodka jelly on the other hand . . .’

‘I’ve already got you into mussels. Caviar won’t be far behind.’ He grinned and Effie shook her head with a playful smile.

‘Unlikely.’ She looked around again. ‘Do you think we’ll get to see Michel Roux Jnr? I’ve heard he sometimes comes round to speak to the diners.’

‘I don’t know. Surely this is good enough?’

Oliver pouted and Effie quickly shook her head, putting her hand on his. ‘It’s more than enough.’

She didn’t want him to think her ungrateful, and, really, she had nothing to complain about. She watched Oliver as he ate,
noting
the dark shadows under his eyes.

‘You look tired,’ she said as he pushed his plate away and dabbed his mouth with his napkin.

‘It’s been a long day. This case is slipping into all shades of grey areas.’ He rubbed the crease between his eyebrows.

‘The fraud one?’ she asked, and he nodded. ‘Is he innocent?’

‘It’s not as black and white as that,’ Oliver replied. ‘Only a judge can decide whether he’s innocent or not.’

‘What do
you
think?’

‘I wouldn’t represent him if I thought he was guilty.’ He leaned back in his chair as the waiter collected their plates.

Effie nodded. ‘That’s fair enough.’

It must be a nightmare having to defend people labelled as criminals all the time, and she admired Oliver for sticking to his morals.

‘It’s a complex case, though. I could do with a few days away.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘I was thinking that we could go to see Mummy. What do you think?’

‘In Corsica?’

Oliver nodded. She’d been aching to go ever since he’d told her his mum had moved out there four years ago. She’d seen pictures of her old brick villa, surrounded by lemon trees, with a panoramic view of azure sea.

‘When?’

‘In the next month or so. It’d be nice to go before this all kicks off properly.’

‘Will it be hot? It’ll be nice to see your mum again.’

Even if she’s not my biggest fan.

She cringed, remembering the faux pas she’d made at the
wedding
. Next time round, she’d be on the charm offensive and Celeste Barton-Cole would have no choice but to love her. Any talk of Oliver’s dad would be completely off limits.

‘Yes, it should be. I’d like to go for longer, but it’s looking unlikely I’ll be able to take more time off this side of summer.’

‘See? Imagine if we’d started trying for a baby, and I’d got pregnant before the summer. It could have been ages before we’d got a proper holiday.’ She grinned, trying to make light of the topic that had caused the whole Valentine’s Day fiasco.

‘I suppose,’ he mumbled.

‘Thank you. For giving me a bit of time.’

Oliver shrugged as if it was nothing, but she knew better.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I never even thought about having children before you came along. You’ve completely turned my life around, Effie, and it’s fine if you want to wait, because I plan on keeping you forever.’