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I type Jack’s number in before I lose my nerve.

It’s Bryce. The paintings arrived. Thank you.

I delete it.

Pathetic.

Jack is what I need. Who I need. He is the catalyst for every ounce of change in this crazy whirlwind. He is the man behind my desire to believe.

I close my eyes. Then I type the truth, or something close enough to it.

It’s Bryce. Thank you for the paintings, you ridiculous bastard. I shouldn’t be messaging you, but here we are. Are you around tonight? I could really do with your cock and childish banter.

I hit send then type some more.

It’s been a long, shit day at the office, so give me your filthy hot ass please, jackass, or take mine since I owe you sixty grand’s worth of pleasure.

Green ticks appear and I get a lightning bolt of instant regret.

That was too much. Way too much.

Meek, boring Bryce returns with a vengeance.

I drop the phone on the sofa and retreat to the kitchen, where I open the fridge and stare at a carton of milk, half a lemon, and a depressing container of leftover quinoa. My life, ladies and gentlemen. Passion in three paintings, dinner in beige grains.

My phone buzzes.

I nearly hit my head on the fridge door on my way back to the sofa.

I grab it.

Jack.

Obviously.

Ha ha ha. Thought you’d crack tonight, BT. About time. Soul Girl and I are already at the casino. Aurum House, not mine. Come and join us.

Soul Girl and I.

The words detonate.

Alice is with him. At a casino. Right now.

My mind supplies the images in a rush. Jack in his element, king of the floor, all charm and wicked eyes. Alice beside him, glowing under the lights, dangerous and alive. Alice not at home crying over her father’s plans. Alice not at some dinner table being handed over to Christopher Otley like a legacy asset.

Alice with Jack.

Having fun.

Fun!

Without me.

My jealousy returns at full force, but underneath it is something brighter.

An invitation.

Come and join us.