Page 278

I can’t.

Christopher knows enough about Bryce to make any wrong move dangerous. A few vicious words from Christopher, and Dad will learn that his dependable assistant is not quite as dependable as he believes.

I can’t risk that.

I love Bryce far too much to tear his achievements from him.

Serena sprays something into my hair. I blink as the mist lands across my face, and Mum catches my gaze in the mirror. My heavy eyelids.

“You seem tired, darling.”

“I’m not sleeping well.”

“You’ll settle. Don’t worry. This is what happens when life gets serious.”

I almost laugh.

Serious and settled, with pale pink roses. Bloody brilliant. The definition of how I wanted life to pan out for me.

I haven’t admitted to her I’m not fucking my precious fiancé yet, and he’s clearly too proud to announce it to anyone. Good for him. On the evening of the proposal he opened my bedroom door, behaving as though sharing my bed with me was a God given right.

I told him to fuck the hell off, but he grinned like I was just playing at being rebellious. So fine. He sleeps in the same bed as me, but I build a wall of pillows down the centre every evening and don’t ever wish him goodnight.

I’ve got until we are publicly declared husband and wife for it to become an issue. That’s when my womb will become a waiting oven everyone starts checking in on.

“There,” Serena says. “Finished.”

My hair has been swept into a smooth arrangement at the nape of my neck. Pearls pinned in for accentuations. No loose strands.

Mum beams.

“Beautiful.”

“Lovely,” I say. “Thank you.”

Mum gestures towards the navy dress hanging from the wardrobe. Fitted and structured, with long sleeves and a high neckline. Heaven forbid I should have any cleavage on show now my tits are reserved for Christopher Otley.

“The car will be here in thirty minutes,” Mum says.

“Wonderful.”

Her smile falters. She’s beginning to recognise the sarcasm seeping through my tone.

“This is a fantastic evening for you, Alice. You should be excited.”

“I am.”

My words are so flat, it sounds ridiculous, but excitement would be a problem.

Excitement is dangerous.

If I think about Hammersmith, I picture the triptych beneath the lights.

I remember the three of us standing before it in my studio. Bryce staring as though I’d created something sacred. We’d created something sacred. Jack being so invested, he went out on a limb and got Camilla invested, too.

And I remember the beginnings of that sacred work – the filthy, paint-smeared sex. The heady release of three perfect souls, joining together in creation.

My God it hurts.