Spiralling Skywards: Fading (Contradictions, #2)(24)

She burst into tears.

***

I ran a bath, added bubbles, and we sat and soaked in the warmth while eating toast and sipping tea.

When the tea, toast, and bubbles were gone, we moved to the sofa. Sarah tucked herself under a throw as I built a fire and put on the first in a line of movies she told me she wanted to watch. That is where we spent the whole afternoon. I worked while Sarah watched Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Matilda, and Train Spotting. Like most everything else in life, she had the most eclectic taste in film choices, and I loved it.

“What do you think of Hermione for a girl?” she casually asked from where she was curled beside me. She managed to keep down more toast, two more cups of tea, and almost an entire packet of ginger biscuits. The food and the soft glow coming from the fire gave a gorgeous flush to her cheeks that just made me want to fuck her.

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“That’s a no then.”

“That’s a fuck no.”

“Harry?”

“There’ll be a million of them by the time the poor kid gets to school.”

“Myrtle?”

I rolled my eyes and didn’t even bother to answer that one.

“Matilda or Tilly?”

“I like Tilly.”

“Me too. We’ll add that one to the list.”

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Another fuck no.”

“What about William then, or just Wi—”

I stopped typing and looked over at her with my eyebrows raised. Her hand was covering her mouth and her eyes were wide.

“Abso-fuckin-lutely not. No way. Not. Ever.”

“Sorry, I didn’t think.” But I could see her dimple appear, meaning that she was laughing from behind her hand.

“How about Olivia, or maybe even Melanie.”

That earned me a dig in the ribs, which led to me tickling her until she screamed for mercy . . . which my dick liked and led to sofa sex, floor sex, and eventually bed sex.

Upchucking aside, I was beginning to like the effects of pregnancy hormones on my wife.

I left Sarah sleeping and crept out of the house at five the next morning to drive to Gatwick for my eight o’clock flight. It was delayed because of fog, and my flight didn’t land until almost lunchtime.

The company I was in talks with sent a driver to pick me up from Edinburgh airport, which was a bonus, and he took me to The George, a hotel in the city where the directors were staying.

They were already there waiting for me at the table, when I walked into the restaurant and no one wasted time dancing around niceties. Talks went well, but after three hours and four bottles of wine, I still hadn’t closed the deal. Lunch turned into drinks at the bar, and drinks and more negotiating at the bar led to a deal.

The hotel we were at was fairly up market and Andrew Hamilton, the man who had been breaking my balls all afternoon, insisted that I joined him in a toast.

“What’s on your top shelf?” he asked the barman. I had stuck to water since we finished lunch, only very casually sipping the scotch I had ordered for appearances. There was no way I was turning down a celebratory drink after closing the deal, though.

“None of that bourbon crap, either. I want Scottish single malt. What have ya got for me?”

Ross and Henderson, the other two partners were shaking their heads at Andrew, and I worries that their shared look meant things were about to get messy.

“I have Royal Salute, A Macallan Estate Reserve, or a Johnny Walker Odyssey, sir.” The barman informed him. It was all over and above me. I preferred the bourbon crap to whiskey, but I was not about to tell that to the man I had just shaken on a multi million pound contract with.

“Let’s crack open The Hundred Cask. We’ll take the bottle and four glasses. We’ll be over there.” He pointed to seating around the large open fire in the hotel bar, and we all made our way over and each took a seat.





After a good day and an even better night’s sleep, I was back to feeling like shit. I still had trouble keeping anything down and had spent the morning throwing up, but by four I was comfortably sitting on my couch, sipping water watching The Sweetest Thing. I’d just managed not to gag too hard at the sight of the dry cleaner scratching cum off Jane’s dress before tasting it, when Luke came through the door. He took one look at me, grabbed the bin from the kitchen, and came to kneel in front of me.

“Fuck me, Sunshine, you look rough. No wonder he didn’t wanna leave ya.”

I started to sit up but he put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t get up, stay there. You want me to get you anything.”

I stretched, yawned, and shook my head.

“Nah. I’m not having a good day. I’ve only been able to keep water down.”

“I can’t believe how much weight you’ve lost. Can’t they give you something to stop all this?”

I didn’t have the energy to explain to my brother the reasons why I wouldn’t take the anti-nausea medication my doctor had prescribed, so I just told him no.

“You want me to build up the fire? It’s freezing out there.”

“That’d be lovely, thanks.”

“I’ll go change first.”

I sat up and tucked my legs under me while my brother changed out of his suit and into a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.