The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(68)

Mum’s Christmas decorations . . . Her china from Grandma, her tapestries. Dad’s tools. All my hobbies . . . gone?

Oh, this hurts.

I put my hand over my stomach as the air leaves my lungs.

Brad’s big arms come around me and he pulls me into an embrace and he holds me as I cry. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I’m so sorry.”

We sit at dinner, both staring into space, the mood somber and sad.

We are feeling a deep sense of loss all over again.

“I just don’t get it,” Brad says softly. “How the hell is she genetically related to us?”

I stare at his sad face, he’s as torn up about this as I am.

“Elanor looks after Elanor.” Brad sighs. “She needed the sale money and wasn’t prepared to wait for us to sort it.”

“You know, if she was going to do this, why wouldn’t she just tell us?”

“Because she knew we’d say no.”

We sit in silence for a while.

“Did she say where she was?”

“She was on a business trip.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know, probably Ibiza partying with some rich guy. You know how she operates, they fall at her feet, I don’t know how she gets them.”

“She’s beautiful, that’s how.” I sigh.

“Nobody is this fucking beautiful.”

“What is it with her and money anyway? Why does she like it so much? We aren’t like that and we were brought up in the same house.”

Brad shrugs. “You know, she’s after your boss.”

I frown. “What?”

“Yeah, we had breakfast together a few months ago and she was reading out the rich list that had just been released in the paper. Told me she was going to snag herself that Miles chap.”

The air leaves my lungs. “Which one?”

“The head one.”

“Jameson in New York?”

“No, the English head one.”

“Elliot.” My heart begins to beat fast in my chest.

“Yeah, that’s him. She brought him up on her phone and showed me a picture of him and everything.”

My eyes widen in horror. “You’ve got to be joking.” I frantically search for a picture of Elliot and I hold my phone out for Brad. “Is this him?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Reckons she already had things underway.” He rolls his eyes in disgust. “Stupid witch.”

My stomach drops; Elanor is way more suited to Elliot than I am.

I know how she operates, I know her appeal to men, they have no resistance against her.

If she really wanted him, she could have him.

Elanor is extraordinary. Dread fills my every cell.

I get a vision of her turning up at a family event with him and I feel my chest tighten. I know that one day I’m going to have to watch him with someone else.

But please . . . not her.

Anyone but her.

Its 11 p.m. on Thursday night and I sit alone in the darkness.

I type:

Dear Ed,

How are you? I’m sorry, I only just saw your message from last week. I’ve been really busy.

We haven’t spoken in a long time, just checking to see if you’re okay.

Pinkie.

ox

I haven’t spoken to Ed since Elliot and I had words last Tuesday. He messaged me that night and I haven’t got back to him.

What would be the point? It would only make me feel more crap than I already do.

I mean, how much could I actually mean to him if he’s chasing a conversation with Pinkie, and yet being an asshole to me, the actual woman who he’s sleeping with?

It’s blatantly clear that I am last on Elliot Miles’s list, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t sting, because it does. More than it should. I knew the rules of this game before I started playing and yet stupidly, I jumped in anyway.

Hindsight, what a slap in the face you are.

This week has been taxing. I’m stressed out and being haunted by the prospect of getting an invite to my evil sister’s wedding to my dream man.

I mean, he isn’t really my dream man, but . . . he was mine first and this is my fantasy, bitch.

Back off.

Elanor told Brad that she had things underway with Elliot—what does that even mean? Is that code for she’s hooked up with him already in the past?

My stomach rolls at the thought.

Please no.

I see the dots, and my heart skips a beat. He’s replying.

Hi Pinkie,

I missed you.

All good here, nothing new to report. How is everything at your end?

How is your romance going?

Ed.

I exhale heavily. I can’t even tell him the truth, I can’t even let on who I am. I’m too deep in this lie now, but I guess there’s no reason to fess up right now, he’s not going to be seeing Kate in the future anyway. This isn’t good for me though and I do need to cut off from him completely, this can’t go on. I don’t want to hear about his future conquests . . . or fucking Elanor.

Ugh, kill me now . . . Imagine?

I lie.

Romance is great, he’s perfect.

I go to hit send and then I pause . . . and add: How’s Kate?

I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. I know it’s going to be hurtful.