[18+] Mark just wants a quiet life. With plenty of action at work, he has no interest in bringing the drama home with him. But he does need a flatmate, and when blonde bombshell Zoe crashes onto the scene, she's more than he bargained for.
Zoe is a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
April 2011
ZOE
That one word, in his low, gravelly voice, sends my pulse scattering around my body. It's him. Here. Outside my flat. In Spain.
Emerald eyes cling to mine, just as intense as I remember. In that short moment, nothing has changed. A deluge of shared history passes between us. Ben's funeral. Our first kiss. Mark punching JJ. Meals with my parents. The blow job on the Tube.
Each memory pummels into me thick and fast. Assaulting me. Torturing me. Soothing me.
I'd shut the feelings away. Buried the past. Tried to ignore the hole in my heart. But now it rips open again and bleeds into my lungs until I can barely breath.
Freeing me of his suffocating eye contact, Mark's gaze drops to my hand that's holding open the door. Colour drains from his face as he fixates on it for several long, silent seconds. When I follow his line of sight, I land on my engagement ring.
The bubble bursts, and so does Mark's resolve. Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he steps backwards until he bumps into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor.
"Fuck," he says. His eyes pinch shut. "Fuck!"
Words evade me. I can only watch as he slides down the wall to a crouching position, one elbow propped on his knees, his face buried in his hand. His bag hits the wooden floorboards with a quiet thud, but it echoes down the corridor.
"Z?" Richard's chest brushes my shoulder. "Who is it?"
I still can't talk. What is he doing here? Just when I thought I'd moved on, he shows up. Sends me into a spin. Like he always does. This isn't fair. How dare he just show up after barely talking to me in over a year?
Richard leans forward to peer around me, and tension immediately tightens his body. "Oh."
God, I need to do something. Say something.
I twist back to my fiancé. "Give me a couple of minutes?"
Lips parting as if to argue, Richard's brow furrows. Then he clears his throat. "Want me to head out for a bit? Give you some privacy?"
Classic Richard. Thoughtful, kind Richard. He doesn't mind that my first choice has rocked up to our shared flat, a month into our engagement. He doesn't bat an eyelid at leaving us alone together.
I bite my lip. "Is that okay?"
"Of course." He squeezes my shoulder. "You'll be okay, though?"
I glance back at Mark. He's still crouched on the floor, body folded up and trembling. No. I'm not going to be okay.
"I'll be fine. Thanks."
Five minutes later, Richard is hitting the streets of Seville, and I'm pouring Mark a large glass of Spanish brandy. We don't have whisky, and I've no idea if brandy is the same, but he looks like he needs a drink. I definitely do.
