Chapter 30

CHASTITY

‘How’s your grandmother?’

I open my front door to find Tate on the doorstep, another bouquet of flowers in his hands. His shirt is crease free and his hair looks recently brushed. Meanwhile, I look like something the cat dragged in. And possibly vomited up. I’ve spent the afternoon in my home office apologising for missed bookings and paying compensation for loss of time, so my hair is currently corkscrewing all over the place, and my t-shirt might be slightly stained from where I’ve spilt a little coffee from my I love Flynn’s cock mug. It’s safe to say I don’t really have the time for niceties and don’t bother correcting him on the point that Camilla is actually my aunt. Great aunt. Besides, what would be the point? Because while I don’t believe Flynn was completely right about Tate’s intentions, I don’t think he was too far off the mark, either.

So best not to encourage him.

‘She’s okay, thank you for asking.’ I take the proffered bouquet. ‘It wasn’t a heart attack thankfully. And thank you for the flowers,’ I add, glancing at the pink blooms. ‘I’m sure she’ll love them.’

I’m not entirely certain the flowers were for Cam, but it’s best to assume they are or else why would he be bringing flowers to a girl who’s already said she has a boyfriend—a boyfriend he’s been introduced to, no less. It’s not the kind of bouquet you buy a neighbour for their birthday and I’m beginning to feel a little awkward keeping him at the door, especially as he’s showing no signs of buggering off.

‘Actually, I have to get on,’ I begin, stepping back. ‘I’ve got so much work to do today.’

‘Sophia seems like a nice girl.’ My hand pauses on the partially closed door because there’s a particular note in his tone that tells me that’s not quite what he means.

‘Yes, she is,’ I agree, shifting my body. It’s strange, but something tells me I should just shut the door in his face. And be done with this exchange. But then he seems to shift himself, or at least his demeanour does.

‘Look, Chas, I didn’t just come over here to give you flowers. Flowers for your granny, I mean. ‘I just . . . ’ He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a black iPhone.

‘Oh, you found Flynn’s mobile! He’ll be so pleased. He’s been looking all over for it. I did suggest it might’ve been packed away by one of your staff. Did he call the restaurant?’

‘Actually, I accidently picked it up last night,’ he says. ‘I thought it was mine.’ He shrugs modestly, casting his gaze down to the thing in his hand. ‘The thing is, Chas.’ His eyes rise then, their sharpness contradicting his tone, daring mine to look away. ‘This is so awkward. I didn’t want to bring this over to you, but I also thought you deserved to know the truth.’ He passes the phone into my hand. ‘You see, when I said Sophia seems like a nice girl, that’s exactly what I meant. Seems. Appearances can be deceptive.’

As the phone touches my palm, my eyes are drawn to the screen by movement.

A video.

Is that . . .

Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick.

~*~

‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’

Afternoon has turned to dusk, dusk to full dark since I’d mumbled something to Tate before slamming the door in his face. I’ve been sitting in the same spot on the couch torturing myself, watching the video again and again, trying to make sense of what I see.

Trying to prove to myself that it isn’t what my brain tells me this is.

Flynn switches on the light, concern flickering across his face. ‘What is it,’ he asks, coming to his knees in front of me. His warm hands hold my colder ones. Colder, whiter, bloodless, almost. Because these are hands that have held something abhorrent all afternoon. ‘Is it Camilla? Why didn’t you ring? I sent you a text from my new phone.’

I don’t answer, unless you classify an undignified sniff as such a thing, as I fight tears and the tell-tale tingle in my nose. I pinch the flesh from the inside of my cheek between my teeth in an effort to remain composed. Is it working?

‘Chastity, babe, you’re worrying me.’ I force myself to look at him as I pass him the phone I have hidden under my thigh. ‘You found it.’ His expression doesn’t remain cheerful for long, his eyes staring at a frozen frame. I lean over, hitting the screen to play the video again. The video dated last night.

I don’t watch it play out because I don’t need to. And despite the fact there’s very little audio, I seem to know what he’s looking at almost frame by frame. Her mouth sliding down his wet penis. She gags a little as the head hits the back of her throat. The heavy sounds of his breathing as he uses her mouth like a receptacle.

‘What the fuck!’ His gaze flicks to mine. Is it angry? Confused? It’s hard to tell. That’s not me,’ he adds quickly. ‘Is that the girl from last night? The one in the white dress—what was her name again?’

I don’t know whether to be upset or relieved that he doesn’t seem to remember. But maybe this is an act, too.

‘It’s your phone,’ I answer flatly instead.

‘Yeah, but that’s not me,’ he says more forcefully. ‘Someone must’ve picked it up at the party—recorded the fucking thing!’

‘Really, Flynn?’ For someone who feels she might be on the edge of losing her mind, I sound eerily calm. ‘That’s all you have to explain . . . this?’ I want to shout, be angry, but I’m afraid. Afraid I might be right.

‘What the fuck do you want me to say? It’s not me!’ he yells passionately. ‘It’s some woman who works for you, sucking off some random bloke in the dark. You can’t tell who it is, for fuck’s sake. Have you asked her?’

I shake my head. Of course I’ve called—repeatedly. But she’s not answering her phone. Guilt riddled, maybe? Or maybe she only gives blowjobs, never really giving a fuck about anything, other than perhaps professionally.

‘So you’re okay to accuse me? The man you professed love for last night? But you haven’t asked the one person in this we can identify?’

Identify her by her dark hair concealing his hand. Identify her by the familiar roll of her eyes, the practiced look of ecstasy. And by the way she stares up at him pleadingly.

More. Deeper. Harder. Give it to me.

‘She won’t take my call,’ I say between gritted teeth.

‘So let’s go visit her,’ he demands, pushing to his feet.

‘I don’t know where she lives! She moved last month, and I haven’t updated her file.’

‘Right, so. What are we going to do then? Because this needs sorting the fuck out. That isn’t me, Chastity.’ His hand shakes a little as he pushes it through his hair. ‘The fuck it isn’t.’

I stand myself, feeling like I could run a hundred miles just to get away for myself. From him. From this situation. My mind swirls with hurt, anger, and confusion—am I being used again? Why me? Why now? What did I do to deserve to be duped again?

‘I don’t know what you’re going to do.’ My voice is devoid of emotion because that shit? It’s brimming in side. Brimming. Boiling. Ready to burst like a volcano.

‘Where are you going?’ He catches my arm as I turn away.

‘I’m going to bed,’ I say calmly.

‘So that’s it then?’ Flynn’s expression hardens into something I’ve never seen before, his anger barely restrained as I pull free. I turn at the bottom of the pale wooden stairs just as he begins to pace, anger the source and the fuel of his sudden motion. ‘You’ve made up your mind,’ he half yells, dragging his hands through his hair again, making it stand on end. ‘I’m guilty and that is fucking that?’

‘I can’t argue with facts. With proof.’ I can’t think about what Sophia might say—can’t live on that hope when there’s a risk it’ll be for nothing.

Was he always this good at acting? Was she?

‘Fuck proof,’ he spits. ‘I’m standing in front of you—the man who loves you. And you don’t believe me.’

‘Tell me why—why is that video on your phone!’ In an instant, my anger flares. I told myself I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t get myself into this state. ‘Tell me how it got there,’ I sob—I shout. ‘Tell me how I’m to believe it isn’t you!’

‘What’s the point,’ he answers flatly. ‘You think you know the truth. And you’re not willing to take a chance. On me. On us.’ The room falls silent before he speaks again. ‘A man goes to his psychiatrist,’ he says, apropos of nothing.

‘Flynn, no,’ I plead, tears tracking my cheeks. ‘Why can’t you be serious—just for a minute. Just now.’

He ignores me.

‘The man says; Doctor, you’ve got to help me. I keep thinking that I’m a well-known psychoanalyst. And the shrink says; how long has this been going on? Well, says the man, it all started when I was Jung.’

‘Am I supposed to be laughing?’

‘It’s the best medicine, babe. But that’s you. It doesn’t take a shrink to see that you keep expecting the worst from people. Expecting them to leave. I reckon you’ve been like this since you were a kid. But at some point you’ve got to grow up. To take a chance on someone. You’ve got to believe that you’re enough to take a risk on.’

‘I fail to see how a video of someone deep throating you could be my fault.’

‘That’s just it, babe. You’re not listening. That’s not me. And do you know why? Because I love you and I would cut off my right arm rather than hurt you.’

I look away as I begin to climb the stairs, my demeanour dignified.

At least until I get to the top of the stairs.

At least until I hear the click of the front door, when I allow myself to finally fall apart.