It’s been three days since I stormed out on Arthur, and each day is a little worse than the last. I think it’s over. I mean, it really has to be over, doesn’t it? I stare down at my “Break Up or Make Up Sheet” that sits on my desk.

Break Up:

He was very cross with/unacceptably rude to me about the nightclub incident. I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage with a man who will speak to me that way.

He has kept a big secret from me for months, which means he may be keeping more or will do so again in the future.

The secret has to do with a sleepover with a very beautiful woman who clearly wants to get her hands on his scepter.

He’s secretly texting at all hours and I’m pretty sure it must be Brooke (or some other beautiful opportunist).

How did he know where Brooke was supposed to be?

Any break-up list bearing the word secret more than twice proves grounds for a break-up.

All signs point to an affair.

If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…

He has misgivings about marrying a mechanic’s daughter and someone so accident-prone.

I’m themed paper napkins and he’s silk linens and gold cutlery.

I will never belong in his world, no matter how long or how hard I try.

Make Up:

He has been trying to reach me for the past seventy-two hours to sort this out, which means that he is worried, which is a good sign that he cares. (Even though it doesn’t excuse his behaviour.)

He may be telling the truth about Brooke that nothing happened and he has no interest in her. If this is the case, it would be horrific to end our relationship over something that, in the big scheme of things, is quite small.

I’ve never felt more alive or loved than when I’m with him.

I can’t imagine having a day’s happiness without him.

But if he’s a lying, cheating sack of crap with a crown, I’ll never have a day’s happiness with him…

* * *

“Tessa! Arthur’s here!” my dad calls up the stairs.

Dammit. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I throw off the covers. I was already in bed in my Sponge Bob pajamas, even though it’s only seven in the evening. I glance at myself in the mirror. I cannot see him like this. I’m a total mess.

“Tessa! Do you hear me?” my dad hollers. “Your boyfriend is here.”

I open the door a crack and hear my mum’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs. “She’s up in bed already, I’m afraid. She’s been a bit of a Grumpy Gus since her trip.”

I strain my ears but I can’t make out what Arthur’s saying to her. Hurrying to my closet, I flip through my clothes, looking for a dress or jeans or something. But it’s too late. There’s a gentle knock at the door.

“Tessa, it’s me. I’d very much like to see you.”

My shoulders droop and I look at the door, only to see him pushing it open with one finger. Why does he have to look so freaking handsome? He’s all sexy casual in his jeans and dress shirt, while I’m all bad breath and wild hair and Sponge Bobbish.

He leans against the door jamb and gives me a sad smile. “Even when angry, yours is the face I want to look at above all others.”

I force myself not to smile. “What are you doing here?”

He glances at the bed and I know he’s thinking about whether he can come in. “I was hoping you’d be ready to hear me out. It’s been over three days.”

“Well, I’m still very much angry and confused.” Folding my arms across my chest, I shrug one shoulder. “And I’m not really taking visitors at the moment.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You know, coming over without warning gives you a very unfair advantage.” I wave one hand up and down at him. “You’re all well-put-together and…and clean, and I’m in angry pajama mode.”

“I didn’t show up uninvited because I wanted an advantage. I just couldn’t wait another minute to see you.”

“Don’t say that.” I tear up a little, feeling my stone heart start to warm. “I’m trying very hard to stay angry at you.”

“I deserve that. Let me come in so you can yell at me and tell me what an arsehole I am.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Fine. Shut the door. My parents are likely going to eavesdrop otherwise.”

Arthur walks in and closes the door, making the tiny space feel even smaller. I cross the room, avoiding him, then sit on the floor and lean my back against my bed, tucking my knees to my chest to hide. A moment later, I feel the warmth of his body against my arm as he seats himself next to me.

“Nothing happened. I promise.” His voice is slow and gentle. The scent of him is intoxicating. He smells like leather and aftershave and home.

I’m so overcome by his nearness that I can’t speak.

“And nothing will ever happen between us. I’ve never particularly been a fan of gingers,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder.

I give him a look that says he’s not the least bit funny.

He nods. “Not the right time for that joke, I see.”

“Not really.” I shake my head and fix my gaze on the purple shag wall-to-wall carpet, wishing we were doing this anywhere but here. “The thing is, I don’t know if I can trust you, which is pretty important if we’re going to be married.”

“I should have told you. I had every intention of telling you, in fact, but the next morning when we texted, you were upset enough that I’d made eggs for dinner without you that I didn’t think it wise to tell you I made them for another woman. I can see now that my logic was faulty.”

“Very. I would’ve been really pissed, but at least I would have known you’d be honest with me.”

“You’re right. It was cowardly and it was a mistake. One I won’t make again. But you need to know that I only kept it from you to protect you.”

“That’s rich,” I scoff.

“It’s true. I can’t bear the thought of having you upset or disappointed by anyone, least of all me. I want every day of your life to be easy and fun and wonderful. Is that so bad?”

“Yes, it is. It’s unrealistic. And it’s patronizing. It’s like you don’t think I can handle being an adult.”

“That’s not true. I just want to shield you from anything and everything bad in the world. I think a lot of women would find that endearing.”

“Then you should marry one of them.” I run my fingers through the shag carpet. This carpet is who I am. I’m a purple shag and costume jewelry, not tapestries and tiaras. “You should marry Brooke. She wouldn’t have to cram for being a lady by watching Audrey Hepburn movies, and she’d certainly never lose a condom up her wooha. Although, if she did, she would undoubtedly be able to free it herself using a combination of her elegant long arms, delicate fingers and, I’m sure, superior control over her vajayjay muscles. She probably would love to be patronized by you. You could travel the globe together, inoculating babies and being dazzling.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“Maybe not, but jealousy is the only thing that’s going to protect me from getting hurt right now because it reminds me that you’re not to be trusted.”

He reaches out and runs his fingertips over my left hand. “If I wanted her, I could have her. But you’re the one wearing my ring, not Brooke. That should count for something, shouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it should.” I sigh heavily. “Is she the one you’re texting at all hours?”

“What? No. I haven’t been texting anyone.”

“Then what are you doing on the phone all the time? Who are you chatting with if it’s not Brooke?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say. It would only upset you and I’d rather avoid that.”

I groan. “Oh, God, are we back here again?”

“If I tell you there’s also a very good chance that you’ll think I’m a complete and utter fool, in which case, you won’t want to marry me anyway.”

“I’d rather be with a fool than a cheat.”

“I’m not cheating on you. Never have. Never would.”

“Words aren’t enough.”

“I’m afraid words are all I can give. There’s no way to prove an affair that hasn’t happened.”

There’s a knock at the door and my mum’s muffled voice says, “I’ve brought you some lemon tarts and tea.”

“No, thank you, Mum,” I call.

“Oh, are you two love birds in the middle of something? I’ll leave the tea outside the door.”

“Thank you,” I bark.

I wait a second to hear her footsteps on the stairs but there’s no sound. Then another light knock. “If you’re decent, I’d just as soon leave the tray in the room or Mr. Whiskers’ll get into the tarts.”

“Fine!” I say.

The doorknob turns and my mum peers in, carrying the tray in one hand. “Loves sweets, that one. Odd for a cat, really.”

She walks in and stares at us for a moment. Her face falls a little. “Oh, dear. You two look like the sky is falling. What could possibly be so wrong?”

Neither of us says anything, so she sets the tray down in front of us on the floor. Oh, Christ, she’s using the Royal Family tea set, which means King Winston is smirking up at me now from the side of the cups.

My mum pats both of us on the ankles before standing. “Young love can be volatile, I know. Reuben and I used to have the loudest rows when we were first together. Oh, how we went on and on over the silliest things. But then, in the end, we’d realize how ridiculous it all was and we’d make up and things would be wonderful again and, usually, nine months later we’d have another boy.”

I shudder at the thought of them ‘making up,’ which I’ve caught a glimpse of recently and haven’t managed to scrub from my brain. “I assure you this isn’t silly, Mum.”

“It never is when you’re in the middle of it. You can only see it for what it is when it’s over.” She smiles and nods reassuringly. “That’s when you get a glimpse of the big picture, which is all that really matters. Marriage means you stay together and work it out, no matter what the problem. So, have some tea and something to eat because, by the looks of things, you have quite the long talk ahead of you.”

“Thank you, Evi,” Arthur says. “That’s very kind of you.”

“You’re more than welcome, my dear boy.” She turns to go, then stops. “Tessa, did I ever tell you about our old neighbour, Doreen the divorcee?”

“Mum—”

“She used to fancy your father. Drove me nuts when he’d even say hi to her. She used to come by in low-cut tops and short skirts and ask him to do little jobs for her. ‘Evi, can I borrow Reuben’s big man hands again? I can’t get this jar open.’” My mum snorts, clearly still miffed at Doreen. “Wasn’t his fault, though. He was quite the hottie back then. Your dad never strayed, even though he couldn’t help but give her a second look. I mean, you couldn’t really help it, those big knockers just out on display—”

“Mum,” I say in a warning tone.

“Sorry. Anyway, eventually, she found a plumber who was happy to help her with all her odd jobs.”

My mum opens the door and mutters something about being sure that didn’t last long, then she turns and says, “There’s always going to be a Doreen, Tessa. Whether you let her get in the way of your happiness is completely up to you.”

With that she shuts the door, leaving us alone with our tea and tarts. Arthur turns to me with a question in his eyes. He lowers his voice. “Was she listening at the door?”

“Anything is possible around here.”

Neither of us touches the tray and, if I had to guess, I’d say Arthur feels every bit as sick as I do at the moment.

“I realized while my mum was talking that it doesn’t really matter what you’ve been doing on your phone.”

“It doesn’t?” His voice lifts with hope, which kind of breaks my heart.

“We’re not meant to be together, Arthur. We’ve been fighting so hard to make this work, but it just won’t.”

“Don’t say that. We’re perfect for each other and you bloody well know it.” He reaches out and places his hand over mine. “I know we’ve been having some difficulties, but that’s to be expected. Weddings generally cause couples a great deal of stress, but once we get it over with we’ll be fine.”

“Did you hear what you just said? Once we get it over with? That’s not how you should feel about your wedding day.”

“Isn’t it? I’m a man. Men generally are more enthusiastic about the wedding night and the bit about spending your life with the right woman than the actual wedding. And, in our case, it’s just this massive production that really has very little to do with us as individuals and everything to do with obligation and tradition and international relations.”

“That’s true. You could literally have an instruction manual with ‘insert bride here.’”

“Not if I’m the groom. There’s only one bride for me.”

Against my better judgment I look up at him, and nearly melt into his eyes. They’re full of adoration and love, but I can’t believe it. Not if I’m going to survive. “Those are nice words.”

“But they mean very little.”

“I believe that you believe I’m the right woman for you. But I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I’m not wrong. I know what I want.”

“Sometimes what you want and what you should have are very different things. I’ll never fit into your world, Arthur. I’ll never be graceful or sophisticated, and I’ll never be happy to sit back and let my husband handle everything for me while I stay safely tucked away in the background, blissfully unaware of anything negative happening in the world.”

Arthur runs a hand through his sandy-blond hair. “Good God, I don’t want to put you in some little box. I just don’t want anyone to ever hurt you.”

“You hurt me when you lied. And you hurt me when you let Brooke have the satisfaction of being the one to tell me the truth. She’s probably had a field day with that one.” I put on a very posh accent. “You should have seen the look on her face. She had no clue I’d spent the night.”

Arthur’s voice tightens. “Brooke’s not like that. She’s not a gossip. She’s a good person.”

I let out a long sigh. “Please don’t defend her to me. She wants to be your wife, Arthur. It’s as plain as the nose on my face. She’ll do whatever she has to do to make that happen.”

“She’s not like that.”

“Then why did she come find me so she could stir up trouble between us?”

“She said she assumed I would’ve told you.”

I rest my chin on my knees. “So, you talked to her about this?”

“Of course, I did. I had to find out what she said to you.”

“Do you have any idea how humiliating that is for me?”

“About as humiliating as me having my fiancée storm into my office and yell at me in front of my staff?”

My head throbs with confusion and anger and hurt. “So, you were trying to get me back?”

“No. I was trying to prepare myself for dealing with you. In case you’re not aware, you’re not exactly reasonable when you’re upset.”

“So, this is my fault now?”

“Jesus Christ. You manage to twist everything I say in the most hideous of ways.” He stands and walks toward the door, then turns back to me. “I came here to apologize and beg you to forgive me and to reassure you that I never have, am not now, nor will ever be interested in sleeping with Brooke Beddingfield, or any other woman for that matter. But every word just seems to deepen the hole I’m in. Maybe I should just go. You can call me when you’re ready to work this out.”

A desperate desire to get up, rush to him, and wrap my arms around his neck comes over me, but I know I can’t. I stay where I am on the floor, forcing my feet to remain rooted. “We should call off the wedding.”

The words hang in the air for a horribly long moment. When Arthur finally speaks, his voice is too calm. “Call it off as in postpone, or call it off as in call the whole thing off?”

“The second one,” I whisper. “We’re just too different, Arthur. I love you, but that won’t be enough. I can never be the woman you want me to be.”

“Don’t say that. This is just a silly fight.” Arthur’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “She’s our Doreen. She’ll move on to some plumber any day now and we’ll laugh about it.”

“It’s not just about Doreen. There’s no way to make this work,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s the truth. We need to accept it.”

“I’m not going to beg you, Tessa.”

“I don’t want you to beg.” I stare down at my left hand for a moment, then pull the ring off before I can change my mind. “I want you to be happy, Arthur. You’ll never find happiness with me.”

I place the ring in his hand and close his fingers around it, then open the door and walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind me before he has a chance to say anything else. Leaning against the door I hear his footsteps on the creaky stairs, then him wishing my parents a good night.

Then he’s gone.