But the pragmatist in me knew I had to let him say his piece. I had to know where I stood with him. As much as it would break my heart if he didn’t want a real relationship with me, I needed to know before this whole thing dragged on any longer.

His hand reached up to stroke the back of my arm and I tensed.

“Hey,” he said. “Come back.” He took hold of my arm and tugged gently. I resisted for a moment, then relented, tucking myself back into the nook under his arm, my head on his chest.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear.” Still, I said nothing. “Sarah?”

More rejection from the guy who keeps telling me how amazing I am and how much he loves being with me.

“It’s okay,” I said finally. “I know you’re just being honest.” I felt an urgent need to distance myself from him, my anger bubbling up and about to overflow. I got out of the bed, making a beeline for the closet where I pulled out one of the white, fluffy robes. It felt good to ensconce myself in it—safe. I sat on the armchair next to the bed and only then did I dare to look at Josh. He was visibly upset, and I felt a twinge of guilt. I’d done that.

“Please come back to bed.” I shook my head.

“Look, you’re right,” I said. “I don’t want to hear that you’re still unsure about how you feel. I guess I hoped that I would come here, and we would rediscover each other, and you’d finally realise that you want to be with me—for real—and whether you know it or not, Josh, you do. I’ve felt it.” His frown intensified, and I knew I was probably hurting him, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I said the one thing that would permanently damage us.

“But you know what? You’ve actually made it easier for me, because it’s been really hard being with two men and now, I don’t have to choose.”

As the words came out of my mouth—during those very seconds—I knew I’d gone too far. I’d pushed Josh over the edge into full-blown misery. Tears sprang to his eyes and he looked away from me, his face incredulous.

I put my head in my hands, wishing I could take it all back, the tears flowing between my fingers. “I’m so sorry, Josh. I’m so sorry.” He was crying. I could hear him, but I couldn’t bear to look, and I knew I couldn’t be the one to comfort him.

Finally, after agonising over what I’d said and the irreparable damage I’d done to him, to us, I heard his voice. “I asked you not to see him.” That’s all he said.

And it broke me.

All that time since London, through planning our trip to Hawaii, I’d assumed that he must have known I’d seen James. And he hadn’t.

He climbed out of the bed and went into the bathroom. I heard him blowing his nose and I stood up and got some tissues for my own. I didn’t know how to fix it. How could I fix it?