I got into bed and pulled the covers up to my neck, chewing so viciously on my lower lip that I drew blood. I turned off the lamp on my side of the bed and waited.

Eventually, Josh came out of the bathroom and turned off the lamp on his side. He climbed into bed, staying as far away from me as possible, his back to me. I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep, unable to move, waves of guilt washing over me.

How had I thought I could sustain relationships with two men? What the hell was I doing? How could I hurt him like that? And I knew Josh cared about me—maybe not in the way I’d hoped for, but it wasn’t nothing. It still could have worked out between us.

That is, before I’d ruined it.

I felt him shift beside me and a hand reached for mine. I grabbed it tight. “I’m so sorry, Josh,” I croaked.

His grip tightened, but he said nothing. Eventually, I fell into a restless sleep, the alarm on my phone screaming at me at 5:00am. Stupid. Fucking. Thing.

I leapt up out of bed and turned it off in one motion. Josh didn’t seem to stir beside me, but maybe he was just pretending to sleep. I would if I was him. God, I’d been horrible to him the night before.

I got into the shower, a sick feeling in my stomach, but it wouldn’t go away no matter how hot I made the water. I showered quickly, got dressed in my travel clothes, and looked at myself in the mirror.

You utter cow, Sarah.

I was furious with myself. I had to at least try to fix things before I left. And I couldn’t have Josh drive me to the airport. It was way too much to ask after what I’d said to him.

I didn’t bother with makeup, just brushed my teeth and slathered moisturiser on my face. I packed away the rest of my toiletries and taking a deep breath, opened the bathroom door. I had to face him.

Not only was he awake, he was dressed. “I’m so sorry,” I blurted, rooted to the spot. His jaw tightened and he nodded a short, sharp nod.

“Me too.”

What?

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I wailed.

“Yes, I do.” I shook my head and he put his hand up. “I do, Sarah. I’ve been thinking about this most of the night, so please let me speak.”

“Okay,” I said, my voice still croaky. I walked over to the armchair and sat down, pulling my knees up to my chest, building myself a fort against more heartbreak.

“Everything between us has been on my terms, from the moment we met until now. I’ve been as honest with you—and myself—as I could, but I’ve always had what I wanted.” I watched him, his face set in a scowl as he explained his innermost thoughts.

“That you saw James in London, that’s on me.” I went to speak, to protest, but he dismissed the interruption and kept talking. “That night at dinner on Naxos, when it turned out the two of you had already met”—I could tell that it stung him to think about it—“I didn’t want you to go off with him then, but I didn’t ask you not to. And I could tell you wanted me to say something. You were almost begging me to. And I didn’t. I let you go off with the handsome, rich guy, who made us all laugh, and seemed like a really great guy.”