“I appreciate the thought, Ivy, but I’m really not hungry. I was planning to have an early night. I didn’t get any sleep at the jail.”

She ignored him, started opening the wine. She was wearing a red dress, and he could see the outline of lace beneath it, cupping the roundness of her ass. He felt the usual shameful stirring, the odd combination of loathing and longing he felt every time she was around.

She began to pour, the ruby liquid splashing recklessly against the glass. A few drops landed on the counter. She ignored it, handed him a glass, raised hers in a salute. Took a sip.

“Did you ever tell her about us, Ethan? I mean, she knew about the affair, that awful blogger made sure that happened. But did you ever tell Sutton that it was me you slept with that night?”

He nearly spit out the wine. They didn’t discuss this. It was an agreement. That night had never happened. He couldn’t remember it, didn’t want to remember it.

“Of course I didn’t. She was hurt enough as it was. And like I told you, no offense, but I was so drunk that I don’t remember that night at all. Just waking up. I got most of the story from that arsehole blogger.”

Her face had whitened, her mouth a thin line. “You don’t remember anything? It was good. It was fantastic, actually. I’ve always wanted to do it again.” She set her glass down, inched closer to him. She started to slide her dress up her thighs. “What do you say, Ethan. Shall we give it another go? This time, I swear you’ll remember everything.”

“Ivy. I don’t think now is the time.”

“I think now is the perfect time, Ethan. You know you want to. I see how you look at me. I see the way your eyes follow me when I cross the room. What’s it been like, all this time, with Sutton cold as a fish, knowing that I have been ready and waiting for you?”

“I don’t want this, Ivy.”

“You’ve always wanted this, Ethan. Sutton, gone, and me, ready and willing for anything, in your bed. That’s what you told me that night. You don’t remember, so you claim, but I see it in your eyes. I see how much you want me. Now she’s gone, and we don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Closer now. He could smell her perfume, see the lace thong. Her dress had a deep V-neck; she was wearing a matching set. Just like what he’d woken up to that horrible morning. Him: naked and suffering from the most epic hangover he’d ever had. Her: bedecked in red lace, hot as a lit stick of dynamite and ready for another go.