Still, as she passed through Piccadilly Circus, she couldn’t help but stare at the statue of Eros. His arrow had pierced her hard, and her whole body ached as if trying to recover from the injury.

The first day here, when she’d woken up and realized once again that it was true—that Jake had broken up with her—she couldn’t move. Her whole body had felt like lead. It had hurt to get out of bed. She’d had to force herself to take a shower and eat something of her room-service breakfast. Eating breakfast had been like chewing sawdust. Camouflaged in her crisp black skirt suit, she’d told herself not to think about it for now—to push it to the side of her thoughts and not let it emerge. But she hadn’t succeeded. There had been that moment when her London colleague, the guy who was also up for partner, had said dismissively that the paralegal couldn’t make it in because his girlfriend had broken up with him, and she’d frozen, her mind veering off to her own break-up. He’d had to prompt her and ask her what she thought of that last point legally. Even then, she had stared at him blankly.

Her relationship was over. Just like that.

She respected that paralegal—who apparently was a guy who’d been able to stand up for himself and take time for his emotions. Then again, he might really be an emotional wreck. Maybe the fact that she had been able to compartmentalize it, if even just a bit, was a sign that it wasn’t meant to be.

She walked by the ticket booths at Piccadilly Circus. Normally, she loved London, and if this had been a usual trip, she would’ve bought a last-minute ticket to a play and spent her off night at a theatre. Instead, she planned to go to her hotel room, get room service, and cry. Maybe she should also take a hot bath. She felt so drained, her body as sore as if she’d run a marathon.