Isabel is right. It’s beautiful. I’m standing in front of an easel, wearing my favourite T-shirt that ended up being a homage to at least three of my canvases. Almost as colourful as the paintings themselves. My arm is extended and the look on my face is one of pure concentration.

‘You approve?’

‘It’s wonderful.’ I gulp down the most enormous lump that has risen in my throat. ‘I look like an artist,’ I whisper, more to myself than to Nico.

‘You are,’ he enforces.

‘This wasn’t what I was expecting at all.’

He frowns, crossing his arms as he surveys every inch of the canvas.

‘I thought it was perfect. A modern take on a classic portrait. I wouldn’t change a thing; it brings me such happiness every time I stand in front of it. Maybe a flaw isn’t the worst thing in the world, after all. And I say that with pride.’

As I turn to look at Nico I can see the love he has for me reflected in his eyes. How could I have fought the truth? Shame, maybe? Horror of realising that I could love another man in a way I was supposed to love my husband? I thought what I felt for Aiden was an all-consuming love, but how does anyone really know if they have nothing against which to compare it?

The love I feel for Nico touched my soul, before it touched my heart. With Aiden, it had been lusty, young love. All hormones and long spells apart to fuel those wonderful and passionate weekends together in between studying. The thought of love was exciting and everything we experienced together was new. Getting married, buying a house, putting down roots.

With Nico, the passion that connected us was on another plane. If it had been purely physical, it would have meant little to me. I would have seen it for what it was and dismissed it lightly. But the intensity of what was sparking between us was scary and I had to be strong to fight it. That’s why I left. And now I can see that’s why I came back.

‘You aren’t wearing a wedding ring,’ Nico says, softly.

‘No.’