He pushes open the door to the bistro and lets me go in first. Inside, it sounds like an easy-listening radio station. There’s a dark wood table in a booth by the window, with a flickering candle in a jar in the centre. He moves towards it and we both sit down.

The waitress comes over. He orders wine. I order Scotch. And as soon as she’s gone he leans in towards me.

‘I’m sorry about how the other night ended,’ he says, reaching for my hands again. I pull them away.

‘Which bit? How you got me caught on video naked, how you didn’t tell me you were married, or how you left me, mid-sex, on a rooftop and didn’t even say sorry for two whole hours?’

‘Fuck. All of it,’ he says. ‘I wanted to text you sooner but I just couldn’t find my phone.’

A flash of that metal barrel on the roof, the ashtray and his phone.

‘It was on the roof,’ he continues. ‘I must have taken it out of my pocket when we were—’ He pauses and looks up at me sheepishly. ‘But honestly even when I found it I didn’t know what to say. I knew you’d be pissed off. Which is totally fair, by the way. And I couldn’t cope with being around people so I just sat up there trying to figure out how I’d fucked everything up so badly until it started to rain again.’

‘Right,’ I say, my arms crossed. ‘And your wife?’

His gaze moves to the table, the muscle on the side of his jaw twitches, then his eyes find mine again. ‘Okay,’ he starts. ‘I’m in the middle of a messy divorce. That’s what that party was for on Friday. To celebrate my freedom. Thursday night’s exhibition was the last commitment I had to honour before I was free.’

I frown at him. The broken half of a heart he drew on everyone’s wrist now makes sense. But something else just isn’t slotting into place as seamlessly. ‘If you’re getting divorced then why would your ex care what you do with other women? Why would Sabine threaten to tell her?’

‘You don’t know my ex.’ He scoffs. ‘There’s this side to her…’

This, right here, is my pet peeve: every guy says his ex is awful. But, mainly, women are not awful. Mainly, we’re just fed up.

‘Noah, don’t do that. I googled her. I know she owns Le Voltage and is all old money and art connections. I also know that’s probably why you married her so please don’t spin some story about how it’s somehow her fault. I won’t buy it.’

He looks around at the other tables, like he’s worried someone might be listening, the way people do when they’ve been doing bad things. Then he leans in a little closer and lowers his voice, inviting me to do the same.

‘I didn’t say it was her fault. There’s a lot of good in her and I know she loves me.’ He shifts in his seat. ‘I owe her. And not just for my career. When my brother was sick and the insurance ran out, she covered it. But…’ He’s weighing his words. ‘Look, just know it wasn’t all me, okay?’