‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘for freaking out a bit in there. I really thought I saw something.’ She looks down at the ruby liquid in her glass, giving it a swirl before she takes a deep breath. ‘I had a really bad relationship last year. It’s left me feeling… jumpy, I guess.’

‘And vulnerable?’ Rupert asks, aware of his hand lying close to her thigh. He knows that raw, flayed feeling only too well. ‘I can relate.’

‘Vulnerable. Jumpy. Unsafe.’ She pauses. ‘Alone.’

Giving in to impulse, Rupert lays his hand gently on her wrist, his fingers wrapping around the delicate bones as he seeks out the pulse that jumps under her skin. Emily looks up at him, and Rupert gives in to impulse again, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. She freezes for a moment, before he feels her mouth soften under his and he can taste wine on her lips and smell the light floral scent that she wears.

‘Oh.’ Emily pulls away and her face is no longer pale. She presses her hand to her mouth and Rupert thinks for a moment that he might have just fucked up monumentally.

‘I’m so sorry, Emily.’ He turns away, scrubbing his hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t mean… I don’t know what came over me.’

‘It’s OK.’

‘I haven’t done anything… I mean, I haven’t even been on a date with anyone since Caro died, let alone kissed anyone. I’m so sorry, I’ve had too much wine. I completely understand if you think this was a huge mistake, and you want to leave. Not that I want you to leave…’ He’s rambling, but he’s quite sure that he doesn’t want her to go yet.

‘Rupert, I said it’s OK.’ Emily puts her hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her. ‘Honestly, I’m not at all offended.’ She gives him a shaky smile, before drinking the last of her wine. She reaches for the new bottle, shifting around so that her thigh lies against his. ‘I think we need more wine, don’t you?’ He smiles at her, waiting as she tops him up and as her fingers linger on his as she passes him the glass, Rupert thanks his lucky stars he left work on time this evening.

Chapter Six

‘Don’t go.’ His voice is quiet, barely a whisper, and I have to strain to hear him. ‘Stay the night.’

I smile in the darkness, before rolling over to face him. In the six weeks since he asked me to stay for dinner, we have spent every evening together, talking, laughing, and having some of the best sex I’ve ever had. But each evening, I slip away, riding my pushbike back to the flat by the light of the streetlamps, sneaking my way in so as not to wake Mags. ‘Really? You want me to stay?’