A shudder rocks my body. I don’t want Gavin’s feelings or his promises. King Edward gave me feelings and promises, and they counted for nothing in the end. And I don’t want amusing banter and wordplay from Gavin either. Adam jokes around. So did King Edward. I love witty men, normally. I mean, I used to.

You still do love Adam. Never forget that.

Gavin has never been funny, warm or affectionate before. It’s the reason I felt safe in my dealings with him. I wanted and needed him to be avid but not caring, never emotional. I can’t stand to think of him as a vulnerable man whose heart I might have broken.

I don’t want to think about him any more today—it’s already too much—but I can’t log out, not without reading everything.

I open message number five:

Nicki, seriously, are you OK? I’m starting to indulge in paranoid worst-case-scenario delusions here. Has your husband found out about us? Have you found out something about me? Are you in a hospital, with no access to email? G.

Nicki? Where are you? G.

Do you want to hear my latest theory? You always sign your emails “N x.” I always sign mine “G.” You’ve decided I’m a cold, emotionless husk because I won’t sign off with a kiss. That’s why you’ve gone missing from my cyber-life. Right? For your information, I’ve never signed emails with an “x” and I don’t think I ever would, however I felt about someone. It’s fine when women do it, but from a man it would look somewhat effeminate, I think. Also, I can’t believe this would bother you suddenly when it never has before? Or maybe it has, and you’ve been waiting and hoping . . . ? Look, I’m a big boy. I can handle honesty. Will you tell me what I’ve done wrong? G x (just this once, for strategic effect, because . . . well, because I’m rather fond of you, Nicki. Perhaps I should have said so before.)

No. No. This is unbearable.

Kind, sincere, affectionate words. Of all the things to become phobic about. Fuck you, King Edward. You’re to blame for this.

I’m glad there’s no mirror in this room. I would hate to see what I look like.

A disaster area. There’s not a person on the planet who wouldn’t be better off without you in their lives, not even your children.

Instead of shutting the computer down and running away, I force myself to read all seven of Gavin’s emails again—not once but several times. By the time I’ve finished, the words seem less threatening and my hands have stopped shaking.

How can he care about me this much? He barely knows me. Correction: he doesn’t know me at all.