Page 37 of The Work Husband

I hesitated.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Get your kit off. I won’t look.’

He pressed his hands over his eyes. I had no choice – the therapists didn’t know that although we’d booked a couples’ massage, we were far from being an actual couple. I stripped off my robe, relieved that at least I’d had to leave my bikini bottoms on, and dived onto the other bed, covering myself with the waiting towel.

‘All clear,’ I whispered.

‘Great.’ Grinning, he picked up his phone and held it high. ‘Smile!’

‘What are you⁠—’

‘Team selfie.’

‘But—’

‘We’re working, remember? Got to show off the luxury Devereaux Partners can deliver. Everything is possible, and we’re here to prove it.’

Before I could protest, I heard the click of the shutter. And before I could order him to delete the photo, like, right now, the door opened and our therapists glided in to begin our treatments.

EIGHTEEN

It was late on Sunday evening when I arrived home, still smelling of the hotel’s sandalwood shower gel and with a stash of complimentary chocolate truffles in my handbag. I could tell as soon as I pushed the door open that the flat was empty – there was no football playing on the television, no thump of Sam’s trainers as he came to welcome me, not even the ghost of the smell of him in the air.

Only Milton came to greet me, complaining loudly that he was lonely and hungry.

The message I’d sent letting Sam know when I would be back home had gone unread.

I felt the sense of disjointedness and unfamiliarity I was used to after being away – the feeling that somehow I would need to reclaim the space as mine, put my roots down once more before I could settle in properly.

The bed was freshly made with clean sheets, I noticed, dumping my case on it, unzipping it and pulling out an armful of dirty washing.

Had Sam just been keeping up with the chores in my absence, or was there some other reason he’d changed the sheets? I hated myself for thinking it, but I couldn’t help it.

The washing machine was empty – he’d not only washed the bedlinen but dried it and put it away.

Don’t be ridiculous, Georgia, I told myself, shoving my own clothes inside and switching on the machine. You’d have been cross if he hadn’t done housework, and now he has, you’re acting like you found a used condom in the bathroom bin.

All the same, I found myself looking in said bin, only to find it empty apart from a fresh liner.

I stood there in the bathroom for a moment, listening hard to the silence, as if some echo of what had happened in the flat while I was away might remain. But there was nothing – no memory of laughter or music or scent of red wine, only the sound of Milton crunching happily on his dinner in the kitchen.

‘Come on, Georgia,’ I scolded myself. ‘Snap out of it. You’re home, and soon Sam will be too.’

I finished unpacking, had a shower and went and stood in front of the fridge for a bit. I was hungry – breakfast had been large and decadent (Jamie had insisted on bacon, eggs, sausages and black pudding, and I had to admit he’d totally nailed the menu selection) but also a long time ago. But evidently Sam’s preparations for my return hadn’t extended to getting any food in – there was only half a pack of wilted salad leaves, a couple of bendy carrots and some drying-out cheddar. In the bread bin was the end of a loaf that was growing blue whiskers.

As I was throwing it away, I heard the door open and the tantalising aroma of hot, spicy food reached my nostrils.

‘Hey.’ The flat suddenly felt like home again as Sam crossed the floor, dumped a brown paper carrier bag on the counter and hugged me. ‘I got a takeaway from that new Indian place you like. Sorry I’m late but they don’t deliver so I had to pick it up, and there was a massive queue.’

‘That smells amazing.’ I held him in my arms for a moment. For a second, the world felt normal.

He smelled amazing too – of shampoo and soap and Sam, not of expensive aftershave like Jamie did.

Why are you even comparing them? I wondered. One’s your boyfriend and the other’s just some dude you work with.

‘Enough of that.’ He kissed me and turned back to the food. ‘This’ll be cold if we don’t crack on.’

He pulled out tubs of curry, a box of pakoras, naan bread and salad. My mouth watered as I inhaled the fragrance, and I hastily grabbed cutlery from the drawer.