Page 63 of The Spare

I knew she was his type, my husband says in my head.

‘He adores you,’ she protests, eyes wide. She crosses her legs and winces. ‘What the fuck are they doing in there? I really need a wee.’

‘Coke, probably.’

‘Jesus. You don’t get any of that shit at Alchemy. But seriously, Selena, Benedict adores you. Like, adores you. He’s completely obsessed with you. I was watching you guys in the kitchen, because I’m curious, obviously. He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real. And I’ve noticed he keeps saying my wife tonight. It’s clear you two were meant to be together.’

For a second, just a second, I let her words wash over me like warm treacle; I let myself stand there and luxuriate in the thought of Ben and me being fated, of him looking at me in wonder.

Nope.

I refuse to let in the little kernel of hope. It’s a nice data point, but it doesn’t stack up against all the other shit he’s said and done tonight. I roll my eyes at her.

‘I’m serious,’ she says. ‘And why wouldn’t he? I can tell you now, I’ve never felt so shitty and insignificant in my life as when I rocked up to Harry’s party and you were there with Xav in that beautiful red dress. You looked like a movie star.’ She gazes at me, her blue eyes large and guileless. ‘I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. So yeah, if you ask me, Benedict seems completely besotted. He’s also smug as fuck, and so he should be.’

That gives me pause. I’ve been so busy these past few months, putting myself right at the centre of this narrative, seeing the whole shitshow from the perspective that Xavier and Ivy were doing whatever the hell they wanted behind my back, that it honestly never occurred to me that the path to true love may not have run that smoothly for Ivy, either, or that she may have felt threatened by me. I’ve assumed that she operates on some kind of parallel, authentic-cool-girl level where insecurity and hypervigilance are rendered unnecessary, but maybe not.

The last bit of what she said—the bit about Ben being smug as fuck—at least, I can believe.

It’s easy, too easy when I’m in this emotional state, to reframe my favourite ‘forbidden fantasies’ game with Benedict. All those things he likes to say to me when he’s inside me, those memories he likes to relive (or invent) about watching me from across a room when I was promised to Xavier and wanting to do all manner of filthy things to me. The porno version of pining, which is probably as close as a guy like Ben gets to that kind of emotion.

It also sounds both hot and romantic when he says it.

But maybe he was just falling for the package. The mask. The painstakingly curated image, finished off with a gym-honed body and designer clothing and professional blow-dries.

Maybe he was a kitten, dazzled by the shiny, out-of-reach bauble. But, once he’d made a swipe at it and knocked it to the ground, it wasn’t all that alluring after all.

‘I’m sorry if I made you feel shitty,’ I say, scratching my nose. ‘It wasn’t a fun time for anyone.’ I pause, because this is an awkward thing to admit. But she’s just given me a little gift, and maybe she needs one, too. None of this is her fault. ‘I was miserable that night,’ I confess. ‘I was always miserable with Xavier.’ She lets out a shocked huff, and I shrug. ‘I’m serious. I’d rather be ignored by Ben all night than have Xavier being disgustingly solicitous when it was always clear he had zero interest.’

She purses her lips. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think Ben’s ignoring you. If you ask me, he knows he’s done badly, so he’s been cavorting around all night like a sugared-up kid and trying to avoid any awkwardness.’

She may actually be right. That’s classic Ben. I cock my head, considering. ‘He’s flirting a lot.’

‘Maybe that’s just how he is? Not that that makes it okay,’ she says hurriedly. ‘Like I said, you should talk to him.’

I ignore that suggestion. ‘Did you know him at Alchemy?’ I ask instead. It’s surprisingly hard to get the question out, and I find I’m bracing ahead of her answer.

But she shakes her head. ‘Nah. I recognised him when we came up to Belvedere for the party, but I’d never spoken to him before. I know he was popular there—generally speaking, I mean. I’m not saying he shagged everyone.’

I may have spent an evening at Alchemy, but it’s not exactly my scene. The concept of people like Ben and Ivy, so secure in their sexuality, living it up at a place like that is both alien and painful. Painful because I’m still unclear just how much my husband misses that life, no matter how much of a brave face he puts on for my benefit.

Eventually, we make it into the loo after two giggling girls have exited, wiping their noses furiously.

Called it.

The DJ has kicked it up a notch by the time we return to the drawing room, and Xavier has joined Ben, Lydia, and Jack. He pulls Ivy against him and dips his face, dropping a lingering kiss on the crown of her head as he lets his eyes drift shut. It’s a sweet, quiet moment of adoration, so intimate I almost feel guilty for having witnessed it.

My husband, meanwhile, is looking at me as if I’m supper. ‘What took you guys so long?’

‘Some party girls were doing lines in the loo.’ I shrug, feigning nonchalance. Only one type of neuron fires when Ben looks at me like that, and it’s not the type that supports the stringing together of words on an articulate thread. He’s so handsome it’s downright disgusting.

‘Come here.’

The sexiest sentence in the world?

I go, obviously, and he wraps his arms around me, one hand going straight to my bottom. He caresses the lustrous satin, sliding it over my skin.

‘I wish you weren’t wearing a thong,’ he mutters into my ear.