Currents

Five ~ Friendship

Five ~ Friendship

Mum had always valued her job, despite Dad's income being more than enough to fund our lifestyle. Although she put in the maximum amount of effort, clients didn't often acknowledge it. So when she once again hinted that we could both be invited to this North Carolinian wedding because the engaged couple were so happy with her work, I felt conflicted.

"But why?" I frowned, battling with a length of tagliatelle that refused to stay wound around my fork.

"It's a sign of gratitude, Rosalie," she said, not appreciating that I was still kicking up a fuss. "Besides, it might give you inspiration."

My eyes shot up to look at her. "I'm not getting married, Mum."

"Well, not anytime soon." She waved her hand in dismissal. "I'm sure it's on Alastair's mind, though."

The thought terrified me. Not that I'd never considered it, but marriage seemed so final, and I couldn't bear the idea of marrying someone who might be tempted to stray.

Splitting up now risked causing ripples in my parent's company—if it wasn't amicable, his dad could pull out and leave my family with nothing but a dysfunctional enterprise. But a divorce? That would be an even bigger scandal. Two families, tied by marriage and business: if the marriage broke down, how would that look to investors and clients?

Shuddering, I tried to push the thoughts away by lightening the mood.

"Maybe first he can prove he loves me by making a trip over here."

Mum frowned, my joke going over her head. "Don't be so selfish, Rosalie. He's a busy man."

Arguing with her would be pointless, but I resented her comment about me being selfish. I worked hard at my relationship—to the extent that I took a gap year to concentrate on it when the cracks appeared. But to Alastair, our relationship was simply another area of his life, less of a priority.

I wasn't selfish; I was insecure.

~~~

After the conversation with Mum, dreams of Alastair plagued me throughout the night. Some of them memories, some of them my deepest fears. All of them so realistic that my mind replayed them as I ate breakfast in the morning, Alastair's words ringing in my ears.

Cheating doesn't just include sex, Rosa. What you did was worse. You made me look like a fucking mug.

I pushed my cereal bowl away, nausea unsettling my stomach from the traumatic memory. It still felt like yesterday.

Yet here I was, thousands of miles away from the world that gave me so much grief. Despite that, all I wanted to do was return to London and regain control of my territory—geographically and romantically. I could try to make things better for myself here and relish the escapism, but in three months, I'd still be returning to Carringham to pick up the pieces of the life that had crumbled in my absence.

I was trapped. Trapped in this tiny corner of North Carolina, trapped in America, trapped in a lifestyle I didn't want.

Whether the anger acted as adrenaline, or I really had reached breaking point, half an hour later I found myself striding into town and towards the opticians.

"Hey." Mia smiled, seeming happy to see me. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," I said, scanning the shop to check for managers. "I just wanted to thank you for your advice on the glasses."

"No problem." She leaned back against the counter. "How are you finding Camberley?"

Not my cup of tea, but I didn't want to offend Mia when she represented my best chance at a friendship here.