Page 104 of The Ring
Weberly was the exception, not because she was special to me, but because she was there, and I wanted some stability. And while I never trusted her one hundred percent, her whole deal about not lying made me feel like I could trust her with… important things. There was also the added bonus that she could make Cornelia jealous—not many people can do that.
I ignored all the rumours I’d heard that she was batshit crazy, that she would ruin my life. I dismissed them as nothing more than bitter words from jealous ex-boyfriends or people with a grudge. Now, I think I should have listened. It would have saved me from this.
She scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding. You can’t seriously be mad at me for the video. I did you afavour. You should be kissing my feet right now.”
“A favour?” I let out a bitter laugh.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “And you’re ahypocrite, talking to me like I’m the villain when I know you’rerevellingin the fact that she loves you more than she loves her boyfriend.”
I do.
Of course I do, but I wouldn’t exactly use the wordrevelling.
I won’t deny it’s the best thing I’ve heard in months—knowing that she still loves me. But if I could un-know this in exchange for Cornelia’s pain, I’d do it in a second. Without a second thought.
I will always put her above myself ineverything.
“I won’t lie—yes, I do,” I admit, even though she doesn’t deserve my honesty. “But what you did—showing the video like that—you did it for your ownenjoyment.” I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “If you really wanted to do me a favour, you could have shown me the video in private. But you didn’t. You did it to humiliate her, so don’t put me in the same boat as you. I would never have done something like that.Never.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” She shrugs. “But it’s not like she doesn’t deserve it. She’s a bitch.”
“Don’t ever call her that,” I snap. I let it slide the first time she called her that—partly because Cornelia had just thrown a martini at her and I figured it was an automatic reaction, like when someone cuts you off in traffic, and partly because I wanted to go after Cornelia. But like hell am I going to let her insult her and actually mean it.
“You hate her, and you don’t even know her,” I point out. “Which is good, because you don’t deserve to know her.” Knowing Cornelia, really knowing her, is the greatest privilege someone can get in life.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“Don’t call me. Don’t text me.” My voice is firm, final. “I’ll have someone deliver everything you left at my flat.” I gesture between us with my index finger. “You and I? We’re done.”
I don’t wait for her reaction. I turn around and walk out.
I’m done with her, and it couldn’t have come a second sooner.
Chapter 63
Cornelia
After dinner, I walked around the block, hoping to spot Benedict. I didn’t. Then I went to his flat in Nine Elms, but luck wasn’t on my side there either. I know where his parents live in Chelsea, but going there would have felt like I was stalking him, or at the very least, being an incredibly annoying person. So I went home and sent him a message, telling him I’d like to talk to him when he’s ready.
I didn’t get a response from him until a few days later, but a few hours after I sent the message, I received a text from an unknown number.
Don’t worry about him. I’m taking good care of him.
—Maxine.
With a photo of Benedict sleeping on a sofa.
I knew at that moment we were over—because I didn’t care enough. Not in the way you’re supposed to when your boyfriendis with his ex. Not how I would have if it were TJ. If anything, I felt relieved. Happy, even. Because he was fine. And I had been worried about him. People do stupid things when they’re mad.
Now, five days after what Annabelle and I have been callingthe dinner with the devil, I’m finally seeing Benedict. Yesterday, he texted me asking if we could meet today at %Arabica—the one in Battersea Power Station—at 9:00 a.m. I would have preferred it if we had done it yesterday, as it kept me up all night.
I enter the coffee shop—it’s almost empty and nearly silent, save for the soft hum of the coffee machine and the quiet chatter of the employees behind the counter.
I walk further inside and spot Benedict sitting at a table in the back, two to-go coffee cups in front of him. I make my way towards him.
Even though it feels like we partially broke up the night of the dinner and now we’re just here to make it official, I still have a knot in my stomach.
“Hi,” I greet him.
