Page 88 of Tears of Glass

“He’s not getting married.” My hand tightens on my phone.

“I’ve had confirmation from the Bowsley estate.”

I hang up. Then I pay for the wine and storm back the two streets to the flat.

I slam in, throwing the bags at Lewis who is nearly taken out by flying wine bottles and then march into the kitchen where Eli is rocking an apron.

“What the fuck, Elijah?” My hands smack against his chest, pushing him hard, curling into fists so tight my nails dig into my skin.

“What?” He catches my hand, entwining our fingers so I can’t punch him.

“Why have I just had The Sun fucking call me and ask how I feel as your mistress about you getting married?”

He sighs, but his face relaxes. “It’s headline scavenging, Faith.”

“Is this funny to you?” I try to free my hands, so I can smack him in his smirking face.

“No. I guess I’m just used to it.”

“The guy said he had a source, that he’d spoken to Bowsley.”

Elijah’s eyes finally harden. “Dean, I’m guessing?”

“Uh, yeah, Terry Dean.”

“Figured. He’s my mother’s favourite press snitch. But she wouldn’t have created the story, and she would never have used the word mistress. She hates that word, says it’s demeaning to high society.”

I almost laugh at her still believing in high society—what a bitch. I’m too angry to laugh though.

“Sorry, Faith. The leak about us hasn’t come from my side.”

“Who then? Steers?”

“I thought he didn’t know?”

“He doesn’t.” The fight leaves my body. Apart from the people in this flat, Lewis’ father, and Damien from Whitlocks, the only other people who know about Eli and I are Abi and... Dan.

Does he hate Elijah that much he’d sell me out to a gossip rag?

“Are you going to stop the story?” My voice wavers. This is all my fault. Well, Dan’s. But I guess he’s under my responsibility.

“Nope. Let it run. I’ve always wanted to have a mistress.” He chuckles and drops my hands. “Where’s the wine, Faith?”

“Is that it?” I stare at him aghast. “Tomorrow we are going to be in the paper. Tomorrow they are going to be saying you’re getting married to her again. And that I’m the mistress with tattoos dragging you down.”

“Why don’t you marry me?”

I’m sorry. What?

“Pardon?”

“If you marry me, then I can’t be accused of marrying someone else. It ends the problem with considerable finality, I’d say.”

“That’s not a proposal, that’s a business solution. It’s like you’re closing a deal at work.”

“Do you want me to propose?”

“No.”