Chapter 2
When we got home, he went straight into the bathroom.
I draped his coat over the sofa. As I turned away, his phone chimed from inside the pocket.
I reached in, but the first thing my fingers touched was not the phone. It was a small, square packet.
The slick texture made my lips curl slightly before I could stop myself.
My mind jumped back to what Simon had said to Lily before we got in the car, that teasing line with a smile.
I pulled out the phone. A message popped up on the screen.
"Mr. Moore, you made it home?"
The contact name was simple, just Lily.
Nothing strange about it. So ordinary that there was nothing to question.
I put everything back as if I had seen nothing.
When Simon came out of the shower, he had only a towel wrapped around his waist, steam still clinging to him.
He was thirty now, but his body had not changed at all.
His abs were still sharply defined, just like before.
"What, still not tired of looking after all these years?" he said, raising an eyebrow. He reached over and pinched my chin, leaning in to kiss me, but I turned my head and avoided him.
"I'm going to shower."
"I'll be waiting in bed," he said with a smile, casually picking up his coat from the sofa to check his phone.
As I closed the door, I caught a glimpse of him looking down at the screen, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, tapping with one hand. He was clearly in a good mood.
I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. My chest felt heavy, like it was packed with wet cotton.
People say that in the end, love depends on conscience. I have not changed, but for some reason, when I look at him lately, my feelings keep fading.
They have faded into something like a glass of plain water. It is fine to drink, and just as fine not to.
But it has been ten years. If we are not getting married, how is this supposed to end?
I do not know.
When I came out of the shower, he was sitting on the couch, beckoning me over.
A birthday cake sat on the coffee table, and two glasses of red wine were already poured.
I froze for a second.
"You thought I forgot?" he said, resting his chin on his hand, a teasing smile in his voice.
I blinked. "No."
In the past, I would have made a fuss about it. I hated it when he forgot my birthday.
But today, it did not seem to matter.
I walked over and sat down.
He let out a small sigh and reached up to ruffle my hair, then pulled out a small box from behind him and slid it toward me.
A Bulgari necklace, the Serpenti Viper style, in rose gold.
"Go on, open it. See if you like it."
I lifted the lid. The necklace lay inside, catching the light with a soft glow.
"Happy birthday, my Jenny."
I stared at it, and a sudden sense of unease rose in my chest.
It felt as if I did not say something now, I never would.
"Simon." I looked at him as I said his name.
He had beautiful eyes, always carrying that faint, effortless charm when he looked at people.
"What is it? You do not like it?"
I held his gaze. "I turned thirty this year."
The smile in his eyes slowly faded.
He said nothing, so I went on, "When are we getting married?"
The trace of a smile on his face stiffened for a moment, then quickly returned to normal.
"Let's wait a little longer."
"You say that every year." I held my wine glass, my voice quiet, but as the words left my mouth, I felt an unexpected sense of relief.
"Jenny, just give it a bit more time. The company is busy right now. My career is taking off."
"I know." I cut him off.
"Good girl." He raised his glass to me.
Our glasses clinked softly.
In that moment, I finally understood what had been shifting inside me all this time.
The wall built over ten years had been worn thin without me noticing.
And the instant his words landed, it collapsed completely.
"Alright."
I heard my own voice, lighter than I expected.
This was the last time I would ask him.
I was done waiting.