CHAPTER 269: CHAPTER 269 ASHTON: THE BREAKING POINT

‘I’m sorry.’ Lea handed me a tissue. ‘Here. For the... lipstick.’

I took it and wiped my lips hard. ‘What the hell was that?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, head down. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. He kept yelling that I wouldn’t find a man better than him, that no one would want me except him, that I was some kind of reject. I was pissed off. I just wanted to prove him wrong.’

‘You could have done that without kissing me,’ I said, irritated. ‘There are better ways.’

‘I know, but I wasn’t thinking, okay? It was stupid, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

I looked out of the car window at the blur of buildings. ‘Forget it.’

It was an understandable lapse, I suppose. Anyone could lose their head dealing with a man like Pierre. Still, I wish she hadn’t made it.

‘At least he signed the divorce papers,’ I said at last. So the dinner tonight hadn’t been a complete waste.

‘I know, and I can’t tell you how relieved I am,’ Lea said.

Was she, though? I had my doubts.

The way she talked about him when he wasn’t around and the way she behaved when he was there made me question whether she was truly over Pierre.

Usually so rational and cool-headed, she turned into—though I hated to admit it—a dimmer, weaker version of herself around him. She probably had a case of love-brain.

I promised myself I would help her this one time. If she went back to Pierre again, I wouldn’t lift a finger.

The car slowed to a stop in front of the hotel.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Lea asked when she saw I hadn’t moved.

‘No. I’ve got somewhere else to be. Get some rest.’ I watched her disappear into the lobby, then told the driver to take me to Mira’s hotel.

She’d had enough alone time. She hadn’t called or texted me all day. She could blame me for her father’s death, she could lash out, but I wouldn’t accept this silence, this deliberate avoidance.

I got out in front of the building and took the lift up to her floor.

She was still awake, as I’d expected.

‘I was just about to call you,’ she said when she opened the door. She was still fully dressed despite the late hour. Normally, she’d be in her pyjamas by now.

Another unsettling sign sat on the coffee table: an almost empty bottle of Château Margaux.

‘You’ve been drinking,’ I said.

‘Yeah.’ She followed my gaze to the bottle. She smiled faintly, but not with embarrassment, then returned to the sofa. ‘I thought I could do it sober. Turns out I still needed some Dutch courage.’

‘Do what?’ I stepped closer, a tight knot forming in my gut.

‘No.’ She gave my shoulder a light shove when I sat beside her. ‘Take the chair opposite. I stink of wine.’

I frowned but did as she asked, sitting in the armchair across from her. A coffee table lay between us.

‘I’m sorry about Franklin,’ I said. I should have said it earlier, when I first told her about his death.

Mira didn’t appear to hear me. She sat with her legs tucked under her, reached for the bottle, drank straight from it, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

When she finally looked at me, her eyes were red.

‘Have you been crying? What’s wrong?’ I stood, moving towards her.

‘No.’ She waved me back. ‘Stay where you are. I need some distance. To do this right.’

‘Mira.’ The unease in my gut deepened.

‘Just sit, please.’

Why hadn’t I noticed the tremor in her voice earlier?

I sat, keeping my eyes on her. Had she been grieving for Franklin?

‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me?’ she asked, her gaze fixed on mine. Her eyes, usually clear and lit with warmth, were hooded, red-rimmed, and impossible to read.

‘About Franklin?’

‘No. Not that. The other thing.’

‘What other thing?’

‘How was your day?’

I frowned. She wasn’t making sense.

‘How was your day?’ she repeated, leaning forward as if she could see straight through me. She looked ready to keep asking until she got the answer she wanted.

‘It was fine.’ I thought of the court case, the Marchands, then the dinner where Lea finally cut ties with her abusive husband.

‘That’s it? Just fine?’

That was clearly not the answer she wanted.

I nodded. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Anything at all? About, say, dinner? Did you enjoy it?’

‘Dinner was fine.’

My certainty that she was drunk grew with every passing second. She was incoherent, her thoughts scattered.

‘That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?’ Her stare didn’t waver.

For a moment, I almost felt as if she knew about the kiss. My hand twitched towards my mouth, to check if Lea’s lipstick stain was still there, but I stopped myself.

‘That’s it,’ I said.

Mira was drunk, hurting, and not thinking straight. Better to bring up Lea when she was sober.

She slumped back into the sofa, hugging a throw pillow to her knees and burying her face in it. She stayed like that for so long, I began to think she’d fallen asleep.

‘Mira?’

Just as I was about to stand and check on her, she lifted her head. She tossed the pillow aside, lurched to her feet, gripped her engagement ring and slid it off.

She held it out to me in her palm. ‘I think you’d better keep this.’

I stared at her, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing. The dread that had been gnawing at me since I arrived solidified into certainty.

‘No.’

She grabbed my hand and pressed the ring into it. ‘Just take it.’

‘You’re breaking up with me.’ Why?

‘I don’t think this can work.’ Tears streaked her cheeks. ‘I’ve decided to buy Valmont & Cie. I’m relocating to Paris. We can’t be together.’