by M J Porter
Chapter Five
Sinking onto the sofa in their lounge, she held the smooth stone in her hand, marvelling at its deep, even colour, saddened beyond words by its very presence.
She didn’t want to ask him about it or find out who’d given it to him. She already knew, and the knowledge was a knife in the heart. She felt as though she bled with every single heartbeat, and had done so since just after the wedding ceremony.
She berated herself again for having gone into his hotel room after the wedding. They’d been no need. He was packed and ready to go and still she’d teased him until he’d let her inside the small room where he’d spent his last night alone as a single man.
His bag and case had been ready at the door. He’d simply planned on walking in, retrieving his possessions and leaving again. She’d leant into him, waiting for him to kiss her, to take her to bed and then she’d seen it and all thoughts of flirting and touching had fled her mind.
He’d been about to leave the stone behind, and she’d let him walk out of the door without it. However, she’d stepped forward and placed her hand on its gently pulsing warmth.
She didn’t know what it meant or why he had it. Or rather, she did know what it meant, but she didn’t know why he had it. Clutching the stone in her hand, she’d walked from the room on legs grown leaden and decided that she must do what she could to enjoy the rest of her wedding and her honeymoon, and yet she must find out why he had it.
Three weeks away with him had been agony. She’d not managed to learn anything from him, shying away from starting a conversation that she didn’t want to have. And yet, not knowing was killing her slowly inside. She wished she could ask him, but she couldn’t.
She’d been unable to sleep unless drunk to the point of passing out. She’d been unable to spend any time alone with him for fear that he might say or act in such a way that the stone’s presence would be proved correct. She was miserable and sick of heart. The best part of the trip had been the flight home, sat away from him and with someone other than him, whom she could laugh and talk to without worrying about what every spoken word truly meant.
What did it mean that he had it, and thought nothing of it?
What did it mean for her future?
What was she going to do now?
