Louise didn't like Jack Norberg.

She knew this within the first three sentences of meeting him. Jack had introduced himself as Dr. Norberg, used the word "triumvirate" to refer to a trio of desserts, and then took a call while the waitress was rattling off the specials.

Thirty minutes later, Louise hadn't changed her mind about Arabella's fiancé.

They were sitting in an eco-friendly café off King's Road. Their salmon had been sourced locally, their straws made from bamboo fibres; Jack — Louise refused to call him Dr. Norberg — had explained to her that the café only let in customers wearing sustainable clothing brands, but an exception had been made for Louise, since Jack knew the owner.

Louise sipped more of her raspberry mocktail and said nothing.

"More tea, darling?" Arabella asked.

Jack tapped away at his phone. His fiancée cleared her throat, and he looked up. "Pardon?"

"I asked if you wanted more tea."

"Oh." He went back to typing. "No."

"Cake?" Arabella asked.

Jack waved her off. "Let's just get on with it, shall we?" He pocketed his phone. "My flight leaves in three hours."

Right.

Louise pulled out her laptop. She talked Jack through the wedding venue. She gave details about the wedding cake (a strawberry-and-champagne naked cake), the elaborate flower wreaths (shipped in from Mexico), and the albino flamingos (turns out you just fed them less shrimp for the week — a fact that Louise had learned from a bored-looking teenage employee at the London Zoo).

Jack listened patiently, nodding along, until Louise closed her laptop. Then he leaned back, steepling his fingers together.

"Well?" Arabella was bouncing in her seat. "What do you think?"

"No," Jack said.

Louise and Arabella exchanged a look.

"Er," Louise said. "Which part?"

"All of it." Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Do you know what the ecological footprint of shipping flowers will be? And the flamingos are an environmental nightmare. Like, that has to be animal abuse." He turned to face his fiancé. "I'm sorry, darling, but you know that journalists will be there. How will it look if I'm on Good Morning America warning people about the climate crisis while the tabloids print photos of my extravagant wedding?"

There was a long pause. Arabella stared into her coffee, the rose petals capsizing like miniature boats.

"No, it's fine," she said. "I understand."

Jack squeezed her hand. "I'll make it up to you."

"I know." She looked up at Louise. "There's still time to change a few things, right?"

No. There really wasn't.

Louise's heart sunk. She'd wasted days — no, weeks — trying to make this wedding perfect. Hell, she'd been on the phone to a manufacturer today ordering hideously expensive oak flooring. How on earth was she meant to do all that again, but in a month?

It was impossible.

Not, Louise thought, that she was about to admit that.

She smiled. "Right. Absolutely."

Jack began to talk, waving his hands. He wanted the heating powered by solar panels. Tuxedos made from recycled fibres. Arabella stood, ordered another coffee at the bar, and didn't come back for at least ten minutes.

When she'd returned, Jack was finishing his speech.

"Thanks, Louise." He took out his phone, glancing at the screen. "We're in much better shape now. Don't you think, darling?"

"Yes," Arabella said absently. "Much better."

She was watching a toddler jam two bamboo straws into his mouth, making a growling sound, his small hands held up like claws. The woman sitting next to him — the toddler's mother, presumably — looked on in exasperation.

Louise glanced back at her notebook. She was about to double check the changes with Arabella when her phone buzzed.

One text from Ben.

Is there any way you can get the kids from school?

Louise gripped the pen. The words seemed to swim off the screen, a fuzzy, tangled ball of yarn. This was a joke, right? Ben had said that he wouldn't ask her to do this again. He'd promised her.

Another buzz.

I'm so sorry.

A third buzz.

I'll make it up to you.

She stared at the phone. Started typing something. Deleted it. After all, what was there to say? Irritation pricked at her. If Ben thought he could just swan home with another bottle of red wine — if he thought that she'd just roll over and forgive him...

"Louise," a voice said.

Louise looked up. Arabella's cheeks were flushed pink; she glanced at her fiancé, looking irritated and embarrassed and self-conscious, and—

Oh.

Louise felt a rush of guilt. It was because of her, wasn't it? Because Arabella wanted to show her fiancé — who'd flown in from Dubai — that everything was under control, and instead, Louise had presented a useless wedding plan and then spent the last five minutes texting on her phone.

Yikes.

Louise cleared her throat. Rose to her feet.

"I'm so sorry," Louise said, "but I have to go. It's an emergency."

Arabella frowned. "Now?"

Louise nodded. "My..." She paused. What did she call Ben? Her co-parent? Friend? Bedmate? Not-quite-live-in-lover? "Some arrangements have fallen through, and the kids need a lift from school."

"You have kids?" Jack asked.

Louise picked up her bag. "Two of them. Three and six."

"You poor thing," Jack said, in the same pitiful, gleeful tone that Louise had come to expect from thirtysomethings without children. "I've heard they're a nightmare at that age." He patted Arabella's knee. "We're so lucky that we don't want them, aren't we, darling?"

"Yes," Arabella said, her eyes on the toddler. "So lucky."

It was 12:37 a.m. when Ben arrived home.

Louise knew this, because she was sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of red wine and reading a book. It was the fourth in the Duke series — "The Duke of Wicked Smiles" — and the front cover featured a shirtless blond man riding on a horse. Ben collapsed in an armchair, running a hand over his face.

"Let me guess," Ben said. "This Duke is also outrageously handsome, wealthy, and in need of a wife?"

Louise ignored him, flipping a page. She heard Ben shift.

"Bentley," he said. "Are you mad at me?"

She stared at a paragraph. "You broke your promise."

"I know," Ben said. "But Victor was—"

"I don't care," Louise interrupted. "I know that's harsh, but I really don't." She shut the book without marking her page; it wasn't like she'd been taking any of it in. "Unless your office was on fire and you were trapped in a broom cupboard waiting for rescue, I honestly don't give a shit, Ben."

Ben winced. "I suppose I deserve that."

"You think my job is a joke." Her voice rose. "Admit it."

He held up his hands. "That's not true!"

"Well, that's how you're acting." Her heart was beating quickly. "By asking me to pick up the kids — to leave my work so that you can work — you're saying that my job isn't as important as yours. That being a lawyer is more valid than party planning. You get that, right?"

Ben was shaking his head. "I have never once thought that. It's just that... Look, your job has more flexible hours."

"So?"

"So you can adapt your work more easily around the kids' schedule."

"Yes," Louise said, "but I still have to work, Ben!" She rose, pacing around the living room. She felt like she was shaking apart, like the floor was crumbling under her feet. "I can't just swan out of the office whenever you ask me to. It's unprofessional."

"This is ridiculous," Ben muttered. "I don't want to fight with you."

"Then stop behaving like a self-centered arsehole!"

The words rang around the empty living room.

Louise deflated. The fight left her in a great sigh, dissipating into the air. Her half-empty wine glass sat on the table, mocking her. She hadn't been in the mood to drink tonight. Probably shouldn't have, come to think of it.

"Look, I'm sorry." She nibbled her lip. "I didn't mean that."

"Yeah," Ben said quietly. "You did."

Her phone buzzed.

Louise withdrew it from her pocket, torn between relief and annoyance at being interrupted. A WhatsApp message from Sebastian popped up.

What are you up to tomorrow? Client is having a shooting day in the country (think big corporate dinner, free booze, etc) and has asked me to join — fancy coming with? x

"Who was that?" Ben asked.

He was watching her closely, his elbows resting on his knees. Shadows gathered beneath his eyes, and his black tie hung loose around his neck like a noose.

She pocketed her phone. "Sebastian."

"Your boss?" Ben's voice changed. "What does he want?"

Louise shrugged. "He's asked if I can go with him to a work thing tomorrow." Ben was still watching her, his green eyes unreadable, and she crossed her arms. "What?"

Ben rose. "I didn't say anything."

"I know what you think," Louise said, "but it's not like that. Sebastian's a friend." Unbidden, the thought of Sebastian asking her out for Thai food flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away. "Anyway, it's for work. I need to go."

"Then go," Ben said. "I'm not stopping you."

His voice was low. Even. He could have been a coat rack, Louise thought, or the iron poker near the fireplace; just one more piece of living room furniture. And even though she knew it was ridiculous, his lack of emotion irritated her.

"Fine," Louise said.

His smile was humourless. "Fine."

She turned for the stairs. And even though Louise didn't look back, she couldn't help but wonder if Ben cared enough to watch her go.