Free Hooked Up: Book 2 by Arianne Richmonde

delicious lunch outside, under a canopy of vines, which shaded us from the hot sun. The crickets were chirping a high song, and there was a gentle crooning from a pair of doves in a pine tree. We drank a pale, pale pink rosé wine, so chilled, so refreshing, that I found myself flopping onto one of the living room sofas, unable to do anything.
    Oh, this is the life.
    The living room had a terracotta floor as old as the hills, and like hills, it undulated and buckled with a life of its own. The fireplace was at least eight feet wide, and inside was a vast wrought iron fire-back of a dragon—iron to reflect the heat of the fire, I suspected. The room was lined with bookshelves, and amidst plays by Voltaire, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Camus, I noticed a lot of English titles of novels: smart sets printed by a publisher called the Folio Society. I inspected some. Several had stunning, color plate illustrations. He had The Wind in the Willows ! I opened it up and read an inscription: Darling Alexandre, this was my childhood favourite, hope you enjoy. All my love, Laura. Favorite spelled the British way. My heart started pounding with an unfathomable jealousy. How dare she know about The Wind in the Willows ? Who is this Laura? Laura, who must have been lining his shelves with classics in the English language! There was Doctor Zhivago, The Greek Myths I and II, The Grapes of Wrath, Vanity Fair, Madame Bovary —not in French but Madame Bovary in English!
    Alexandre came into the room. “Ah, there you are, I thought you’d done a runner.”
    “Where did you learn expressions like that?” I demanded in a ridiculous way, my eyes turning from blue to emerald green.
    He laughed. “Ah, I see, you’ve been having a look at my English books.”
    “Yes, I have. Who’s Laura?”
    “A friend.”
    “A friend?”
    “She’s a friend now. She was my girlfriend. From London. You’d like her.”
    I’d hate her, I thought to myself, but said coolly, “Oh yes? She has good taste in books. She must have been a great reader.”
    “Somewhat.”
    “Somewhat? There are piles of them here. Did she live here?”
    “She comes in the summertime.”
    ‘She comes,’ not ‘she came,’ Oh my God – he’s still seeing her!
    He said casually, “Why do you think my English is so colloquial? It was Laura who taught me. She was ruthless—she’d correct all my mistakes.”
    “How long did you date her for?” I asked nonchalantly, trying not to show my envy.
    “We didn’t just date, we lived together.”
    “Oh.” It gets worse!
    “We were engaged.”
    I felt as if I’d been stabbed. “What happened?”
    “She left me for someone else.”
    Was she nuts? “She dumped you?” I asked with disbelief.
    “I don’t like the sound of that word, but yes, I suppose she did ‘dump’ me.”
    “Are you still in love with her?”
    “No, but I still care for her.”
    I needed to stop this conversation now. I felt woozy. Stay cool, calm and collected, Pearl. Don’t be a bunny boiler.
    “That’s nice that you’re still friends,” I said, and then smiled sweetly at him.
    “Hey, tonight there’s a party and I said we’d go.”
    “Where?”
    “A few kilometers away. At Ridley’s house.”
    “Ridley?”
    “He’s a film director. You’ll like him.”
    “I have a feeling I know exactly who you’re talking about.”
    “All sorts will be there, it should be fun,” he said with enthusiasm.
    “Okay, great. Actually no—not great.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I have nothing to wear. I was in such a rush I threw the worst outfits into my suitcase.”
    “Pearl, you could wear a potato sack and you’d look amazing.”
    “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don’t see myself in such a positive light.”
    “Alright then, let’s go shopping.”
    “It’s okay, Alexandre, I’ll make something work.” I said this because I didn’t want him buying me things. Ridiculous, but I was not used to shopping with a man. “The truth is,” I