Ravaging Mrs Claire
I force my eyes back to my own food and finish in record time.
My phone buzzes from my bag.
Both our heads snap toward the sound.
“That’ll be your husband,” Liam says, drawing out the word like it tastes bad.
There’s a flicker of irritation in his sharp, unmistakable voice.
I file it away but don’t dwell. I wish I had.
I reach into my bag, pull out the phone.
Ian.
Of course.
He hasn’t called in days, but now he remembers I exist.
I swipe to answer.
“Claire, where the hell are you?” he snaps, voice thick with entitlement. “So you’re out gallivanting the second I’m not home, huh?”