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href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter 28: Angel

      

       Chapter 29: Nina

      

       Chapter 30: Lucas

      

       Chapter 31: Nina

      

       Chapter 32: Angel

      

       Chapter 33: Nina

      

       Chapter 34: Lucas

      

       Chapter 35: Nina

      

       Chapter 36: Angel

      

       Chapter 37: Nina

      

       Chapter 38: Lucas

      

       Chapter 39: Angel

      

       Chapter 40: Nina

      

       Chapter 41: Angel

      

       Chapter 42: Nina

      

       Chapter 43: Lucas

      

       Chapter 44: Angel

      

       Chapter 45: Nina

      

       Chapter 46: Nina

      

       Chapter 47: Nina

      

       Chapter 48: Nina

      

       Chapter 49: Angel

      

       Chapter 50: Lucas

      

       Chapter 51: Nina

      

       Chapter 52: Lucas

      

       Chapter 53: Lucas

      

       Chapter 54: Nina

      

       Chapter 55: Angel

      

       Chapter 56: Nina

      

       Chapter 57: Nick

      

       Chapter 58: Nina

      

       Chapter 59: Angel

      

       Chapter 60: Nina

      

       Chapter 61: Lucas

      

       Chapter 62: Nina

      

       Acknowledgements:

      

       Keep Reading …

      

       About the Author

      

       Also by Cass Green

      

       About the Publisher

       1

       Nina

      The sun still blasts through the restaurant windows at seven pm, showcasing dust on the red plastic table cloths and monochrome movie stars on the walls. Even Sophia Loren is looking the worse for wear as she smiles down on my table-for-two, her picture yellowing and wrinkled in the unforgiving light. Two large ceiling fans churn the soupy air, bringing no relief.

      The initial, barbecue-novelty of this heatwave has long passed and most of the passers-by now share the same shiny, bad-tempered patina. There’s a fraught, irritable energy in the heavy air. Earlier, on the bus into town, a young woman had unleashed a barrage of swearing at an old man she accused of hogging all the space on their double seat. Physical contact with strangers is even less welcome than it ever was.

      I pluck at my neckline to let in some air; sweat is gathering under the seams of my bra. Because I’ve been living in vest tops, baggy old shorts and flip-flops after work lately, I feel imprisoned by this outfit. I don’t even like this dress that much, nor the sandals that supposedly go with it, which seem to be made mainly from barbed wire and sandpaper.

      I bought the shoes and the dress from a shop I normally avoid because it’s so expensive, deciding I needed to be bolder, braver, in my wardrobe choices.

      Making any kind of decisions the day after your husband of fifteen years moves out of the family home and in with his new, younger partner,

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