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I didn’t say anything. I’d told them it was their call. I sat back in the armchair and let it be their call.
The silence went on too long.
Ross rubbed his face with both hands. “Sorry. God, sorry, Fi. You’re gorgeous. You’re… honestly, you’re the most gorgeous… I just keep seeing his face over your shoulder.”
“It’s fine,” Fiona said softly, though her cheeks were burning. “Honestly.”
“It’s not fine. I’ve wanted this for years. Don’t tell anyone I said that.” He laughed miserably. “And now I’m here and I can’t.”
Fiona sat back on the sofa, a little apart from him. Her dress had slipped off one shoulder. She looked at me, then at Ross, and I saw something change in her face. A sort of wicked determination.
“Okay,” she said. “Then don’t touch.”
“What?”
“Don’t touch me. Just sit there and watch.” She stood up and pulled the tie on her dress. It fell open. Black lace. Ross groaned. “I’ve imagined you watching me for three weeks, Ross. That counts.”
She glanced back at me, and her eyes were saying the same thing as her mouth. Is this okay?
Ross looked at me as well. He looked like a man desperately hoping I’d tell him to stay. And a man desperately hoping I’d tell him he could go home.