‘Stalking you.’ ‘Seriously, Xan.’ ‘Seriously, Jenna.’ ‘Don’t mess about. If Clare sees us, she’ll go nuts.’ Xan snorts. ‘If she sees us doing what? Chatting in broad daylight outside Marks and Sparks?’ He has a point. ‘However,’ he says, pulling me into his arms and giving me a knicker-wetting snog I can feel in my toes, ‘if she saw us doing this, I could understand the problem.’ When I finally come up for air, I’m slightly surprised to see the twins gurgling happily in their double buggy beside me. It takes me a moment to realize I’m standing in the middle of Kensington High Street, not smouldering between the sheets at Xan’s pied-à-terre. He releases me, and pats down his pockets for a packet of cigarettes. ‘Jenna, we need to talk.’ Four words you never want to hear: from your lover or your boss. Shit. I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I’d hoped it was going to last a bit longer.
