I followed him into the living room, sitting next to him on the sofa. He placed his orange juice on the coffee table but took a whisky bottle from down the side. He swigged a shot back before offering it to me. I shook my head.

“I’m still married, Rosie. On paper, anyway. I have, had, a family, back in Oxford.”

The thought was surprisingly weird like it punched me. I felt bizarrely jealous.

“You’re married?”

“Indeed, yes. My wedding ring is in the bedside drawer. I’m surprised you haven’t found it yet, considering you managed to locate the stash of filth in my wardrobe.”

The heat bloomed on my...