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Summary
It’s while she’s turned to face Dylan, and Mark still has his eyes on her, that he sees it. Just when the collar of her shirt shifts slightly and exposes her collarbone. A small, round bruise. Purple, no bigger than a quarter. And it takes a few moments for Mark’s brain to slot in the name for it— there’s been no use for him to think of the word before now. A hickey. Someone put their mouth on Helly’s neck and left it there long enough to leave a bruise.
And Mark’s suit suddenly feels uncomfortably warm, as his brain unwillingly places himself into the position of being the one to give it to her.
…
Helly comes into work with a hickey. Mark is distracted.