Promised
Page 16

‘Gregory!’ Nan dives on my g*y friend and smothers his face with her marshmallow lips. ‘You must stay for supper.’ She points to a chair before moving on to me, assaulting me with her squidgy lips too, and then placing me on a chair next to George. ‘I do love it when we’re all here,’ she declares happily. ‘Stew?’
Everyone raises their hands, including me even though I don’t want stew.
‘Sit down, Gregory,’ Nan orders.
Gregory wisely sits, looking at me and George with pursed lips when he sees us both smirking at his wary move. ‘You say no to her,’ he whispers.
‘Pardon?’ Nan swings round, and we all straighten our faces and backs, like good little children.
‘Nothing,’ we chant in unison, earning each one of us a few seconds of narrowed eyes from my dear grandmother.
‘Hmm.’ She places the stewpot on the table. ‘Tuck in.’
George virtually dives into the pot, while I just pick at some bread, breaking off tiny bits and chewing quietly while everyone chats happily.
Miller flashes into my mind, making me blink my eyes shut. I smell him, making me hold my breath. I feel his heated touch, making me shift in my chair. I’m having a mental row with myself as I try to bat away images of him, memories of him and the sound of his smooth voice.
I’m failing on every level. Falling for this man could be a disaster. Everything suggests it will be, and that should be good enough, but it’s not. I feel weak and vulnerable, and I hate it. Nor do I like the thought of not seeing him again.
‘Livy, you’ve hardly touched your supper.’ Nan snaps me from my daydream, tapping her spoon on the side of my bowl.
‘I’m not hungry.’ I push the bowl away and stand. ‘Excuse me. I’m going to bed.’ I feel three sets of concerned eyes on me as I leave the kitchen, but I’m past caring. Yes, Livy I-don’t-ever-need-a-man Taylor has fallen, and she’s fallen stupidly hard. And worst of all, she’s fallen for someone she can’t, and probably shouldn’t, have.
I drag my heavy body up the stairs and flop into bed, not bothering to undress and not bothering to remove my make-up. It’s not even dark, but burying myself under my thick quilt soon remedies that. I want silence and darkness so I can torture myself some more.
Friday drags painfully. I avoided Nan, choosing to skip breakfast and face the worried call that I knew I’d get on my way to work. She wasn’t happy but she can’t shove cornflakes down my throat from a mile away. Del, Paul and Sylvie have all tried and failed to coax a genuine smile from me, and Luke dropped in for a coffee again, just to see if I’ve changed my mind on my relationship status. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that, and he is cute and quite funny, too, but I’m still not interested.
I’ve been thinking of something all day long, and I keep going to ask, but then I bottle it, knowing what reaction I’ll get. And I can hardly blame her. But Sylvie has his number, and I want it. We’re closing up the bistro and I’m running out of time. ‘Sylvie?’ I say slowly, twirling my cloth innocently. It’s a silly attempt to look sweet, given what I’m about to ask.
‘Livy,’ she mimics my careful tone, full of suspicion.
‘Do you still have Miller’s number?’
‘No!’ She shakes her head furiously, rushing into the kitchen. ‘I threw it away.’
I make chase, not willing to give up. ‘But you dialled him from your phone,’ I remind her, smacking into her back when she halts.
‘I deleted it,’ she spits unconvincingly. She’s going to make me beg or pin her down and steal her phone.
‘Please, Sylvie. I’m going out of my mind.’ My hands meet in front of my pleading face, forming praying hands.
‘No.’ She breaks my hands apart and pushes them to my sides. ‘I heard your voice when you’d left his apartment, and I also saw your face the next day. Livy, a sweet thing like you doesn’t need to be getting involved with a man like that.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about him.’ My teeth are clenched, like I’m mad for admitting it. I am mad. I’m mad for appearing so desperate, and I’m even madder for actually being desperate.
Sylvie sidesteps me and pushes her way back into the bistro, her black bob swishing from side to side. ‘No no no, Livy. Things happen for a reason, and if you were meant to be with . . .
I collide with her back again when she trails off and stops dead in her tracks. ‘Stop stopping!’ I yell, feeling the building frustration getting the better of me. ‘What’s the . . . It’s me who trails off now, as I look past Sylvie and see Miller standing by the bistro entrance, looking smooth in a grey three-piece suit, his hair a mess of dark waves, his blue eyes crystal clear and sinking into me.
He steps forward, completely ignoring my work friend, and keeps his eyes on me. ‘Have you finished work?’
‘No!’ Sylvie blurts, stepping back, pushing me with her. ‘No, she hasn’t.’
‘Sylvie!’ I muscle my way past her with some determined effort until it’s me pushing her back into the kitchen. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ I say on a hushed whisper. That’s not true at all. I have no idea what I’m doing.
She grabs my arm and leans in. ‘How can someone go from being so sensible to so damned insane in such a short space of time?’ she asks, glancing over my shoulder. ‘You’re going to get yourself in trouble, Livy.’
‘Just leave me.’
I can see she’s torn, but she eventually relents, though not before tossing a warning look in Miller’s direction. ‘You’re mad,’ she huffs, turning on her biker boots and stomping off, leaving us alone.
Taking a deep breath, I turn and face the man who’s invaded every second of thinking space since Monday. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ I ask, indicating the giant machine behind me.
‘No,’ he answers quietly, walking forward until he’s standing mere feet away from me. ‘Take a walk with me.’
A walk? ‘Why?’
He flicks his eyes to the kitchen entrance, clearly uncomfortable. ‘Get your bag and jacket.’
I do as he tells me, without much thought. I ignore Sylvie’s stunned face as I enter the kitchen and grab my bag and jacket. ‘I’m off now,’ I say, hastily leaving her ranting at Del and Paul. I hear her call me stupid and I hear Del call me a grown-up. They are both right.
Throwing my satchel across my body, I approach him and my eyes close when he clasps his palm around the base of my neck to guide me out of the bistro. I’m directed across the road into the small square where he sits me on a bench and takes a seat next to me, turning his body to face mine. ‘Have you thought about me?’ he asks.
‘Constantly,’ I admit. I’m not beating around the bush. I have, and I want him to know it.
‘So will you spend the night with me?’
‘Still just twenty-four hours?’ I clarify, and he nods. My heart falls, not that it’ll stop me from agreeing. I can’t possibly feel any worse than I already do.
His hand rests on my knee, squeezing gently. ‘Twenty-four hours, no strings, no commitment and no feelings, except pleasure.’ Releasing my knee, he shifts his hand to my chin and pulls my face close to his. ‘And it will be pleasurable, Livy. I promise.’