I shake my head desperately and clench my eyes shut, wanting to let him, but knowing it would be a gargantuan mistake. ‘No, not so you can toss me out again.’ I feel the warmth of his mouth closing in, but I don’t turn my head.
I wait.
I let it happen.
And when the moist softness of his lips connects with mine, I go lax and open up to him on a low moan, my hands finding his shoulders, my head tilting to give him full access. I blank out. My intelligence has been blocked again.
‘There are sparks,’ he mumbles, ‘full-on, electric sparks, and we’re creating them.’ He pecks my lips. ‘Don’t deprive us of this.’ He kisses his way into my neck and nibbles up to my ear. ‘Please.’
‘Just four hours?’ I whisper.
‘Stop overthinking.’
‘I’m not overthinking. I can barely think at all when you’re near me.’
‘I like that.’ He encases my neck with his palms and tilts my face up. His stunning features cripple me. ‘Let it happen.’
‘I already did, more than once, and you turned distant on me every time. Will it be like that again?’
‘No one knows what’s going to happen in the future, Livy.’ His lips move slowly, holding my attention at his mouth.
‘That’s a poor answer,’ I murmur. ‘And you can tell me what will happen because you’re in control of it.’ Annoyingly, I’ve laid my cards – I’ve made it perfectly clear that I want more than he’s willing to give.
‘I really can’t.’ He moves in to kiss me, but I force my face to the side, leaving him hovering over my cheek. ‘Let me taste you, Livy.’
I have to resist him, and his vague answer to my question gives me the strength I need to do it. ‘You’ve already had too much.’ If I fall now, there will be no getting up. By accepting this, I’m giving him the power to turn his back after he’s taken what he wants, and I would never have a valid reason to hold it against him, because I allowed it . . . again.
‘Have you?’ he asks. ‘Have you had enough of me, Livy?’
‘Too much.’ I push him away. ‘Way too much, Miller.’
He curses and runs his hand through his hair. ‘I’m not letting you go home with that man.’
‘And how will you stop me?’ I ask quietly. He doesn’t want me, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have me either. I don’t understand him, and I’m not going to let him swallow me up again, just so he can spit me back out.
‘He won’t make you feel like I can.’
‘You mean used?’ I retort. ‘You make me feel used. I’ve never exposed myself emotionally to a man before, and I did you. I’ve built up a pile of regrets in my life, Miller. And you’re at the top of it.’
‘Don’t say things you don’t mean.’ He reaches forward and runs his knuckles across my cheek. ‘How can you regret something that was so beautiful?’
‘Easily.’ I take his hand from my cheek and drop it gently to his side. ‘I can regret it easily when I know I’ll never have it again.’ I shuffle past him, ensuring there’s no contact, and start my journey home.
‘You can have it again,’ he calls. ‘We can have that again, Olivia.’
‘Not just for four hours,’ I reply, clenching my eyes shut. ‘I’d rather not have it at all.’ My feet are moving, but I can’t feel them, and I’m vaguely aware that I have a date inside the bar, who’s certainly wondering where I’ve got to. But I can’t go back inside and feign a good mood, not when I’m feeling so utterly broken. So I text Luke a feeble excuse about Nan falling ill. Then I drag myself home.
Chapter 15
‘How did it go?’ Gregory asks when I call him the next morning. No ‘hello’ or ‘how are ya doing?’
‘He’s nice,’ I admit, ‘but I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.’
‘Why aren’t I surprised?’ he grunts, as I hear shuffling in the background.
‘Where are you?’
There’s a lengthy silence, then a few more shuffles, and definitely the sound of a door closing. ‘I caught up with Ben last night,’ he whispers.
‘Oh yeah?’ I grin down the phone. ‘Dirty stop-out.’
‘It wasn’t like that. We went out and had coffee back at his place.’
‘And breakfast.’
‘Yeah, yeah, and breakfast.’ He’s smiling around his words, making my own grin widen. ‘Listen. You know I said Ben wanted to meet you?’
‘I do recall.’
‘Well, there’s an opening of a nightclub tonight. Ben’s been planning it for weeks and he’s invited me. He wants you to join us.’
‘Me?’ I blurt. ‘In a nightclub?’
‘Yes, come on. It’ll be fun. It’s a dead plush place called Ice. Please say yes.’ His beseeching voice won’t shift me. I can’t think of anything worse than subjecting myself to a London nightclub. And anyway, three’s a crowd.
‘I don’t think so, Gregory.’ I shake my head to myself.
‘Oh, baby girl,’ he groans. If I could see him, I know he’d be pouting. ‘It’ll take your mind off things.’
‘What makes you think my mind needs taking off things?’ I ask. ‘I’m fine.’
He almost growls. ‘Cut the crap, Livy. I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re coming and that’s it. And there will be no Converse, either.’
‘Then I’m definitely not coming,’ I grumble. ‘You’re not putting me in those heels again.’
‘Yes, you are. And yes, I am!’ he snaps. ‘You’ve got so much to offer the world, Livy. I’m not letting you waste any more time. This isn’t a practice session, you know. One life, baby girl. Just one. You’re coming out tonight, and you’re going to make an effort of it, too. Put those heels on and walk around the house in them all day if that’s what it takes. I’ll be there at eight to pick you up. I expect you to be ready.’ He hangs up, leaving me with my phone at my ear and my mouth open, ready to object. He’s never spoken to me like that before. I’m shocked, but wondering if I’ve just received the kick up the arse I deserve, and which has been a long time coming.
Too many years have been wasted; too much time spent pretending to be content with my closed-off life. Not any more. Miller Hart may have sent me into unfamiliar emotional turmoil, but he’s also made me realise that I have so much more to offer the world. No more closing myself off and hiding away, too afraid to be vulnerable – too afraid of becoming my mother.
I jump off the bed and slip my feet into the black stilettos and start pacing around my room, concentrating on walking with poise and with my head held high, not looking down at the ridiculous angle that my usually flat feet are at. While I’m doing this, I search Google on my phone for local gyms – not Virgin – and I call to arrange an induction for Tuesday evening. Then I try the stairs, taking them carefully and at a slight angle to maintain my ladylike posture and gracefulness. I’m doing well.
Walking down the hall, I smile when I hit the wooden floor of the kitchen, having got here without a stumble, stagger, or slip.
Nan swings around at the sound of heels clicking on the floor, her mouth falling open.
‘What do you think?’ I ask, taking a little turn to demonstrate my stability, to both my nan and myself. ‘Obviously with a dress,’ I add, registering my pyjama shorts.
‘Oh, Livy.’ She clutches the tea towel to her chest on a sigh. ‘I remember the days when I pranced around in high heels like they were flats. I have bunions to prove it.’
‘I doubt I’ll be prancing, Nan.’
‘Do you have another date with the nice young man?’ She looks hopeful as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.
I’m not sure whether she means Miller, who she’s met, or Luke, who she hasn’t. ‘I have a date with two men tonight.’
‘Two?’ Her old, navy eyes widen. ‘Livy, sweetheart, I know I said live a little, but I didn’t—’
‘Relax.’ I roll my eyes, thinking she should know better, but then again, her boring, introvert granddaughter has been out more times this week than in her whole life. ‘It’s Gregory and his new boyfriend.’
‘How lovely!’ she sings, but then her wrinkled brow puckers some more. ‘You’re not going to one of those g*y bars, are you?’
I laugh. ‘No, it’s a new place uptown. Tonight’s the opening, and Gregory’s new fellow has been organising it. He’s invited me.’
I can tell by her face that she’s delighted, but she’s going to make a fuss, anyway. ‘Nails!’ she screeches, knocking me back a step in my heels.
‘What?’
‘You must paint your nails.’
I look down at my short, tidy, bare nails. ‘What colour?’
‘Well, what are you wearing?’ she asks, and I wonder if many twenty-four-year-olds seek this kind of advice from their grandmother.
‘Gregory made me buy a black dress, but it’s a little short and I’m sure I could’ve done with the next size up. It’s tight.’
‘Nonsense!’ She zooms up, all excited and enthusiastic about my night out. ‘I have pillar-box red!’
She disappears from the kitchen and moves up the stairs, faster than I’ve ever known. It’s only moments before she’s back, shaking a bottle of red nail polish in her wrinkled hand.
‘I save it for special occasions,’ she says, pushing me down onto a chair and taking one next to me.
I can do no more than watch as she takes her time, neatly coating each of my nails, blowing little streams of air over my fingers when she’s done. Sitting back in her chair, she tilts her head and I follow her gaze down to my fingers, wriggling them for a few moments before bringing them closer and running my eyes over them. ‘They’re very . . . red.’
‘It’s very classy. You can’t go wrong with red nails and a black dress.’ Her mind seems to wander, and I smile fondly at my grandmother, childhood memories of her and my gramps flooding my mind.
‘Do you remember when Gramps took us to the Dorchester for your birthday, Nan?’ I ask. I was ten years old and in complete awe of the affluence. Gramps wore a suit, Nan a floral two-piece skirt and jacket, and I was treated to a navy-blue dungaree dress, which was covered in large white polka dots. Gramps always loved it when the women in his life wore navy blue. He said it made our already stunning eyes look like bottomless pits of sapphires.
My grandmother takes a long pull of air and forces a smile, when I know that she really would like to shed a tear. ‘That was the first time I painted your nails. Granddad wasn’t happy.’
I return her smile, remembering all too well the stern word he had in her ear. ‘He was even less happy when you tinted my lips with your red lipstick.’
She laughs. ‘He was a man of principles and set firmly in his ways. He didn’t understand a woman’s need to cake her face in make-up, which made it all the more difficult for him to deal with your . . .’ She trails off and quickly starts screwing on the lid of the polish.
‘It’s okay.’ I place my hand over hers and give it a little squeeze. ‘I remember.’ I may have only been a small child, but I remember vivid shouting matches, slamming doors, and Gramps with his head in his hands on many occasions. I didn’t understand it at the time, but maturity has brought it all home, making everything painfully clear. That and the journal I found.
‘She was too beautiful and too easily led.’
