CHAPTER 7
KATIE
But then I pull up his Instagram page and swallow down a big helping of reality.
Only two nights ago, he was at the FIA Gala Dinner, dressed in a tuxedo James Bond would kill for, rubbing elbows with the rich, famous and powerful.
There’s no way he’s doing anything with me other than passing the time.
As long as I keep that in mind, it will be okay.
It’s not like I’m in a position to knock back friends or friendly gestures, so I may as well ride this Nathan train for as long as he’s happy to have me around.
I just wish I’d picked something a bit nicer to wear while riding this train. Because these jeans and this long-sleeve thermal top, with my ugly winter coat, are not it.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I say, my voice breathless from my sprint walk from the tube station to this small Italian restaurant that Nathan chose for us to have dinner.
It’s a couple of suburbs over from my flat, still on the Northern line, so I can take this line home, and it was easy to get to from work.
It’s almost like he planned it that way, but that’d mean he’d need to find out where my lab is based and how I get from A to B, and I’m not conceited enough to think he’d go to that much effort to find out any of that information.
He may just be a fan of Italian food in general, and this place specifically.
“No problem, Kitty Kat.” He smiles up at me, his teeth gleaming white in the candlelight.
The restaurant is dimly lit, with a cozy vibe that is amplified by the rich colours, the candles and the giant fireplace in the corner.
A good thing too, because London weather has turned feral.
The slight flurry of snow we had last night has turned to slippery slush this morning.
It’s bitterly cold, and we’re only days into winter. Thank you, global warming.
“You are worth the wait,” he adds with a wink.
I roll my eyes and scoop my hair off my shoulders and into a bun at the nape of my neck. It’s more unruly than usual given the moisture in the air, and I need to get it back and off my face.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says as I squirm in my chair.
He’s got this way of locking eyes on me and not letting go.
It must be what my cells feel like under my microscope in the lab; exposed.
Like he’s seeing all the things about me I want to keep hidden.
Starting with my complete lack of fashion sense.
“Eh, a girl’s gotta eat.” As is my way, the words are out of my mouth before my brain checks them. My cheeks burn as his eyes dance with amusement across from me.
“You know how to keep a man humble,” he says with a grin.
I grimace. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I’m happy to have you around while I eat.”
Seriously?
“Much better,” he laughs. “I guess we’d better order then.”
I look down at the menu without seeing it, lecturing myself to get it together instead. Why is it so hard to pretend to act like a normal human being when he’s around?
“So.” He leans back in his chair after we’ve both ordered our dinner.
I’d blindly picked the first thing on the menu and am hoping it’s not a salad.
You don’t make friends with salad. “Tell me a bit more about this research you’re doing.
It’s looking at early biomarkers for ovarian cancer detection, right? ”
I stare at him, my jaw inches from the floor. “How in the world do you know that?”
He rubs the back of his neck, and I swear the faintest blush coats his cut-from-glass cheekbones. “After we met last week, I may have done a little research of my own.”
“Into me?”
His grin is boyish, and he looks adorable. “I mean, of course. It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, and I was interested in what you’ve been up to. Turns out, you’re super impressive.”
An actual snort escapes me, and I cough to hide it. “Um, coming from you, that sounds a little…ludicrous. You’ve gone out and conquered the world. I just spend my days cursing every decision I ever made that brought me into academia.”
His blond head tilts. “Why?”
My hands smooth out the wrinkles on the white cotton tablecloth in front of me while I attempt to put together a response that will make sense and not make me sound like a whiney baby.
“If you take what I do as a whole, research that may ultimately help detect cancer at an early stage and therefore help with both early treatment, or even prevention, then yes, it sounds amazing.”
“It does.”
“But in reality, what I do day to day adds minuscule information into a small piece of an enormous pie. Science moves in increments, taking one step forward and then ten steps back. I spend most of my time out of the lab writing papers and applying for grants to fund my research, and every year there’s a chance it will all fall over.
My salary is guaranteed for the next twelve months, after which I have to secure more money to pay for not just my existence, but the lab supplies and, if I’m lucky, a research assistant.
If I want to remain in academia, doing pure research, I also need to teach and am expected to grow my lab at the same time.
That means supervising PhD students and finding grants to support their projects as well.
So yeah, in theory, I’m out here finding a cure for cancer, but in reality, I’m an exhausted, very overworked lab rat who’s always begging for money. ”
I take a large sip of water, shocked that all of those words came out of my mouth. Not because they aren’t true, but because I’ve never verbalised them before.
“Sounds rough,” he says after a moment of silence. “And it seems like the world has got it all backwards.”
Half of my hair falls out of its bun, and I give up, pulling the rest out and sweeping it over my shoulder and out of the way. “What do you mean?”
He twirls the wine glass in his hand, focusing on the light sparking from the candle in between us.
“I mean, I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to drive a race car around for ninety minutes every other week, and you’re here trying to make an actual difference, and you’re struggling to make it happen.
Society has it backwards if we think we’re allocating money and resources appropriately. ”
In my heart, I agree with him. Not that I think what he does can be reduced to ‘driving a car around for ninety minutes’—what he does is so much more and means a lot to many people around the world—but there should be more equity in how society views what is important and where money should be spent.
In my mind, medical research should be something the public is clamouring to fund, and yet in my experience, it’s quite the opposite.
“Well, in an ideal world, we’d both be getting the exact amount of money we need to do our jobs well. But we don’t live in that world, and if I want to continue doing what I know I was called to do, I have to suck it up and make it all work.”
He looks so put-out by what I’ve said, I want to reach over and comfort him. “It’s not right,” he repeats. “I wish I could make it better for you.”
I shrug. “Enough about me and my sad stories of woe. I want to hear more about you and your life. It’s infinitely more exciting than mine.”
Two large plates of creamy, steaming hot pasta are placed in front of us, and I mentally high-five my past self for ordering correctly. There’s not a vegetable in sight; just a mountain of cheesy, carby goodness.
“My life seems exciting, but for the most part, it’s just a job,” he says after several minutes of quiet eating.
Quiet except for my small moans of pleasure. This pasta is amazing.
I twirl a long strand of spaghetti around my fork and pop it into my mouth, chewing quickly while delighting in the flavours dancing over my tastebuds. “I don’t know about that. The life of an F1 driver seems pretty perfect,” I admit.
He frowns into his bowl. “Like everything, it has its highs and lows. The good parts are on display; you can see what they are. But there’s also the constant travel, the never being in one place for long. It makes it hard to maintain any sort of relationship…”
I swallow a mouthful and stare at him. His plump lips are tipped down, and I sense a sadness lingering in his eyes that has me wanting to jump up and hug him. Sitting across from me, he looks like both the successful athlete with the world at his feet and also the loneliest man I’ve ever seen.
“The travel would make it hard,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But if you’re with the right person, it shouldn’t be a deal breaker.”
His smile is bleak and tinged with bitterness. “I had thought I was with the right person. But I guess I was wrong.”
An image of his last girlfriend flashes through my mind.
Tall, glamorous and perfect looking, she was like a lab-designed cutout of the person Nathan should end up with.
The pictures of the two of them together showed a couple brimming with good looks, wealth and happiness.
But now, knowing what I do about the end of his relationship, I guess it was a case of looks being deceiving.
The camera actually lying. Because it turns out, those two were not the perfect couple; not even close.
“I, ah, am sorry about what happened. With Victoria.” I rip the band-aid off, bringing the elephant in the room very much into the spotlight.
His lips twist. “You heard about that, hey?”
“I mean, I live in the world. It was pretty hard to miss.”
He nods. “Yeah, gosh, the press loved that story. They love bringing down a hometown hero. It’s got to be something to do with that whole tall poppy syndrome. They were practically salivating to report all the salacious details.”
I know all about this, having read all the salacious details. I guess by consuming this content, I’m feeding into the media beast he seems to despise so much.
“It must have been hard. Not just going through all of that but going through it in the public eye.”