21. DIANA
DIANA
“What are we doing tonight?” Rafe asks as he comes to join me at the kitchen island one Saturday night. I don’t know where he’s been, and I don’t ask, although I want to. Has he been on a date? He’s become so important to me, that it’s torment not knowing the ins and outs of his personal life.
Loosening his tie and unbuttoning his top button, he sits next to me, bringing with him a whisper of the scent I remember from Delirium. I ignore it, as I always do.
I put on my serious businesswoman persona and studiously avoid thinking about how attractive he is because, on the business front at least, everything is falling into place faster than I ever thought. If it’s a success, Rafe will have been fundamental to it.
I never knew that having someone’s constant reassurance and support could help this much. I feel like a different person.
It’s great, but also a total disaster. I liked him at Delirium, but I like this version of him even more—the one who patiently helps and guides me, teases me about content I’ve made, laughs at my jokes and smiles encouragingly when I get stuck on something.
It makes my stomach swoop every time, which royally screws me over because I can’t do anything about it.
I certainly can’t act on it. It’s like a lingering sickness I have to pretend I don’t have, just so I can operate normally day-to-day.
I dream about him almost every night. It’s torture, knowing he’s in the apartment, sleeping down the corridor…
It would be so easy—too easy—to creep to his room, knock on his door, and tell him who I am. Tell him what we’ve done.
Would I ever?
No. Of course not.
Do I want to?
Yes.
“I took videos at bookshops all around town,” I say, turning my laptop to show him the footage that I’m in the middle of editing. “Lizzie came with me. She did the filming.”
He scans the room. “Where is she?”
“She went to bed. It was a long day.”
With one elbow on the counter, he strums his bottom lip with his index finger and thumb. “Are you tired? We don’t have to do this,” he says, gesturing to the computer.
“No,” I lie. I’m exhausted, and my feet are aching. We must have walked at least ten thousand steps today. “I’m fine. I…” wanted to stay awake for you.
“You’re a workaholic,” he says, laughter in his voice. “I’m familiar with the addiction. I’d employ you.” He clicks his fingers. “Like that.”
I bite on my lip to stop myself from grinning like an idiot, but that kind of praise coming from him makes me unaccountably happy.
He rises, walks to the cupboard, and gets down two wine glasses, raising them in my direction. “Want one?”
“Please,” I say, and he fills both and returns with them, settling down next to me to watch what I’ve done.
I take in his profile; the straight nose, strong jaw, his full lips. So kissable. I could stare at his face forever.
“These are brilliantly edited,” he says after a moment. “I’d buy every book you mention. I’d probably buy the clothes too.”
“You already did,” I say.
His chuckle is deep and rich, and the sound makes something melt low in my belly.
“Really, you could sell me anything,” he says when his laughter fades. “That’s a talent.” Pride swells my chest, but when he leans closer, eyes narrowing with what looks like concern, it pops like he’s pierced it with a pin. “But this fervour you have for your work, is it fueled by desperation?”
I take a sip of my wine, avoiding his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you don’t succeed, whatever success means to you, do you know you’re still okay?”
A strange numbness tingles in my hands and feet. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“It’s not life and death, is what I mean,” he clarifies.
“When Lizzie was born, I was still at university. I worked every night, every holiday, every hour of the day. After I graduated, I worked like a dog to set up my business. It felt like life and death because I had to build a life for us.” He takes a slow breath, his attention sinking inward with the memories.
“I did it, but I wasn’t the one caring for Lizzie when she was small.
My parents took on that burden, and I paid for nannies too.
” He shakes his head, blinks, and brings his focus back to me.
“What I’m trying to say is, I understand what it feels like to have a drive that feels…
” He swirls the red wine in his glass. “Desperate. To feel like everything is going to collapse if you don’t hit your goals.
To feel like you have to race towards them because whatever is behind you might drag you down somewhere you don’t want to go, or force you to look at something you don’t want to see.
Feel something you don’t want to feel. I wouldn’t want that for you. ”
He holds my gaze, and I feel it again, unmistakable. A spark, a tug. A connection I don’t want to break, but cannot hold.
Is he feeling this too?
I look away and pull my laptop closer, resting my hands on the keys to stop myself fidgeting.
He’s been so open, so honest, and I love that he feels he can do that with me.
I appreciate what he’s trying to communicate, but our situations aren’t the same.
I might not have a child to support, but I also don’t have parents who will help.
All I have, really, are him and Lizzie. I wonder if he realises that.
And, to make matters worse. I’ve slept with him. I’ve had sex with the only man who’s ever shown me what it’s like to be a decent father. The only man who has supported me in a healthy way, asking for nothing in return.
I wince. A therapist would have a field day with me. Daddy issues galore.
“I’m okay,” I say, aware he’s staring at me, waiting on a response.
A muscle flickers in his jaw, and the concern in his gaze makes me ache. “Tell me if you’re not.”
My throat gets choked, and I force an uncomfortable swallow. “Thank you.”
I mean it. I can’t remember anyone ever caring enough about my motivations to wonder about them, but I also know that I cannot come to this man for help, or anything else, once my stay in the Emblem comes to an end.
I’ll have to make the most of him while I’m still here, after which I’m pretty sure he’ll forget about me entirely.