Chapter 15
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
Florence and I walk up The Mound heading towards Ramsay Garden.
It feels natural that we’re holding hands, after my attempts to warm hers up.
But they’re still as frosty as ever despite my concerted efforts.
I could tell Florence thought it was amusing, but I might do some research on that.
What with the high pain threshold and bad circulation, her physiology is starting to interest me as much as her personality.
My degree is in dentistry, but I initially had plans to be a surgeon as I find human anatomy fascinating.
I used to have a much more morbid interest in it.
A knee-jerk reaction to what happened with Juliana, I suppose.
I haven’t analysed it too deeply. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to take care of your loved ones …
‘This way, dreamy. It’s up the hill.’ Florence tugs on my hand, and I’m roused from my thoughts.
As we start to climb higher, the historic Ramsay Garden apartments come into view.
Their red-and-white exteriors, towers, and turrets stand out against the skyline.
It’s pretty cool that Florence lives in one of them.
Looking back, the Georgian buildings of New Town are spread out below; in front is the honey-coloured National Gallery, and next to it, the blackened Gothic spire of Scott Monument.
The sound of distant bagpipes floats on the breeze.
‘How long have you lived up here?’ I ask conversationally.
‘About seven years,’ Florence replies.
That means she must’ve been living here since she was 20.
Her date of birth was on her dental records, and she’s 27, two years younger than me.
Regardless of that, her skin is smooth and clear without a wrinkle.
Still it’s no indication of a woman’s age these days as she could be using Botox. I’m not judging.
I stop for a breather and to peer through the wrought-iron gate at the neatly maintained private back gardens.
‘Do you rent, or does one of your flatmates own the apartment?’ I enquire.
‘We own it between us,’ she says after a pause.
‘Oh.’ Interesting arrangement.
‘Was it difficult to get financing?’ I ask, digging for more information in a roundabout way.
‘No, we bought it outright.’
My eyebrows rise at that. Wow. Ramsay Garden is right next to the Royal Mile and a stone’s throw from the castle, it’s a prime location. Did she receive an inheritance, or did her family win lotto? Or does she secretly own a unicorn start-up?
I glance at her curiously, but I can’t see her eyes. She’s wearing those infernal sunglasses, even though the sky is a dull grey. Yet from the set of her plum lips, I gather she doesn’t want me to ask her any more questions.
Rein it in, Rhodes. After what happened with Bitsy, you’re lucky she let you walk her to her flat.
What’s going to happen when we get there, I have no idea.
A cup of tea?
Polite conversation?
Making out?
My expectations are low. At this stage, I’d settle for a cup of tea and a chat.
We continue walking up the winding cobblestone road until Florence stops by a black front door with a lion’s head knocker and turns to face me.
‘Thanks for seeing me home after the vicious Bichon Frisé attack, Damian, and administering first aid, of course. I appreciate it.’ She gives me a small smile.
I smile back. ‘Anytime.’
‘This is my private entrance. That’s the main door up there.’ She gestures with a tilt of her head to the curving flight of stairs above us in case I’m wondering.
I nod, checking out the shiny red door at the top.
Florence inserts her key in the lock. There’s no invitation to join her.
I’m careful not to let the disappointment show on my face.
Looks like I’m spending the rest of the afternoon by myself, pouring my own tea and fantasising about the making out.
But it’s more than that. I wanted to hang out with her.
Get to know her better. What if she doesn’t want to see me again after this?
Is her lovely hair, flowing in glossy waves halfway down her back, the last glimpse I’ll ever have of her?
For a second, I can’t breathe. Then self-protection kicks in.
‘Well, thanks for coming over for lunch, Florence,’ I say in my professional dentist voice.
‘Again, I’m sorry about the dog incident, and I do urge you to go to your doctor to get it checked out.
’ I shove a hand in my jacket pocket, taking out my gloves in preparation for the walk back to Leith.
Catching the bus will just remind me of us holding hands.
Florence glances back over her shoulder at me.
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she asks, sounding faintly surprised.
I instantly drop the formal facade.
‘Oh, I thought you might want to rest ...’
Florence lowers her sunglasses an inch and pierces me with her violet eyes. ‘Well, I was going to have a lie-down. You’re welcome to join me if you’re feeling tired.’
My cock springs to life in my jeans. We are on the same page after all.
***
Florence’s bedroom takes me by surprise.
Has she done a Victorian interior design course?
I’m impressed at her dedication to historical accuracy.
I feel like I’ve stepped back into the nineteenth century.
But it’s also bloody freezing in here, and my desire for hot sex is fading fast since I don’t fancy getting naked.
‘Is the central heating not on?’ I ask, shivering even though I’m bundled up in my winter coat.
Florence looks at me with an inscrutable expression and shakes her head. ‘No, sorry. My flatmate Sadie is a stickler for keeping it off during the day.’
‘Right.’
She opens her mouth slightly as if to explain further but then closes it again. But I get it. Sadie is one of those flatmates, and she doesn’t want a confrontation with her.
Oh well, I’m sure we can keep each other warm under the bedcovers ...
Florence begins picking up books and straightening various objects around the room and seems nervous all of a sudden. Like now that she’s invited me in, she’s not quite sure what to do with me. Her provocative manner has disappeared, and she seems younger somehow, inexperienced.
‘Hey.’ I grab her hand as she waltzes past me for the third time, clutching a vase, apologising for the room’s disarray. ‘Your bedroom is fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, it’s cool. But if you do want to have a lie-down, we should probably get into bed at some point,’ I say, attempting to lighten the mood. ‘But only if you want to. And nothing needs to happen.’ I add, ‘You know ... sexually.’
The word hangs in the frigid air between us. She doesn’t say anything. Her violet eyes bore into mine as if she’s considering that statement, and I blush. Oh god, I’m so bad with this stuff!
Fortunately, Florence nods slowly in agreement. ‘OK.’
She sits on the side of the bed and starts unlacing her boots, and I follow suit with my trainers but remain upright, leaning against the wall.
However, I’ve made tight knots in my shoelaces as I’m terrible at tying them and they always come undone.
I struggle to unpick the knots and end up hopping and yanking my trainers off my feet, leaving the laces tied.
I chuck them off to the side by the wall, where they land in a jumble.
How I’m going to get them back on my feet, I don’t know.
Florence’s mouth twists, watching the performance. I’m glad my antics amuse her. She flips back the red satin bedcover to expose white silk sheets beneath. Fancy!
‘Should I slip into something more comfortable perhaps?’ Her hand hovers at the neckline of her black blouse and fiddles with one of the pearl buttons. The seductive way she’s looking at me is causing my groin to stir. She seems older now; the temptress is back.
‘All right,’ I say eagerly. ‘I mean, uh, sure, that sounds like a good idea.’
Florence huffs a laugh as if she knows exactly what I’m visualising in my mind. Then again, I’m a guy—it’s not like I’m that hard to figure out.
She disappears behind the wooden changing screen in front of the armoir. Its white panels are decorated with painted flowers and naked cherubs. Moments later, there’s the rustling of material.
I sit on the edge of the bed, looking around the room, absorbing the details properly.
It’s all so old-fashioned. The leatherbound books, the sideboard with a crystal decanter of port, the antique clock ticking away on the mantelpiece.
A strong feeling of déjà vu washes over me, like I’ve seen all this before.
That I was even offered a glass of port.
But how could I have? This is the first time I’ve set foot in here. I shake my head, feeling confused.
Florence’s dress is flung over the top of the screen and some kind of undergarment. A wooden drawer opens, and there’s a rummaging sound.
I feel like a sleazy gentleman in a lady’s boudoir.
‘Hop into bed if you like.’ Florence’s voice floats out from behind the screen. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
I thought ‘slip into something more comfortable’ was a euphemism for sexy underwear, but when Florence appears in a floor-length white cotton nightgown with ruffles at the wrists, it suddenly strikes me that she might actually be serious about napping.
Unfortunately, by this time, I’ve taken off my coat, jeans, and shirt and am lying in my boxer briefs underneath the silk sheets.
Now I realise I’ve been way too eager, and my previous assertion that ‘nothing needs to happen’ is going to look like a massive fib.
But it’s too late now; she’s sliding into bed next to me. Florence props her head on her elbow.
‘Are you feeling a bit warmer now?’ she asks.
‘Well, not really.’
She peeks under the covers and giggles. ‘Why, Dr Rhodes, you seem to have lost your clothes.’
‘And you seem to have gained some different ones,’ I say, eyeing the complicated ties on the front of her nightgown and wondering how they undo. This isn’t how I envisioned us getting together at all.
I jerk as the tip of Florence’s icy finger touches my shoulder and traces the outline of the J entwined with a thorny rose. Crap, I forgot about my tattoo. Her fingernail circles it.
‘What’s the significance of this?’ she asks.
‘It’s ...’ I swallow. But my throat closes up, and for a moment, I can’t speak.
Florence looks at me curiously, completely unaware of the emotions unleashing inside me.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead. She really shouldn’t have asked, but she deserves to know what she’s signing up for if she gets involved with me. I want to tell her.
‘It’s my girlfriend’s initial. She ... she died two years ago,’ I choke out.