Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
When I wake up again, it’s late morning, judging by the way the sunlight filters through the window.
Then, I slowly realize I’m curled against Florian.
In my house. In Glynde. Holy shit. Talk about unlikely.
Judging by his even breaths, he sleeps on.
And what’s also highly unusual is that the house is silent.
No twins running rampant all over the place. No lawn mowing. Suspicious.
I slip out of bed and find my boxers discarded at the foot of the bed. We did our best to try not to make a mess of our tuxedos, draped over the chair in the corner of the room. I pad down the hall to my room for a T-shirt.
Still no signs of anyone, not even when I reach downstairs. When I glance out of the window, the van’s gone. Florian parked on the street last night so as not to block anyone in case they needed to leave. On the kitchen counter, I discover a note from my mum.
Good morning, Sleepy,
I’ve taken the girls to Brighton for shopping today. Dad’s at work. We’ll be back late afternoon.
Mum
I redden. I sure hope Mum didn’t hear us last night, though when we got in, the house was quiet.
Mum’s usually the earliest riser. It used to be the twins when they were younger, but now they’ve settled a bit more.
Which means Mum gets some peace in the morning before the full daily chaos is unleashed.
Turning my attention to tea, I make mugs for Florian and me, surprising him in bed. He’s stirring and sits up when I walk in. The familiar melancholy’s creeping in. It was easy to make believe yesterday, a time-out from reality. But today’s a world away from fake.
“Good morning.” I offer him one and sit on the edge of the bed. “Everyone’s gone out.” Florian brought in his overnight bag last night, so at least he has some non-tuxedo options today. I chew my lip, pensive. But I give him a tentative smile. “Thanks again.”
Florian smiles, sleep-creased and rumpled. He squeezes my free hand with his before turning his attention to the tea. “Thank you.”
We sit with our tea for a couple of minutes in the quiet. Neither one of us wants to break the spell. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes.
“I wish we could live in yesterday,” I tell him quietly. “It would be easier if we just lived in a single day.”
He gives a wry smile. “If that means we were together, I would do it in a heartbeat.”
My throat tightens, and my eyes prickle. Where I might lose control of my mouth. “Shower’s free. You’ll see the fresh towels on the shelf.”
Florian nods, searching my eyes. “I’d better go have a shower, then.”
I watch him slip nude out of bed, bathed in the sunlight for a moment as he opens his leather duffle bag, dappled as the light falls through the leaves of the tree beyond the window. If only I could take a photo of him like this. But I’ll remember.
He slips on his boxers too. Florian comes to sit beside me for a moment. Gently, he kisses me. My mouth yields to his. When he pulls away, he gives me a wry smile before he goes to the shower.
I sigh and head up to the studio and open the loft windows.
I haven’t painted since the portrait of Florian.
It still sits on the easel, drying. I have no idea how long I sit there with my tea, considering the portrait, my mixed-up feelings.
Wanting him, unable to reconcile it with his plans for the Rose.
Eventually, there’s a soft knock on the open door. Florian enters, smelling fresh, and he looks from me to the portrait. And stares. “Please tell me you didn’t just paint this.”
I laugh despite myself. “There’re limits to how fast I can paint, even alla prima.”
Florian studies the portrait, fascinated. He steps closer.
“It’s still drying. Oil paint takes a long time to dry. Certain colors especially. Like whites. Some others.”
“You’re so talented.”
I shrug. “Experience. Practice. Like your drawing lesson.”
“You did this from memory?” he asks in awe.
“Maybe there were a couple of sneaky looks at corporate photos of you.”
Florian smiles. “I’m very honored. And you’re flattering.”
“You’re gorgeous. Easy work.” I gaze at him. And he is, with his easy confidence.
He gives me another light kiss. Neither one of us dares push our luck at the moment. “I think your studio’s magic. Not because I’ll never forget my first visit to an art studio.”
I give him a half smile, remembering all too well how I wrecked him—and myself—with that blow job. “This photo is for me to remember that visit. To remember you.”
There’s a bittersweet expression that falls across his face. “You’re burned in my memory too, Matty. Since the day we met.”
“Which was memorable, to be fair. People should remember cocktail attacks.”
He chuckles. “Yes. I acted very poorly.”
“Well, I assaulted you with glass and ice.”
“Not intentionally.”
We consider each other, both of us uneasy. I can see the tension in his shoulders despite his smile. There’s a sadness in his gaze. Like we both know this is the end.
“I have to leave,” Florian whispers. “I need to go see Gabriel later this afternoon. I didn’t realize the time.”
I swallow hard, the taste of grief on my tongue. “Don’t let me keep you. He needs you, from what you’ve said.” And I need Florian too, but I keep that to myself. I try to draw in a breath, but my lungs aren’t working the way they should.
“Yes.” Florian nods slowly. He presses his lips into a line. “He has bipolar disorder. Sometimes he’s okay, and sometimes he’s not, and that can change very quickly. Our family tries to help him. But he gets on with me the best.”
“Your twin.”
“Yes.” Florian nods, smiling wryly. “I can tell when he’s not well, and I think he’s slipping again. And… he’s the reason I wanted to buy the Rose.”
I blink, taken aback. Whatever I expected his reasoning to be, I figured it was aligned with profit and business objectives. “What do you mean?”
“Gabe’s not well enough to work a full-time job.
I want to buy the Rose and do the redevelopment to help earn more money and be able to support him in a position where he can work more casually and be able to afford to buy him a flat of his own.
And it would be a redevelopment where he’d get some say in its direction, given his own creative insights.
” His gaze looks faraway. “And his flat would be near to me and our parents, and so I can establish a trust. ’Til now, nearly all of my earnings go back into the business.
And our father’s cutting him off. He hasn’t taken Gabriel’s diagnosis well.
Papa thinks it’s a character flaw, rather than an illness.
So that’s why I want the Rose. To help Gabe get some independence back from our father.
To not be berated and threatened and spin out.
Our mother pretends not to notice the blowups. ”
I listen carefully, nodding.
“Okay,” I say softly. “I understand more now. Thanks for telling me about Gabriel. I can only imagine how much he relies on you.”
Florian nods, his expression hard to read after his reveal. Vulnerable.
“But before you go…”
He looks at me in question, as he started to turn away.
“Those paintings you liked so much. Would you like to see them again?”
“I would love to,” Florian says instantly. There’s not a moment of hesitation.
I go to the storage wall, pull out the first Brighton beach painting, and prop it against the wall before I place the second beside it. They’re good-sized canvases, not huge, manageable for one person to move. But they’re enough to have presence. And they feel like the height of summer.
“Gorgeous,” Florian confirms wistfully, hands in his pockets. “These are so you. You’re like the sun.”
“Well, I’m not sure about that…” I give him a sidelong glance. “I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided you can buy the paintings. If you still want them.”
He blinks. “Matty. Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated—”
“I think they’re meant to be with you.”
Florian shivers. He’s quiet. “Thank you.”
“We can figure out payment another time. But you can take them now. Let me just wrap them quickly in some paper and cardboard for safe transport. I’ve got a box the right size.”
Florian nods. Working together, he helps me wrap up the paintings and package them for safe transport. We take the box downstairs and load it into his car.
“Do you want some breakfast? Lunch?” I ask, squinting in the brightness of the day as we head back in for Florian to get his bag.
He shakes his head. “No, I’d better head out now.”
“Okay.”
Florian collects his overnight bag from upstairs and his tux in a garment bag he brought in from the car (always prepared), and I wait downstairs.
I walk him out again, holding my hand against the brightness, watching him put his bag in the back seat.
He hesitates by the driver’s door. “I… don’t know where this leaves us. ”
I shake my head, at a loss. “I don’t know either. I think love isn’t enough.” My voice is low, urgent. “No matter how I feel. You’re doing what you’re doing. And I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life.”
Florian’s expression crumples. He nods. “You know I would have waited for you, Matty.”
“I know. You’re amazing. And also, terrible.” I smile wryly at him, my eyes stinging, and I fold my arms tight across my chest. “Go. Before I start yelling at you again.”
The last smile he gives me from behind the wheel breaks my heart. And I stand there, watching him ’til his black car disappears from view down the lane. And when Mum comes home and finds me hiding in my room, I break down on her shoulder.