Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
Your past is your past. I mean, yours is more colourful than a bumper box of Crayola, but that’s you.
Milo
That evening I come down the staircase at the main house and come to a stop.
Niall is there dressed elegantly in a slim-cut charcoal-grey suit with a white shirt.
But so are Oz and Silas. Oz has a massive grin on his face and Niall just looks resigned, leaning against the stairwell with his arms folded across his chest.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Niall turns. “I want you to know, Lo, that while I think you’re totally worth it, it’s at times like these that this belief is sorely tested.”
Oz snorts and I shake my head. “Were they taking the piss out of you, sweetie?” I ask, coming up next to him and sliding my arm around his waist.
Oz’s eyes flick to the movement and he opens his mouth as if to say something but then at the last minute, he obviously decides not to.
“Are you alright?” I ask curiously, and he flushes.
“Perfectly okay, thank you. Why?”
“I think the fact that your jaw has stopped working is causing us all some concern,” Niall drawls, and Oz sends him a fulminating glare.
“Gah! I can’t stand it. You’re both so cute together and I feel my heart get warm when I look at you.”
“Ugh!” I say concisely and Niall shudders.
“You can say that again, Milo. Personally, I think I prefer the acid sarcasm to that.”
Oz nods sadly. “I know. You’ve broken me.” He heaves a sigh. “Silas, I’ll be watching Hallmark films next and choosing birthday cards that have nice sayings and heartfelt verses on them.”
“What, like the card you sent me for my birthday?” Niall says. “The one with the highly touching words, ‘Happy birthday, you gigantic twat’ on it?”
Oz chortles, his eyes merry. “Niall, you’re so sweet at the moment that Barbara Cartland would have denounced you for being too much.”
“And on that note, we’re out,” Niall says quickly, grabbing my arm and towing me after him. We stop as Silas calls Niall’s name.
Niall turns. “I would just like to say, Silas, that I appreciate how mature you are being, unlike your small prat of a partner. What do you want?”
Silas smiles widely. “I just want to know your intentions, Niall. Are you able to support Milo in the manner to which he is accustomed? After all, Milo is our own very precious flower and we don’t like to think of anyone bruising his petals.”
“Oh my God,” Niall groans and marches us out, followed by Silas and Oz who are laughing so hard they’re having to hold each other up.
“Have him home by eleven o’clock and not a second later, young sir. And no funny business on the way home,” Oz shouts, making Silas laugh even harder.
Niall raises two fingers at them, and the last sight we have of them is them clutching each other and laughing like hyenas.
When we’re in the car I look at him and start to laugh. He has a slightly jaundiced expression on his face. “You okay?”
He grins wryly and shakes his head. “I was owed that.”
I think back to the times he took the piss out of Silas for his dating techniques and nod. “You were owed a lot more than that, actually.” I look around at the countryside slipping by, forest green and dun-coloured under the driving rain. “Where are we going?”
“St Ives. There’s a gorgeous seafood restaurant there and then I’ve got a surprise.”
“Is it sexual?” I ask huskily, sliding one hand down his thigh.
He makes a noise like an outraged old lady and takes my hand off his thigh. I stare at him and catch the smirk on his full mouth. “Hands off, Milo. This is our first date. I don’t put out that quickly.”
“I think that’s because you’ve usually put out before the need for a date arises,” I say gloomily.
He shoots me a startled look. “Are you okay with that?”
I stare at him. “Are you?”
He shrugs. “I’m fine with my past. I have no major regrets.” He pauses. “I’ve got some regrets, obviously. I mean, I’m fine with public nudity, but the Italian police turned out to be alarmingly prudish about it, and I do regret the cell because the seating was very uncomfortable.”
I laugh and squeeze his hand. “I’m fine with it. Your past is your past. I mean, yours is more colourful than a bumper box of Crayola, but that’s you.”
“It was me,” he says quietly.
I’m startled. “What do you mean?”
He shoots me an indecipherable look. “I mean that was me. It doesn’t mean that it’s the present or future Niall Fawcett. He's a different person.”
“He’s a different person seeking help for mental problems if he keeps referring to himself in the third person.”
He bursts out laughing and diverts the conversation to more getting-to-know-you questions. He shoots me a look after a few minutes of discussing our favourite films. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say peacefully. “Just surprised that we’re doing this. We’ve known each other for most of my life, not to mention that we’ve fucked each other countless times. It seems strange to be having the same conversation as people who’ve just started dating.”
“But we have,” he says simply. “I’m getting to know you. Milo Ramsay. I want to know everything that makes you tick.”
“Why?”
“You know why,” he says calmly. “But I’m thinking you’re not prepared to talk about it at the moment.”
I shoot him a quick glance. “It would take forever anyway,” I say gloomily. “As soon as I discuss anything like that, I stutter. The time it takes me to say anything sometimes, we’d be on our first date for a year.”
“And I would be just as happy. I don’t care how long it takes you to talk to me, Lo, just as long as you keep talking to me and never stop.”
I stare at him open-mouthed. That is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, and the fact that it’s Niall should amaze me.
Should but doesn’t, I think, eyeing him probably not covertly.
It still surprises me to have this inbuilt knowledge inside me now that the confident, sarcastic Niall that everyone else knows is actually a big softie who enjoys poetry.
He shoots me a look. “What?’
I shake my head quickly and divert the conversation to something that has happened at Westminster today.
We move from that to a footballer moving clubs to an art show that I’d like to see, the conversation never faltering while we eat a superb meal at a small fish restaurant tucked away in a small corner of St Ives.
I push my plate away finally, leaning back and groaning. “God, I’m stuffed.”
He smirks. “Not yet, but you will be.”
The low voice and the gleam in his eyes make my cock plump, and I stir. “Shall we go home?” I say quietly but to my amazement, he shakes his head.
“Nope.”
“What?”
“We have a date to finish, remember?”
“I’m trying to remember how your cock feels in me, but it’s becoming a very distant memory.”
He bursts out laughing and the rich sound makes people nearby look at him.
A couple of people smile, and I can’t blame them.
He has a really dirty-sounding laugh that’s almost contagious.
He sobers and grins at me. “Milo, I see I’m going to have to be the chaste one of the two of us. You’re far too much of a strumpet.”
“Chaste?” I look around and smile an apology because that was way too loud. I look back at him to find his mouth twisted in amusement. “Chaste?” I whisper. “What is happening at the moment?”
“Well, Milo,” he says mock seriously. “My milkshake might bring all the boys to my yard, but I’m afraid you’re not getting a drink yet because I value my body too much to give it away for free.”
“That started awesomely and finished somewhere between Barbara Cartland and Georgette Heyer.” I shake my head, trying not to smile. “You’re supposed to be the casual shag of the year. Just once I try you, only to find out that you’re defective.”
He snorts and shakes his head. “Date first, cock after,” he says loftily and turns just in time to grab the pad which the waiter bobbles in shock. “Sorry,” he says, smiling brilliantly at the man. “It’s best to set out one’s boundaries early, don’t you think?”
I’m still laughing when we leave the restaurant. We pause to button our coats when the cold sea wind hits us. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me along after him.
“Where are we going?” I ask plaintively.
“You’ll see.”
We wander along after that, taking in St Ives on a cold winter’s night.
It’s a beautiful seaside town known for its surfing beaches and its thriving art scene.
In the summer it’s murder as cars queue to get in and you practically have to sell an organ to get a parking space, but in winter it’s quieter.
There are still a fair amount of people about, but the lack of all the tourists makes it easier to admire the slightly raffish charm of the place.
We pass shops whose windows are a golden glowing oasis in the cold night, and I move alongside Niall as he obviously has a destination in mind. Finally, he comes to a stop and I look up at the huge plate-glass window.
“A gallery?” I say, turning to look at him.
For a second, he looks almost embarrassed with his cheeks flushed. “I thought you’d like it,” he says quietly.
“But you hate art.”
He shrugs. “I like being with you, though, and anyway, when you talk about art it’s interesting.” He smiles almost shyly at me. “I thought it would be nice and would make you happy.”
My heart bangs hard in my chest and I feel hot all over.
“I am happy,” I say hoarsely, moving into him and loving the way his hands come up almost automatically to bracket my hips, holding me to him.
Being with him like this is almost what I imagine dancing with a long-term partner to be.
Easy and fluid, our bodies seem to know what the other one is doing and echoes it.
“You make me happy.” I finally say the words, stumbling a little.