Chapter 21 #2
“What happens if you sell?” I asked, tucking my legs up under my chin.
“After I’ve paid all the debts, I’d probably walk away with about forty million pounds.”
I choked like my throat had rediscovered its gag reflex. Jesus! William waited for me to recover.
“I’d have to look after Mum and my sister and her family out of that, obviously.” He turned around to face me again, resting his arse against the windowsill. “I know, it’s very hard to feel sorry for me, isn’t it? It’s not exactly Sophie’s Choice.”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“I’d be failing my family.”
This was something I knew a bit about.
“It’s not failing your family to choose a good life for yourself. It’s failing yourself to choose the expectations of others over your own happiness.”
“You don’t understand. I have an obligation to my family, to this place.”
I felt my hackles rise but chose compassion. “You don’t. You can choose a different life for yourself.”
William slapped a hand to his face and wiped at his eyes. I wanted to comfort him but worried a hug might be unwelcome.
“You think I should sell,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.
“No,” I said, quickly. “I’m saying you need to choose what’s right for you.
When I finally told my parents I wasn’t going to Oxford to study law, that was me choosing my own happiness.
It was the hardest thing I ever did. Harder than coming out.
But it was the best thing I ever did. I’m not telling you what your decision should be.
I’m telling you to choose whatever is going to make you happy—and sod whatever anyone else thinks. ”
William’s leg was bouncing up and down. I sensed I’d pushed him too far. We were high. He’d opened up, I’d got behind the himbo facade, seen into his soul. I feared he might push me away now, when what I really wanted was for him to pull me closer.
“You think less of me, I’m sure,” he said when he finally spoke. “Now you know I’m not some rich aristocrat but a himbo who’s drowning in debt.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course not.”
“If I choose family expectations and debt, though—if that’s what happiness means to me—would you think less of me?”
Walking away from ￡40 million and choosing debt and family expectation? The Love Manor had filled this house with two dozen people willing to do anything for cash, and here was William willing to walk away from unfathomable wealth out of, what, a sense of duty?
“Not at all.” How could you think less of anyone for that?
“I thought you’d run a mile,” he said, looking at me earnestly. “Any sane person would run a mile.”
I was high enough that it took a moment to realise what he’d said.
William’s choice of words only made sense if he was interested in me after all.
Had he been holding back because he thought I wouldn’t be interested in him when I discovered all was not rosy at Buckford Hall?
He might not have known how much trouble he was in, but he knew he was in trouble.
“I’m still here,” I said.
William’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”
“No liege man left behind.”
He smiled. He lay down on the bed, on his side—his red satin boxer shorts cupping him in all the right places—and held out an arm towards me. His eyes met mine. He patted the duvet cover beside him.
“Come here.”
My heart raced at the invitation, adrenaline rippling out from my chest. I wasn’t meant to be getting distracted by boys.
I was here to work. But I found myself crawling across the bed towards him, my arms and legs wobbling like a newborn deer’s.
I laid my head down on the pillow, my eyes meeting William’s. Was he going to kiss me?
“Turn around,” he said, winking.
Christ, he wanted to get right down to business?
“Listen, I haven’t—”
“Please, Petey,” he said, softly. The way he shortened my name felt intimate.
His hand rested on my hip and gently turned me over.
The heat of his body, the strength of his touch—I was powerless to resist. I tucked myself up against him, my back against his stomach.
Only my robe separated us. I became aware of our breathing, the gentle rise and fall.
His thumb traced up and down my chest. Again, I realised how slow I’d been to understand.
William hadn’t wanted to shag me, he wanted to hold me—and his embrace felt more real than any I’d had from any of the hundreds of men who had gone before him.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For not running.”
“Why would I run?”
“I can think of four point three million reasons, at least.”
The cuckoo clock downstairs cuckooed for ten o’clock. I needed to sleep.
“I’m a producer, William,” I said. “We don’t run from problems. We solve them.”
He snuggled closer into me, his legs and feet entwining with mine.
His face nuzzled in behind my ear, his hot breath making my cock as rigid as I could ever remember it being—but he never reached for it.
I knew he wouldn’t, and I was fine with that.
This wasn’t sex. This was something else.
I didn’t understand it, I didn’t recognise it, but I realised now it was something I had been looking for, for a long, long time.
“Do you want to sleep up here tonight?” he asked.
I nodded, and I felt William’s whole body relax into mine. Then, as light as breath itself, William’s lips grazed my skin, and he tenderly kissed my neck.