Chapter 28
Harry
“Have you ever cooked a dish that you hate for someone you loved because you just wanted to make them happy?”
Lando lies on the bed facing me, and I’m facing him. We’re not touching except for our feet, which is good because all the chicken and prosciutto and salami has done a number on me and I’m currently in the throes of the meat sweats.
“I’m terrible at cooking,” I tell him, which he already knows.
“Well, that just makes the analogy more relevant,” he says. “So, okay, remember when you cooked asparagus carbonara for me?”
“Yes.”
That was the day of my grandfather’s funeral, and I’d stumbled upon Lando in the cemetery.
I’d invested hours in finding a recipe that was both foolproof even for a kitchen disaster like me, and had the potential to impress him and his expensive, worldly palate.
I’d in fact spent most of the evening screaming obscenities into the void.
Making a sauce from raw eggs? Terrifying. Looks easy . . . fucking nightmare, though.
Lando’s grinning, probably remembering the time he heard me call the colander a jizz-guzzling slag-bastard. In my defence, the handle had broken while I was trying to drain the linguini, and I lost half the pasta to the sink gods.
“I think that was my favourite meal I’ve ever eaten,” he says, like a fucking idiot.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Okay, it was a little burnt, and lumpy, but you made it out of love. You hate cooking, but you cooked for me.”
“Yeah . . .” I say, still not sure I’m following his point.
“This is how I feel about sex. Except I don’t hate it.
It’s difficult to explain, but I guess the best analogy might be .
. .” He pauses. “Oh, wait, I’ve got a better one.
It’s like cooking for someone even when you’re not hungry yourself.
Like . . . I don’t want to eat anything, but you’re starving, and it brings me pleasure to know you’re enjoying the food I made for you.
And sometimes, even when I think I’m not hungry, I might have a nibble because you’re eating, and discover I am actually a little peckish. ”
I smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“At least that’s what it’s like when I cook for you.
I mean, oh, you know what I mean. With the guys before you, and the guys after you, it was different.
For different reasons. Before, when I was sleeping around, I was doing it for myself.
Which . . . yeah, okay, I don’t like sex in that way, but . . .”
He pauses as though asking me if I want to hear his reasons.
I don’t need to. He’d been desperate for an ounce of affection and physical contact.
Desperate for validation, to feel wanted and desired and loved.
Hookups provided those things without commitment or the potential for crushed feelings.
So even though he might not have enjoyed the act itself, it was the reinforcement of the idea that he is, in fact, worthy of the attention he craves.
Lando gives a subtle, grateful nod. “When we were together, I realised I wasn’t sucking your cock or sending you nude pictures of myself or fucking you with the toy because it made me feel desirable, but because . . . you’d enjoy it, and I wanted to see you . . . happy.”
“Oh,” I say.
“And that made me happy.”
I poke him in the chest. “The heart was inside you all along, Tin Man.”
Lando rolls his eyes, but smiles. “It was my fear of seeing you hurt, and seeing myself hurt, that forced this chasm between us. And . . . I’m sorry. I should’ve known better . . .”
“It’s fine. It’s done now. In the past.” I place my sweaty hand on his arm.
I don’t blame him for what he did, the things he said, and the fears that tore us apart. Imagine going through life as starved for affection as Lando was. I’m no better myself, and I had attention on tap if I wanted it. I mean, I had to fight to get it, but there was never a shortage.
“How can I make it up to you?” he says.
For a moment, I just blink at him. “Well . . . you could start by looking for a new job. Something that’ll make you happy.”
Lando pushes himself into a seated position. It’s as though he can’t process this information while lying down. As though the idea is so radical, he can’t comprehend it unless he has more elevation.
“Huh?”
I join him. Sit cross-legged beside him. “I don’t like seeing you depressed. This job is making you depressed. Ergo, you need a new job.”
A fleeting smile cracks his concern, but it’s gone within an instant. “But . . . my father would never let me leave Oakham Industries. He wants me to contribute to the family business or some shit.”
I simply shrug. “You don’t owe him your labour, or your emotional investment, and you especially, especially don’t owe him your time. It’s not like he was ever around when you needed him.”
Lando stares at me for a solid thirty seconds. “But he would cut me off.”
“Hasn’t he already done that?”
“Not completely. He could kick me out as well.”
“Then come live with me. Imagine the mischief we’d get up to if we spent every second of every day together.”
Lando’s lip wobbles, his brow furrows. “Fuck, I’d actually love that.”
My insides do a happy jig.
“But . . .” he starts, then pauses dramatically as he is wont to do. Only this time, he doesn’t finish his sentence.
“Warwick won’t cut you off completely,” I say. I don’t know how I know this, maybe I simply feel it, but it’s the truth. He might not show Lando love the way other parents do, but there’s no denying he loves him. “But if you move in with me . . . well, you’ll have freedom to choose your own path.”
“But what would I do for a job? I don’t hold any qualifications. I don’t know how the real world works, and I don’t want my father to find me another position with one of his contacts, ew.”
Okay, let’s start at the very beginning. “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
Lando’s half smile is instantly replaced by a deep frown. “What?”
“When you were a boy, and you dreamed about adult life, did you ever have a career in mind?”
“Well, when I was six, I wanted to be a synchronised swimmer?” he says, like a question.
I laugh. It literally couldn’t be more Lando. “Okay, yeah, you might’ve missed the boat on that one.”
“Are you saying I’m too old to follow my dreams? I’m twenty-one.”
“Maybe. That’s the kind of shit you need to start in utero. I say this as someone who’s been playing rugby since before I was out of nappies. What other dreams you got in there? Did you ever role play with Daisy?”
“Yeah, there was one thing . . . but there’s no way I could . . .” Lando looks right into my eyes, and I hear his silent, hopeful question hanging between us. “Is there?”
“What was it? What did you want to be?” I ask.
“Um . . .” He glances around his bedroom as though trying to unveil spies.
“A shop girl.” Now he’s laughing, and his cheeks are turning pink.
“I would always make Daisy play shops with me. She would be the rich customer with the endless budget, and I would be the shop girl, helping her find an outfit for this or that occasion. I would dress her up in my clothes, or my mum’s dresses, or things I had in my costume box. ”
“Oh my god.” I’m grabbing onto his forearms. It’s so perfect for him.
“But my father would never allow—”
“Who gives a fuck what he thinks? Babygirl, this is your calling.”
“Really?” He’s smiling like it’s Christmas Day and the biggest gift under the tree has his name on the bow. “Are you saying I could get a job—an actual real job—in a . . . as a . . . Is that like something I could do?”
“I mean, it won’t be easy. Retail is tough.
My sister’s worked in retail her entire life, and some of the stories she’ll tell you .
. . oh my god. The pay is shit, and you’re on your feet for hours and hours, and the customers can be cunts sometimes, but she loves it.
Said you’ll never make better friends than the ones you do on the shop floor.
You’ll probably have to start at the bottom and work your way up, but I can totally picture you in Harrods or Harvey Nicks or somewhere fancy like that. ”
“But what if my father—”
“Whatever Warwick says, we’ll deal with it together, okay? I’ll argue your case with you. You’re not alone any more.”
“Stop it.” Lando hides his eyes behind his palms. “You know I’ll start crying again.”
“But you’re so pretty when you cry.” I pull his hands away to look at his gorgeous face.
“Okay.” He smiles. Puffs out a breath. “Okay.” Laughs. “Okay, let’s do this. Oh my god. Oh my god. Am I actually gonna do this?”
“If you hate it, we’ll just find something else for you.”
“That easy?”
“Yup.”
“This is so wild. Okay, you need to help me like . . . work out what I need to do. Where do I start? What do I even search for? Do I need a CV? Oh my god, okay. I’ve never done an interview before. Shit, I’m so nervous already.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’ve never interviewed either,” I tell him.
“Well, I’ve done media day interviews and .
. . Fuck, it’s media day tomorrow.” I grab my phone to look at the time.
“Today actually. Noooooo, I hate media day, and I just remembered, they already announced who they want to be captain. Co-captains.”
Lando raises his eyebrow.
“Pi and Eggo. But we’re not allowed to say anything to the press. They want to give them a couple of weeks to adjust, and then they’ll announce it officially at the awards party.”
“Pi as in your best friend? Australian bloke that heard me going down on you?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” I try to feel embarrassed about that day, but I can’t. I think about it way too often for me to be ashamed.
“And Eggo as in the guy who dressed as a Village People Pokémon?”
Now I’m laughing. “Village People Pokémon, good one. Yes, that’s him.”
“He’s . . .” Lando begins but obviously doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.
“Certifiable? Yes. Yes, he is.”