32
It’s getting late, like too late and we really should be getting ready for the rehearsal, but Miles and I are still laid in bed, as we have been since we returned from lunch. The plush duvet is on the floor somewhere and the pillows and cushions are scattered haphazardly around us. I am laid on my front, head on my arms. Miles is currently laid on his side, head in one hand and tracing my floral spine tattoo with his other.
“What made you get this one?” he asks, interrupting the silence that had settled in the room.
“Hmm?”
“The flowery spine,” he adds.
I lift my head, “Oh,” I say, looking at him now, “I don’t know, to be honest. I went on a bit of a bender and got all of my tattoos in one go, and I just really like flowers,”
He grins, “It just adds to your ethereal charm,”
I snort and turn onto my side, “Ethereal charm”?
He nods, tracing the floral sleeve on my arm now, “With all these flowers and your masses of ginger curls, you’re kind of like a fairy, ”
I laugh, “I’d love to be interesting enough to be ethereal,”
Miles rolls his eyes at me, “I think you’re just about the most interesting person I have ever met,”
I grin, “Were you in prison until recently?”
He laughs, “You’re terrible at taking compliments,”
“It’s part of my charm,” I retort.
“I assure you it isn’t,” he says, drawing his hand from my tattoo now and running his fingers over my cheek, “So fucking beautiful,” he mutters, almost to himself. The anxious, crazy lady in my head tells me to laugh and tell him to shut up, but something about his sincerity makes me want to take every compliment he ever gives me.
“Why did you get your tattoos?” I ask, gesturing specifically to the neck tat that has always intrigued me the most.
“To piss off my dad, mostly,” he says, winking.
I snort, rolling onto my back. He copies me and we stare up at the ceiling together. “Parents are the worst,” I mutter, thinking of my own mother.
“Apart from your mother’s obsession with your ex, I think your parents are great,” he says.
“Unfortunately, my mum’s obsession with my ex is pretty much her personality at this point,” I say, “I think parents in general just want us to be happy, but they go about it in really weird ways. They seem to think they are the only people on this planet who know what would make us happy,”
Miles nods, “For all my dad’s faults, I think he does what he does because he thinks that if I go work for him, make lots of money, and marry someone he approves of I’ll be happy. He wants me to be like him, and I guess he is happy,”
“Have you ever considered just doing what he wants?” I ask, turning on my side again now.
Miles is quiet for a moment and then he sighs, “Sometimes,” he says, “Before I got that inheritance, when I didn’t have anything to rely on but my own wage, I considered it. It’s easy to be unbothered about money when you’ve got it, and I am in a really privileged position now. I have a safety net if the shop fails or we have a bad month. But when I was living paycheque to paycheque, working horrible bar hours, and renting a crappy flat, I definitely considered it,”
“Do you think you could be happy like that?” I ask quietly.
He shrugs, “I could be close enough, I guess,” he says, “It’s not what I want from life but there’s got to be something said for validation and acceptance. Especially from a guy you spent your childhood looking up to,”
I snort, “I get that,” I say, “Having acceptance from your parents is probably fantastic, ”
He grins and looks at me, “Shame neither of us particularly wants what their parents need from us,”
“Shame,” I mutter as he leans down and presses his lips to mine again.
*
“What time did Carrie say the food was?” I ask, desperately trying to tame my just-fucked hair and apply lip liner at the same time.
Miles, currently hopping around the room trying to get his leg in his trousers, looks up at me, “Fuck, I really wasn’t listening to her,” he says, finally managing to pull the slacks on and button them up. “I’m going to text her now,”
He taps away as I finally manage to tame my hair into an elegant, half-up-half-down swirl thing. I am adding the finishing touches to my lipstick when Miles swears.
“What?” I ask, turning to him and getting distracted by the fact he still doesn’t have a top on.
“Carrie says we need to be there in five minutes,” he says, chuckling, “We really shouldn’t have showered together,”
I feel the blush creeping up my neck but don’t really have time to consider what happened in the shower because I need to clamber into a jumpsuit and heels.
Miles helps me zip up the jumpsuit and then makes me sit while he fastens my heels and I put my earrings in.
We’re somehow in the lift three minutes later and I tell him I deserve an award for how quickly I just got ready. He promises me something that is very much the kind of reward I wanted, even if I am blushing profusely when I step out the lift and into a room filled with his extended family.