Chapter 30 Mia
MIA
“Will you stop fussing over me?” I grumble as Charlotte and Dominic escort me up the stairs to Charlotte’s flat. They maintain their firm grasps on my arms, as though I’m going to fold in half and fall backwards down the steps like a wonky laundry stand. “Honestly, you two, I am fine.”
“The doctor said we have to watch you for shortness of breath over the next two days,” Charlotte snaps.
“And you two carrying me up the stairs isn’t going to stop that, oh my god!” I yank my arms from their grasp with a laugh. “A right pair of nannies, you are.”
“You’re a bad patient, you know that?” Dominic mutters, shifting my bag in his hand. “Go on, upstairs with you then Miss Independent.”
I do a little curtsey and start up the stairs. “Yes, Mr Graves.”
There’s a resounding crack as Dominic slaps me across the bum.
“And you can lose the attitude and all,” he says, pointing a finger at me when I spin to regard him, slack-jawed but smiling.
“Ooh he is sexy when he’s bossy, isn’t he?” Char murmurs, leaning close to me but speaking loud enough that Dom can still hear her. “Is he like that in bed?”
I groan, and they both immediately look alarmed.
“Is it your chest?” Char asks, and I swat them both away.
“Oh my god, no!” I hurry up the rest of the stairs. “Just get me inside so I can sit down and you can both leave me alone, fuck’s sakes!”
Dom and Char chuckle as they follow me, grinning at each other when they catch up to me, tapping my foot at Char’s door.
“I’m the one with dicky lungs and you two are taking forever to get up them stairs,” I chide them.
A sudden yap sounds from behind the door, and claws scratch on the other side of it. Char barely has the key turned in the lock and the door open a crack before Tank squeezes himself out and hops around at my feet.
“Baby!” I scoop him up and snuggle him against my chest. “Oh my god, I’m so glad to see you!”
Tank licks my face relentlessly as we walk inside, and I settle down on the couch as Dom takes my bag to the guest room. Char swings her keys back and forth in her hands, eyeing me uncertainly.
“I can reschedule,” she says, her brows pinching together. “It’s just sodding Balenciaga."
“Char, go.” I smile at her and nod. “Dom is more than capable of looking after me, and this meeting is important for you. Go, please.”
Tank yaps, and I run a hand over his head.
“Yes, you tell Aunty Char that we’ll be fine,” I say, and Tank snuggles against my chest with a loud sniff.
“Alright, I’ll be back by dinner time.” She rushes towards me and grabs on to my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “You go on ahead.”
“Alright.” She backs away from me, pressing her knuckles to the corners of her eyes. “Gonna ruin my bloody makeup.”
“Well don’t do that on my account.”
She laughs. “Alright then, I’m off.” She heads to the front door. “Dom, I’m off! No funny business while I’m gone!”
“Right you are!” He responds from somewhere in the flat.
The door slams shut behind Char, and Dom comes padding down the hallway, dressed in slouchy jeans and a white t-shirt, his feet bare.
“I like you like this,” I say with a smile.
“Like what?” He asks as he heads into the kitchen.
“You know, casual. You’re always in a suit, but like this I can imagine you on holiday.”
He chuckles as he sets about making tea. “Now, now, you, Charlotte said no funny business.”
“I can still have a little perv on my boyfriend can’t I?”
Dom’s eyes shoot in my direction, and he blinks before letting out an awkward laugh. “Bit old to be a boyfriend, aren't I?”
“No. Never.” I stretch out my legs, and Tank settles down on my lap. “Besides, that’s what you are, isn’t it?”
Dom’s silence sets something inside me at unease. I watch him closely as he tucks his hands into his jeans, and ambles towards me, his eyes fixed on the floor. With a heavy sigh, he collapses on the couch beside me.
“Love, listen,” he says, reaching out to take my hand. “I’m worried things are moving too fast with us.”
“Too fast?” I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I just mean…” He still won’t look at me, his eyes fixed on our joined hands. “What if… what if what just happened to you is my fault, ey? What if this, this, between us, what if that caused it?”
“You think someone set my house on fire because we’re together?”
He shifts in his seat, and shrugs. “I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“Dom, look at me.” I reach out to stroke his cheek when he doesn’t. “Look at me.”
He finally lifts his eyes to mine.
“You really think pushing me away is going to keep me safe?” A crooked smile tugs at my lips. “Is that what you want?”
He shakes his head, taking a hold of my hand and pressing my palm to his lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. You’re afraid. Believe me, waking up in that smoky house scared me a little too.”
Dom’s face crumples and he grips my hand harder, like he’s trying to somehow fit me under his skin. “I was so fucking scared, driving to that hospital.”
“I believe it. Anyone would be scared with that happening to someone they care about.” I reach out and stroke my hand through his hair.
“But we can’t take back what happened. It’s out now, and whatever that means, wherever this leads, I’m only doing it with you.
Alongside you. Because for better or worse, you’re the one I want to be with.
I’ve done all this life, all this living, on my own.
And with you, for the first time, I don’t feel alone.
I’m not going to let fear take that away. ”
“Fuck,” Dom mutters, and gathers me in his arms, a protesting Tank groaning as he slips from my lap. “I’m sorry. I’m a fool.”
“You’re not. I promise.” I snuggle into the crook of his neck and breathe in his cologne.
He strokes his fingertips over my head with a sigh. “They’re saying things about you. In the press.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“They called you Yoko Ono.”
I can’t help but giggle, curling my fingers around his shirt. “Yoko Ono? That’s almost a compliment, innit?”
Dom takes my jaw in his hand, looking down at me with nothing but love and concern. “I don’t want them blaming you for this. I don’t want them making snarky insinuations like that. It’s awful. And it’s unfair.”
“Since when has life ever been fair?” I roll my eyes at myself. “God that sounds so piteous. But you know what I mean. And I don’t fucking care what they say about me. We know the truth, that’s what matters.”
“I care what they say.” Dom gazes intently into my eyes, stroking his thumb along my cheek.
“And I know I can’t change it, but the thought that they’d say things like that about you because of me…
” He breaks off, shaking his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“You’ve been through so much, and I won’t be a source of more pain. ”
“You’re not.” I press my forehead to his and sigh. “You never could be. Please don’t do this. Don’t torture yourself.” I take his hand, and press it to my chest. “I’m here. Right where I want to be.”
“Daddy DILF already gone for the day?” Char flops down on the couch beside me, her hair still a mess from bed.
“Yes he is, he had an early meeting.” I roll my eyes in her direction and grimace. “When are you going to stop calling him that?”
She scrunches up her face for a moment, mulling over the question. “Never, probably. It’s too good a nickname.”
“You’re a pain in the the arse, you know that?”
“I do.” She leans over and pecks a kiss on my cheek. “But I am the most adorable pain in the arse in the world, and I have coffee.” She springs back to her feet and sidles over into the kitchen. “Jordan bought me a new machine.”
“Oh yeah, and how long till you and Priest make it official, ey?”
Char shakes her head, taking apart the shiny chrome pieces of the new espresso machine.
“I told you, it’s not like that.” She glances up at me, and her face is soft, a warm smile on her face.
“He’s… he’s like the brother I would have liked to have had.
I know you always talked about him like that, too.
I get it now.” She looks back down at the coffee machine with an expression of disgust. “Nothing like my actual fucking brother, that’s for sure. ”
“No, Jordan is definitely not excrement direct from Satan’s arsehole.”
“No, he is not.” Char slams some piece into the coffee machine, turns a dial, and steam starts pouring from a spout in the top. “Sorry!” She yells over the noise. “It’s a bit loud!”
I wave my hand, wincing as the sound increases, and wondering if Char’s about to blow up the entire flat with this fandangled shiny new machine. Then I hear something that sounds like my name from the morning show on the TV, and I whip around to look at the screen.
Joanne Murray is sitting at a desk with the two hosts, Mary Price and Harriet Osborne, women I know from some soap from back in the day, who now host the only bearable morning show.
Joanne looks incredible as always, her blonde hair pulled into a voluminous French bun, her pink silk blouse clinging to her voluptuous frame.
“She’s so elegant isn’t she?” Char shouts over the relentless sound of the steam. “I think Troy has a thing for her!”
I turn the TV up so I can hear what they’re talking about, to see if I was hallucinating about it being my name they said.
“Yes it’s a terrible thing to have happen,” Mary says, shaking her head mournfully. “Such a shock, and we’re obviously thrilled Mia is home and recovering.”
Harriet nods emphatically. “I’ve always thought she was a lovely woman, you know? And she and Archie Graves made such a beautiful couple.” She sighs heavily, clasping her hands on the table. “It’s a shame that didn’t last.”
“Well,” Joanne says, a tight smile on her face. “No accounting for the actions of men, is there?”