Unveiled, Page 28

  William lets out a nervous bark of laughter, as does Gregory. I know what they’re thinking, or at least thinking beyond their initial shock at this news. They’re thinking that this is way too much for her to deal with, especially since she’s just been discharged from the hospital. I haven’t the first idea if they’re right. Have I underestimated her? I don’t know, but one thing I do know is that I’m about to put their current shock to shame. ‘She knows my mum is back.’

  Everyone in the room gasps.

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ Gregory breathes, rushing across to me, crouching to give me a cuddle. ‘Oh, baby girl. Are you OK?’

  I nod into his shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ I assure him, no matter how not fine I am. I let him coo and fuss over me, stroke me and kiss my head repeatedly. And when he pulls away from my seated form, he gazes at me for an age, all fondly. ‘I’m here for you.’

  ‘I know.’ I take his hands and squeeze, then use the opportunity to gauge the faces of the other two men in the room after my shocking news. William has a strange combination of awe and worry on his. And when I look to Miller, I see . . . nothing. He’s poker-faced. His aloofness has fallen into place, but I can see something in his eyes, and I study them forever trying to figure out what it is. I can’t.

  I stand up, making Gregory sit back on his haunches, and approach Miller. His eyes follow me until I’m before him, nearly touching his chest, looking up at him. But he doesn’t take me in his embrace, nor does his straight face crack.

  ‘I need to go home,’ he whispers.

  ‘I’m not leaving.’ I make myself clear before he starts with the demands. I’m not leaving Nan or this house until this is over.

  ‘I know.’ His easy acceptance startles me, yet I keep my composure, not willing to expose any more weakness. ‘I need . . .’ He pauses, thinking for a moment. ‘I need to be at home to think.’

  I want to cry for him. He needs his calm and normal to pull his thoughts together. His world has exploded into chaos and he looks like he could give under the pressure. I understand, really, I do, but there’s a tiny part of me that’s devastated. I want to be the one to settle him – me in his arms, me in his thing. Now’s not the time to be selfish, though. It isn’t just Miller who finds solitude when we’re immersed in each other.

  He clears his throat and looks across the kitchen. ‘Give me the package he left for me.’ A brown padded envelope appears to the side of me, and Miller takes it without a thank you. ‘Watch her.’ Then he turns and walks out. I watch his back disappear down the hallway, followed by the soft closing of the front door. I’m missing him already and he’s only been gone for two seconds. My heart feels like it’s slowing, and stupid as it might seem, I feel abandoned.

  I feel lost.

  Chapter 21

  A hot shower can only settle my nerves so much. When I get out, the house is quiet. After popping my head around the door to check on Nan and finding she’s still sleeping, I follow my feet to the kitchen. Gregory is standing over the stove, stirring something in a pan. ‘Where’s William?’ I ask, joining him by the cooker.

  ‘He’s taking a call outside.’ The wooden spoon bashes against the side of the pot, flicking some of the contents up the tiles on the wall. ‘Shit!’

  ‘What’s that?’ I screw my nose up at the brown slop being frantically whipped around. It looks disgusting.

  ‘It’s supposed to be potato and leek soup.’ He drops the spoon and steps back, taking a tea towel up to his brow and wiping it. ‘Nan will be horrified.’

  I force a strained smile, noticing blobs of goo on both of his cheeks. ‘Here.’ I take the towel and set about wiping him down. ‘How did you manage to get it all over your face?’

  He doesn’t answer, just lets me do my thing, standing quietly watching me. I take far longer than is necessary, until I’m sure I’ve rubbed blisters into his cheeks. Anything to avoid the inevitable. ‘I think you got it,’ he murmurs, taking my wrist to stop my clean-up operation.

  My eyes flick warily to soft browns, then drop to the white T-shirt covering his broad chest. ‘And here.’ I reclaim my hand and start to rub at his chest, but I’m stopped before I can rub him red-raw there, too.

  ‘Baby girl, stop.’

  ‘Don’t make me talk about it,’ I blurt, keeping my eyes on his hand holding my wrist. ‘I will, just not now.’

  Gregory flicks the gas off on the stove and leads me to a chair. ‘I need your advice.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. Willing?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nod enthusiastically, loving him for not pressing me. For understanding. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Ben’s telling his family this weekend.’

  I bite my lip, delighted I’m doing this to stop myself from grinning. A real grin. Not forced or fake. An actual proper grin. ‘Really really?’

  ‘Yes, really really.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And you’re happy, obviously.’

  He finally breaks and grins from ear to ear. ‘Obviously.’ But his smile fades just as quickly as it appears, making mine fade with it. ‘By the sounds of it, this will come out of left field for his parents. It’s not going to be easy.’

  I take his hand and squeeze hard. ‘It’ll be OK,’ I assure him, nodding when he looks at me dubiously. ‘They’ll love you. How could they not?’

  ‘Because I’m not a bird,’ he laughs, kissing the back of my hand. ‘But Ben and I have each other, and that’s what counts, right?’

  ‘Right,’ I assert without delay, because it really is right.

  ‘He’s my someone, baby girl.’

  Happiness for my best friend soars. Maybe I should be cautious on his behalf. After all, Ben has been a dick on more than one occasion, but I’m delighted he’s finally over what others will think of his sexuality. Anyway, in reality, I’m in no position to pass judgement. Everyone has their demons, some more than others – Miller definitely more than others – but everyone is fixable. Everyone can be forgiven.

  ‘What’s up?’ Gregory asks, snapping me out of my musings.

  ‘Nothing.’ I shake off my wayward thoughts, feeling more alive and awake than I have in . . . hours. Is that all it’s been? ‘That envelope.’

  Gregory’s sudden awkward shifting tells me he knows what I’m referring to. He was there, he saw, so of course he knows, yet I have an inkling there’s more to it, especially given that he’s avoiding my gaze. ‘What envelope?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Really?’

  His face screws up in defeat. ‘The evil fucker gave it to me. Told me to give it to Miller. You know it’s not the first time I’ve seen him, right? He was that nasty fucker who turned up when you ran off to New York. I happily left him and William in Miller’s flat to their staring standoff. Fuck me, it was like being between two cowboys ready to draw! I nearly passed out when I opened the door to him.’

  ‘You let him in?’ I gasp.

  ‘No! Nan did! He said he was an old friend of William’s. I didn’t know what to do!’

  I’m not surprised. Nan’s more tuned in than any of us are giving her credit for. ‘What was in the envelope?’

  He shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Greg!’

  ‘OK, OK!’ He starts with the awkward movements again. ‘I only saw the paper.’

  ‘What paper?’

  ‘I don’t know. Miller read it and put it back inside.’

  ‘What was his reaction to what he read?’ I don’t know why I’m asking such a silly question. I saw first-hand what his reaction was when I walked into the kitchen. His head was in his hands.

  ‘He seemed all cool and calm . . .’ He pulls up, thoughtful. ‘Not so much after giving you a hug, though.’

  I snap my eyes to Gregory’s. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He shifts a little, awkward. Or is it worry? ‘He asked casually, you know, whether you and I had ever . . .’

  ‘You didn’t!’ I recoil, fe
aring all kinds of shit will hit the fan if Miller ever found out about our fumble under the sheets.

  ‘No! But shit, baby girl, I was seriously uncomfortable.’

  ‘I’ll never tell him about that,’ I promise, knowing exactly what he’s getting at. Only Gregory and I know, so unless one of us is stupid enough to mention it, then he will be none the wiser.

  ‘Can I have that in blood?’ he asks on a sardonic laugh. He actually shudders, like he’s imagining what could happen should Miller find out about our silly little hook-up.

  ‘You’re being paranoid,’ I tell him. He couldn’t possible know. Which reminds me. ‘Did he show William the paper?’

  ‘No.’

  I press my lips together, wondering if Gregory is working with Miller and William. That letter, whatever was in it, had my part-time gentleman go into emotional lockdown. He needed to think. He’s gone home to the familiarity and preciseness of his flat to think. And he didn’t take me with him – his self-professed source of therapy and de-stressing.

  ‘I think I’ll pass on the soup,’ William says, strolling into the kitchen. Gregory and I both look across to him, seeing him poking at the contents of the pan with the wooden spoon, his nose wrinkled.

  ‘Good call,’ Gregory agrees, flashing me a big smile. I narrow suspicious eyes on him, certain he knows more than he’s letting on. And when he coughs and reins in his amusement, getting up from the table to escape my probing eyes, I’m certain of it. ‘I’ll make something else.’

  William’s phone begins to ring, and I look over to see him fishing through his inside pocket. I definitely don’t imagine the mild wave of agitation on his handsome face as he sees the caller’s name on the screen. ‘I’ll just take this.’ He waves his phone at me and strides out of the back door, into our courtyard garden.

  As soon as the door closes behind him, I’m up. ‘I’m going to Miller’s,’ I declare, snatching my phone from the table and making my way from the kitchen. I home right in on the certainty that William won’t leave Nan, not even with Gregory. She’ll be safe. Something isn’t sitting right. Everything is telling me so – Gregory’s behaviour, William’s feigned coolness . . . every internal sense I have.

  ‘No, Olivia!’

  I never expected to be allowed to leave with ease, which is why I’m running down the hallway before Gregory can catch me or alert William to my escape. ‘Don’t you dare leave Nan,’ I call, breaking free from the house and sprinting down the street towards the main road.

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Gregory shouts, his frustration travelling down the street with his echo and smacking me in the back. ‘I hate you sometimes!’

  I’m at the tube station in no time. I ignore the persistent ringing of my phone, Gregory and William both trying to reach me, but once I’ve been taken down to the tunnels of London by two escalators, my reception dies and I no longer have to reject any more calls.

  I find myself in the stairwell of Miller’s building, taking the steps fast up to the tenth floor without one thought of using the lift. It feels like forever since I’ve been here. I let myself in quietly to be immediately greeted by soft music filling the flat. The track sets the tone before I’ve even closed the door behind me. The deep, powerful notes have me hovering on the edge of worry and peace.

  I shut the door without a sound and pad around the table, through to the kitchen, finding his iPhone docked in its station. The screen tells me what I’m listening to. The National “About Today”. My eyes drop as the words leak from the speakers and penetrate my mind.

  I wander into the lounge, finding what I knew I would. Everything is Miller-perfect, and I can’t deny the settling feeling that engulfs me because of it. But my perfect Miller isn’t here. I debate whether I should head for the bedroom or try the studio while I drink in the art that graces the walls of Miller’s flat. Miller’s art. The beautiful landmarks made to appear almost ugly. Distorted. Beautiful things are mostly noted as beautiful on first sight. Then sometimes you look deeper and discover that they aren’t as beautiful as you first thought. Not many things are as beautiful on the inside as they are on the outside. There are some exceptions, though.

  Miller is one of those exceptions.

  I find myself falling into a bit of a trance, feeling comforted by the tranquil music. I have no intention of giving it up just yet, despite knowing I need to track Miller down and tell him that he’s nowhere close to losing me. His flat and everything in it feels like a snuggly blanket closing in on me, wrapping around me to keep me warm and safe. My eyes close and I breathe in deeply, grabbing on to all of the sensations, images, and thoughts that have brought me so much happiness, like the sofa that I can see clearly in my darkness, where he first made his intentions clear. I remember the bowls of huge, ripe strawberries he had in the kitchen. Melted chocolate on the stove, me pinned to the fridge, Miller’s tongue licking every part of me. It all catapults me to the very beginning. Then in my dark reflections, I wander into his studio and see the chaotic mess that came as such a surprise. An amazingly wonderful surprise. His hobby. The only thing in Miller’s life that’s disordered. Or the only thing until he met me.

  I’m spread on his table; he’s drawing lines across my tummy with red paint – or, as I now know, writing his declaration of his love for me there. And “Demons” is playing softly in the background. Never have words been so true.

  We’re entwined on his squidgy couch, wrapped up in each other, stuck together so tightly. And the view. It’s almost as beautiful as Miller.

  Almost?

  I smile to myself. Nowhere close.

  My private reflecting couldn’t get any better, but then those wonderful misplaced fireworks begin to fizz under my skin and my darkness bursts with light. Bright, powerful, superb light.

  ‘Boom.’ His whisper, his voice in my ear, the heat of his mouth engulfing my cheek, it all makes my body feel like it’s free-falling into that wonderful light. I’m unable to separate my daydreams from reality, and I really don’t want to. If I open my eyes, I’ll be alone in his flat. If I open my eyes, every perfect thought of our time together will be lost to our ugly reality.

  I can feel the warmth of his hands on my skin now, too, and the strange sensation of moving but . . . not moving. ‘Open your eyes, sweet girl.’

  I shake my head adamantly, squeezing my eyes tighter shut, not prepared to lose any of my dreams – the feel of him, the sound of him.

  ‘Open.’ Soft lips tease me, making me moan. ‘Show me.’ Teeth nibble in between the tormenting skimming of his mouth on mine. ‘Keep me in your light place, Olivia Taylor.’

  My breath hitches and my eyes flutter open, revealing the most breathtaking vision I’m ever likely to see.

  Miller Hart.

  My gaze roams the contours of his face, taking in every perfect detail of him. It’s all here – his piercing blue eyes swimming with emotion, his soft lips parted just so, his dark stubble, his wavy hair, the errant lock sitting perfectly in place . . . everything. It’s all too good to be true, so I reach up to touch him, the tip of my finger taking its time to feel it all, just to check I’m not imagining things.

  ‘I’m real,’ he whispers, taking my fingers gently to stop my quiet exploring. He kisses my knuckles and takes my hand to the back of his neck where my fingers delve into the masses of locks flicking from his nape. ‘I’m yours.’ His lips drop to mine and I’m hoisted up to his body, held tightly in his arms as we unite – taste each other, feel each other, remind each other of our powerful bond.

  My thighs snake around his waist and constrict. I know I’m not imagining anything now. My insides are a riot of heat, sparks, and blazing flames. They are all consuming me, taking over me, rejuvenating me. It’s so very needed. For both of us. Right now nothing else exists, only me and Miller.

  Us.

  The world is shut safely outside.

  ‘Worship me,’ I plead between our lapping tongues, pushing his jacket from his shoulders impatiently. I�
�m desperate to be skin on skin. ‘Please.’

  He moans, releasing me one arm at a time to rid himself of the expensive material. My hands are at his tie, yanking at the knot frantically, though he doesn’t complain. He’s as desperate as me to remove everything between us. As he holds me to him with one hand sitting under my bum, he uses the other to help me, pulling hard and taking his silk tie over his head and his waistcoat off. I make a very bold move when I grab the top of his shirt and wrench it open. I brace myself for his gasp of shock, which I’ve already decided I’ll ignore, but it doesn’t come. Buttons fly in every direction, the sounds of the tiny pieces meeting the floor around us, and I start pushing at the fine material, yanking it down one arm at a time. The heat of his bare chest against my dress is one step closer to skin. The shirt joins his jacket, waistcoat, and tie on the floor and my hands slap against his shoulders while our kiss becomes more and more urgent. There’s not his usual demand. He doesn’t try to slow me down or stop me. I’m allowed to kiss him madly and glide my hands everywhere they can reach as I whimper and moan my desperation for him.