“I willneverblame you,” he cuts in.
“For anything. If my career takes a hit, that’s on a system that can’t handle the truth – not on you.”
His thumb brushes under my eye.
“You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel alive,” he says.
“Like I don’t have to pretend. Like I can finally breathe.”
I feel my chest tighten.
“And it kills me how long it took me to see you,” he adds, shaking his head with a small laugh.
“How beautiful you are. How kind. How stupidly intelligent. How creative.”
His gaze drops deliberately.
“And yeah,” he smirks, “how you somehow hid a body likethatunder all those oversized sweaters. Abs, Jamie. Actual abs. Like six of them. Total crime.”
I burst out laughing, leaning forward to kiss him.
“Art nerd camouflage,” I tease.
He kisses me back, slow and warm.
“I’m proud of you. Proud to call you my boyfriend.”
I rest my forehead against his.
“Good. Because we have a shopping spree planned.”
He arches a brow.
“Oh?”
“I’m going to change,” I say, sliding off the bed.
“Then we’re going to Harrods. And I’m going to let my insanely rich, ridiculously hot boyfriend spoil me.”
He grins.
“That’s my boy.”
I head for the bathroom, heart light, smiling to myself.
London didn’t just give me memories.
It gave meus.
****
The day blurs together in the best possible way.
Harrods is overwhelming—too bright, too big, tooeverything—and Lex looks stupidly pleased about it. He follows me from floor to floor like it’s his personal mission to make sure I never look at a price tag for longer than half a second.
A new phone, because mine “lags when you open Instagram and that’s unacceptable.”
A laptop, because “artists need good tools.”
