I’ve slept in his bed every night since he brought me to London. I love being with him. But I’m happy being anonymous. I’d hate to live in the spotlight, scrutinised every time one of us is pictured without the other, or god forbid we dare to have a bad day and get caught without a smile.
I’ve seen enough tabloids to realise being rich and famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m silently praying that Ryan feels the same. That he’ll want to settle this side of the Atlantic eventually. He says he won’t leave me, yet we both know he’ll have to at some point. His life is there. Mine is here.
It’s hard to see how it’s going to work out between us. The penthouse is his until the week before Christmas. He committed to the ball on the 23rd. But what then? Will he leave? Have Christmas with his brother?
He hasn’t mentioned it, and I can’t bring myself to ask. The prospect of Christmas without Ryan is like the thought of a birthday party without cake. But at least he’s back in my life again.
If we have to do long distance for a while, I’m ok with that. I’ve unintentionally waited ten years for the man. A couple more won’t hurt, if that’s the way it has to be, but long term, I don’t see myself settling anywhere other than this castle. Any childish notions I’d had about moving to the States were exactly that.
Conor’s revelation wasn’t exactly ideal, but it’s brought us closer. While the loss isn’t any easier, the weight of it feels shared.
I think I might finally have learned how to trust him again.
All in all, things are better than I ever dreamed of. As long as I don’t overthink the logistics.
Sitting in my office, I take a sip of the double espresso Megan brought in, along with the accounts to look over. Many of the bookings for next year have paid in advance due to the discount we offered online. The castle’s bank account is out of the red for the first time in years.
Before I have too much time to congratulate myself, my mobile vibrates on the desk in front of me. It’s Chloe. She’s actually been abiding by Ryan’s post nine a.m. request. If only he could have enforced that particular rule years ago.
I swipe to accept and an image of my sun-kissed sister fills the screen. She sits poolside, sipping from a coffee cup. Against her tan, her eyes appear so blue they’re blinding.
‘Well?’ She sniggers, raising her eyebrows.
‘Good morning, to you, too.’ I stick out my tongue.
‘Oh, put it away, I can practically see Ryan’s pubes stuck to it.’ She rolls her eyes and pretends to vomit.
‘I thought you’d be delighted I finally have something to overshare. God knows, I’ve listened to enough from you.’
‘That’s different! You don’t know any of the guys I’ve had sex with. Ryan, on the other hand…’ Her hand flies over her eyes as if he actually stands before her.
‘Don’t pretend you’re horrified. The man is a goddamn sex symbol.’
‘That he may be, but an image of him drilling into my sister is something I’d rather not have imprinted on my brain. There is such a thing as too much visual. It’s a bit like readingFifty Shadesversus watching the movie. Nobody in the world needed the visual of Anastasia’s unwaxed, virgin v—’
I hold my hand up in protest. ‘Okay, okay, I get it! Just for the record, I might have been a born-again virgin for the last ten years but my personal hygiene, waxing down there, has always been a priority.’
‘That’s enough.’ Chloe squeezes her eyes shut. ‘I know originally I wanted details, but frankly, I’ve heard enough. All I need to know is that you’re happy.’
In case the smile that extends to each earlobe isn’t enough, I nod to confirm it.
‘And he’s treating you well?’ she asks. And there was me thinking I was the oldest sister.
‘Like a queen.’ My mind wanders to the way he worships my body. The way if I even move a millimetre in the night, he moves with me. If spooning were a sport the man would be a world champion, hands down.
He watches over me with a protective tenderness. His hands are permanently on me. On my thigh. Round my waist. Entwined with mine. He’s constantly touching me. Glancing down, my body feels bare without him.
‘So, how’s it going to work?’ Chloe flicks her chestnut hair from her shoulders.
My gaze returns to the screen. ‘How’s what going to work?’
‘Well, I assume he’s staying for Christmas, but what happens after that?’
My stomach lurches. She assumes more than me.
‘Well, I guess he’ll come back when he can… He’ll be on tour for weeks, maybe months at a time.’
A mad thought enters my head… surely he doesn’t assume I’ll go with him?
