‘May I?’ I reach for his glass, my fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and take another sip from the top. ‘Do you– are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine… or anything?’ I eye the wine glasses hanging upside down above the kitchen side, moving my arm towards them.
Luc puts his hand on mine, stopping me in my tracks, and a comfortable heat foils in my stomach. He caresses my face with his hand, turning me to face him. He loops the fingers on his other hand through mine, hanging limply at my side. ‘No, thank you.’ He is frowning, the light from the extractor fan illuminating only half his face.
It’s different now that we aren’t in the corridor. Now we know no one is going to walk in on us. We’re not on one of our fake dates anymore. Crossing the line now would bulldoze our boundaries.
There would be no pretending this was for the benefit of the plan.
I’m painfully aware of it, and I can tell from how Luc isn’t moving that he is too. Not daring to get closer to me, but also not pulling away. Stuck in that limbo. The before and the after.
My phone starts ringing in my handbag, haphazardly dropped by the front door. Neither of us move, letting it ring out in silence.
‘So, the plan?’ Luc interrupts the quiet when the phonestops ringing. He looks over my shoulder. Our breathing laboured, heavy in the dense air.
I lead him up the stairs. For a moment, I consider going into the music room to buy myself time to think, but my feet lead us to my bedroom. I close the door quietly, leaving Luc standing in the middle of the room, and turn on my bedside lamp. I disappear into the en-suite and put on a pair of silk pyjamas.
When I come out, Luc is directly in front of me, and I fall into his embrace. He runs his hands up and down my skin, pulling a chill down my arms. Our faces hover millimetres apart, his warm breath skimming my flaming cheeks.
‘Can I?’ he whispers.
I swallow loudly, my breath quickening. I look at the door for a few seconds before I nod and Luc’s fingers find my chin, lifting my head towards his and leaning in closer. I’m frozen until Luc’s lips reach mine, tentative at first but deepening with the part of my lips.
Consider that boundary bulldozed.
I don’t remember it feeling this good. Even from all those years ago, when he would press his lips against mine and the rest of the world would fall away. I would forget where I was, or how my album had gone to number one. How up until that point I hadn’t believed there would be someone out there for me.
I melt into him, my chest pressing against his, and he wraps his arms around me. They find the bottom of my back, skating the top of my underwear under my pyjamas. I pull back a couple of centimetres, holding Luc’s hand. It’s enough to create the smallest amount of distance between us so I can sit on the bed, scooting back until I am against a pillow. Luc follows me, his lips finding mine all the way.
Once we are laying down, he pushes his arm underneath my neck, draping the other over my body. He pulls back, far enough that I can almost focus on his face.
‘I need to take my glasses off,’ he groans. ‘Lying down. So uncomfortable.’ He fluffs his pillow and leans against it. He swallows. ‘So, we should talk…’ he begins. ‘The rules…’
Oh.
My turn to swallow.
It’s for the best. We set those rules for a reason.
‘I want to make sure we’re both on the same page,’ he says. ‘That we’re both thinking the same thing in the long run.’
My body clams up and I cross my arms across my chest. He moves my head with his finger so that I’m facing him again, his eyes squinting without his glasses while they search my face.
‘I want to make sure it’s right…’ he trails off, his eyes bruising my lips. ‘I don’t want a repeat of ten years ago. You can’t regret it and run.’
That’s exactly what I’d do, and he knows it. Those rules are in place for a reason, and we can’t completely disregard them.
There is no long run. We’re still ending it at the beginning of the tour. Luc doesn’t know it yet, but my life would ruin his. His entire life would become about me, which sounds big-headed. But would he be Luc Nicholls, award-winning screenwriter, or would he be Luc Nicholls, Sienna Martin’s boyfriend? One look at the news coverage of our relationship so far tells me what he’d be.
‘I appreciate you saying that.’ And I do.
The last thing we need is to make the next few months awkward because we crossed a boundary. The plan is finally working, and I don’t want to ruin our newfound friendship. It’s easy to fall back into old habits and desires, but our friendship is fragile enough.
I pick up the tele control from my bedside table and turn it on. ‘Shit film?’ I offer.
Luc agrees, reaching out and holding my hand while welie stiffly on opposite pillows. The contact makes my heart thump, sweat gathering in the crevices on my hands.
A few minutes into the film, Luc lifts his arm up, inviting me into the fold. I don’t move for a few seconds, but the invitation is too warm, too inviting. I rest my head on his chest, his fingers painting a canvas on my back. It’s too hot, but now I don’t want to move. It’s comfortable, okay?
I haven’t done this, watched a film in bed with someone else pressed against me, since the last time Luc and I were together. For most of those three-and-a-bit months, we spent a lot of time within the four walls of my house, getting to know each other and our bodies without the world getting to know us as a couple. To see whether what we could have was real before inviting scrutiny into our lives. We watched a lot of DVDs, listened to a lot of CDs and spent a lot of time in my songwriting room. Luc set up his own office-type station in one corner where he could write while I worked on my music.
