‘Well, you can’t run away now,’ Declan said. ‘You’re stuck with me.’
‘Only for a few more weeks,’ Oliver said lightly. ‘Then I’m moving to New York.’ He liked the sound of it, decisive, on his tongue.
‘Wow,’ Declan said, and it looked for once like he was struggling to keep his expression impassive. ‘New York. That’s far. I mean, that’s a massive decision.’
Oliver swallowed, thrown off by having to explain himself. It was hard to believe that there were still parts of him that Declan didn’t know. Somehow, without him noticing, he’d cometo regard Declan with the same intimacy he did his mates back home.
‘It’s hardly even a decision at this point – if I get the role, I’ll go. You don’t turn down Manhattan Ballet, and it’s been a dream of mine since I was a kid. London, then New York. That’s always been the plan.’
The plan had been cemented when twelve-year-old Oliver, tired of pretending to fit in with his schoolmates who bullied him mercilessly over dancing, had seen a flyer for Manhattan Ballet on the wall after a lesson.
Declan made a noise in the back of his throat. ‘But plans can change.’
‘My plans don’t,’ Oliver said automatically. With his plan, Oliver had found every good thing he’d ever had. With his plan, he didn’t need to be paralysed in the face of everyday decisions.
Declan turned towards the sky. ‘Uh-huh.’
Oliver felt a pang of annoyance at Declan’s disinterest. ‘You can’t tell me you’ve had this much success without any strategy.’
‘No strategy,’ Declan said, his tone clipped. ‘Just talent, hard work and all that.’
‘Right.’ He couldn’t see Declan’s expression, but he could imagine him with that closed-off look again.
‘It’s all down to what my dad’s done for me.’ Declan surprised him by turning back towards him. His face was impossible to read, but he was offering it to Oliver nonetheless. ‘So, no, there’s no plan – just winning matches, trying to make him proud.’
He thought he understood things better now – Declan’s dedication to boxing was an extension of his intense loyalty. His whole life was a series of favours to the people he loved, and somehow he still felt like it wasn’t enough.
Brian crossed in front of them and Oliver was startled by the reminder that they were being recorded. He fleetingly thoughtof Paige’s suggestion to ask about Declan’s future boxing prospects, but something made Oliver decide against it.
There was a beat of silence. ‘You should think about New York,’ Declan said finally.
Oliver laughed, surprised by the earnest advice. ‘I can’tstopthinking about it, so I’ve got that bit covered.’
‘I mean,’ Declan said, more impatiently, ‘that you should actuallythinkabout it. As a possibility, not as the only one.’
‘Fine, sure.’ He thought it presumptuous for Declan to have any reaction other than encouragement. ‘Is that why you don’t have any plans? Too busy thinking everything through carefully?’
‘I do have a plan. Falling in love is my plan,’ Declan said gruffly.
Whatever glimpse of the real Declan he thought he’d seen was gone now, and Oliver found himself tiring of their conversation. He rolled over to search for Jack and Maeve, only to see them emerging from the nook. Jack spotted them and made for the daybed with Maeve on his arm.
‘You’ve been holding out on me, King!’ he boomed.
‘Oh,’ Declan said, going red. He shot an accusing look at Maeve. ‘You told him I knew?’
Maeve laughed. ‘I told him he was the last to know, thanks to the two of you.’
‘Well done, you,’ Oliver chimed in.
Jack clapped him on the back. ‘Good man. Stole your girl and you’re congratulating me!’
‘She was freely given.’
‘I’m not cattle!’ Maeve said, indignant.
‘What are you going to do about Imogen?’ Declan asked.
As Jack seemed to remember Imogen’s existence, Darcy’s voice came over the loudspeaker. ‘Lovers, it’s time to shake things up.’
