‘Aw! Are you serious?’ he asks with a sweet laugh.
I’m laughing, too, as I reach up to touch his cheekbone. ‘I didn’t do them justice.’
He takes my fingers and kisses them, then picks up a lock of my hair. ‘I looked for this colour everywhere. My mother was right. I did go heavy on the red in the Georgian garden.’
‘I still can’t believe you recreated my grandmother’s lupin rainbow.’
‘It’s the only time I’ve ever been involved in a gardenscheme. I hoped you’d see it one day. And now you have. And you will do again, and again, and again.’
He’s looking down at me with such adoration in his eyes. It’s blinding.
‘How would you feel if I bought the Lisbon range for up here?’ he asks, glancing over at the threadbare armchair. ‘This furniture is in dire need of updating.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ I agree, arching my back to relieve some of the tension.
‘Would you mind?’
‘No, I’m proud of Lisbon. It would work well up here.’ I look around his living room. ‘Shame I can’t get you a discount.’
He strokes his hand over my hair. ‘How much have you tried to reconcile with your parents?’
I avert my gaze. ‘I haven’t, really. My dad and I tick along, touching base but never really talking, not about anything that matters. And my mum and I don’t speak at all.’
‘Do you try calling her ever?’
‘No,’ I reply bluntly. ‘And she’s never once tried calling me.’
‘Maybe she’s too proud. She might need you to make the first step.’
This conversation is making me tense.
‘What if we went to see them in person?’ he suggests. ‘I could come with you for moral support.’
I recoil. ‘There’sno wayyou’re going anywhere near my parents.’
He frowns. ‘Why not? You’re not still embarrassed about me, are you?’
‘Are you kidding? My parents would have kittens if they found out I was seeing the son of a viscount. The number of times they shoved me in the direction of rich, well-connected boys at school,’ I say bitterly.
A memory comes back to me of our school play, the spring I’d turned fourteen, and the boy who was cast in the lead role.
I suddenly feel cold.
‘Are you okay?’ Ash asks with concern as I sit up, agitated.
‘I don’t want to talk about this any more,’ I reply, swinging my legs off the sofa. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I call over my shoulder as I head into the kitchen.
I need something to take the edge off my internal chill.
He follows me as I fill the kettle and flick it on.
‘Ellie.’
If I answer him, I’ll snap, so I don’t.
‘Hey,’ he says gently, placing his hands on my shoulders from behind.
For a split second, I feel trapped, but the feeling passes when I remember who I’m with and I twist in his arms, burying my face against his chest, letting his warmth surround me.
