“Albanian food is incredible,” Dom replies with a grin. “Have you ever been?”
“No, I’d like to. One day.” I put the tea down on the table beside me, and curl up into the armchair. I yawn widely, wrapping my arms around myself. “Thank you for cooking for me.”
“Not a problem at all.” Dom gets to his feet and heads back into the kitchen, saying something about packing up the rest of the food.
My eyes are heavy and I start to drift off to the sound of his voice, and at some point I wake a little to the sound of the doorbell, but I quickly fall back asleep.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m in my bed, with Tank curled up at my feet. My body still aches and my nose is stuffy, but my head isn’t pounding and my throat no longer feels like it’s stuffed with razorblades.
I look around, confused, because I don’t remember going to bed. My face flushes with heat, becauseoh my god, that means Dom carried me here? Like a little kid.
“Oh my fucking god,” I mutter to the empty room.
I roll onto my side, and there’s a note taped to the base of my bedside lamp.
Didn’t want to wake you, so put you to bed. Hope you feel better. Heating’s fixed. Call me if you need anything. D xx
10
MIA
My illness lastsa whole 5 days, and by the time I’m back on my feet, I feel like a lifetime has passed.
Dominic checked in on me every day via texts and phone calls, but didn’t drop around again. I couldn’t explain why that made me sad. I was supposed to be relieved to be left to my own devices, to enjoy some quiet time to watch trashy television shows and have hours long FaceTime calls with Char while she was in Paris.
But I wasn’t.
I found myself checking twice when a car pulled up outside, my heart racing in my chest as I thought maybe it was Dom pulling up in his shiny Aston Martin. But it never was, and I was too proud to ask him round.
Stupid? Maybe. But I wasn’t about to let another Graves get the better of me just because he’d cooked me soup and made me a cup of tea.
Char’s return from Paris coincided with a brand launch at a fancy new hotel in central London, and we decided to get ready at my place, like two giddy teenagers heading to the club.
“Babes,babes.” Char holds up her hands with great emphasis after downing her second glass of champagne. “The men inFrance? Seriously. I don’t know how they breed them down there, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so surrounded by handsome men in my life.”
“Should have brought one back with you,” I tease, running my curling iron through a length of hair. “At least one of us could be happy.”
“Next time, I plan on it.” She inspects the earrings that she laid out on the dressing table, deciding on a silvery pair of glimmering chandeliers. “Don’t know if any of those French blokes will measure up to Mr Daddy DILF though, after what he did.”
I roll my eyes and glare at her reflection in the mirror. “You know I still haven’t forgiven you for that. You know that, don’t you? How did you even exchange numbers?”
Char shrugs. “We were at a fundraising event a few months ago, and we were discussing yachts.”
“Yachts?”
“Yes, yachts. He wants to buy one, and I told him about the sale I’d helped out with, you know, the sheikh?” Char nods as though I know exactly how many sheikhs she’s sold yachts to in her lifetime, and I’m reminded that I definitely come from a very different world. “Yeah, so him, and DILFy-”
I groan loudly. “Oh fucking christ, donotcall him DILFy.”
“Sorry,Dominicasked me if he could call me for some advice sometime.”
“And did he?”
Char frowns. “No, as a matter of fact he never did.”
“He was asking for your number, you twit,” I say with a laugh. “Yacht, my arse. He was picking you up and you didn’t even notice.”
“And then he didn’t end up calling? Rejected. How will I ever live?” Char throws herself down in the armchair, draping one long leg over the other, tossing her copper-brown hair over hershoulder. “So how was he, anyway? When he was here cooking for you with no shirt on?” She giggles into her champagne glass. “I would pay good money to see that.”
