The furthest part of the room hosts a dining table to seat eight, complete with black, leather-backed chairs. A fresh vase of sunflowers stands proudly in the centre.
“What’s with all the penguins?” I ask, walking slowly along his bookshelf. He has a lot of books. Fiction. Nonfiction. Sci-Fi. Romance. Historical and, of course, more than two shelves dedicated to true crime.
Darius puts the pizza on the coffee table, then moves to stand at my side. “It’s my thing.” He picks up a black and white penguin made of wire and beads. It has pink splotches above its eyes.
“Your thing? What does that mean?”
“Everyone has a thing. Something they’re passionate about. A favourite animal or television show or artist. A hobby. A collection. Athing.” He empathises the word like it’s obvious.
“I don’t think that’s true.” I move over to the far side of the room, put my drink down and take in the view. It’s clear out, but there’s a breeze, causing a ripple on the Thames. “I don’t have a thing.”
Darius follows, standing close enough that his arm touches mine. We both keep our eyes on the world outside his penthouse.
“That can’t be true. What makes you happy?”
You.
Not that I’m going to admit that.
“Um…” I bite my lip and think about the things that have got me through the last three years. Apart from sex, work, drinking, and Caiden. “I like crosswords. In newspapers specifically. Andum…” I have never admitted any of this before. “Magazines. Home renovation ones but also lifestyle and fashion magazines.”
Darius makes a sound from the back of his throat and I shoot him a glare.
“What? You think because I’m a tradesman, I can’t be interested in things like that?”
I don’t know why I’m so defensive. Maybe because I’ve been underestimated my entire life.
Darius lays a hand on my arm. “Calm down, puppy. I was just thinking that explains how you knew I was wearing nine hundred pound Tom Ford jeans the other night.”
He draws a line down my arm then slides his palm into mine. I like how open he is with his affection. It’s not something I’m used to and I’m not sure I’d like it from anyone else. I’m all hard edges and rough corners, where he is soft and gentle in a way that grounds me. For the first time since we met, I’m glad we’re not having sex. I’m not sure I could be the gentle lover he deserves. I don’t know how to do that.
“I’m sorry I snapped.”
Darius squeezes my hand. “You’re all good. But I wanna know more.”
“I think you’ll be sorely disappointed to find I’m not a very interesting guy.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Hand in hand, Darius leads me from the lounge, collecting the pizza box on the way, and into the kitchen. He doesn’t show me any further into the apartment, but points down the hallway where there are four closed doors.
“Two bedrooms, bathroom and study.”
“It’s a big place for one person,” I muse. “You don’t have a partner or a housemate or even a pet?”
He releases my hand, moving around the room to gather plates and glasses.
“I have Norman.”
I frown. I didn’t see any obvious signs of someone else living here.
“Who is Norman?”
Knowing he went on a date last night, I brace myself for a truth I don’t want to hear.
“He’s my fish. He’s a betta fish, and he lives in the study. You can meet him later.” I let out a relieved sigh, much louder than I intended, and Darius eyes me curiously.
“I don’t have a boyfriend or housemate,” he adds before his stomach grumbles and he returns to opening the pizza box, a huge dimply smile taking over his face.
