With a growl, Kit pulls away, but not before Natasha gets between the pair at the same moment the private security guards appear.
‘Nut juice. Pure nut juice,’ she says as Jon’s escorted through the hall.
‘You’re so abstract,’ says Ivy. ‘What’s nut juice got to do with anything?’
Not that Kit or I pay attention, each of us trying to convey answers without words.
‘It’s one thing that looks like another,’ Nat begins. ‘Take that scrotey wank-piece that’s just been dragged out. He looks like almond milk. You know, wholesome and good and stuff?’ Eyes turn bemusedly to Nat who stares back as though we’re all idiots for missing her obscure point. ‘It’s nut juice!’ she adds, exasperated. ‘You can’nae milk a nut! If almond milk was called what it really is, no one would buy the stuff! Looks like one thing, is actually something else!’
Our friends chuckle but not Kit. His expression is dark, his body seeming to continue to vibrate with violence and anger. He’s conflicted, I can tell. Torn between keeping me close—his hands now wrapped around my waist—and following Jon and the security guards.
‘He’s not worth it,’ I murmur as he lowers his lashes, seeking to conceal his confliction.
‘It’d make me feel better,’ he growls. ‘I couldn’t stand to see you next to him.’
‘Aye, but it wouldn’t do for you to be in the newspapers twice in one week.’ Rory sounds amused, but Kit doesn’t bite or even recognise his brother’s words, his stormy grey gaze unmoving from my face.
‘You—you weren’t in the club, were you?’ My words are hesitant, but I need to be sure. ‘Not after telling me you wanted to keep me.’
‘No.’ One word. Growled. ‘I haven’t even seen the stupid paper, but it whatever the photograph shows, I wasn’t at the Den that day.’
‘The article said the photographs were taken over a twenty-four-hour period.’ God, I want to believe him, but I don’t want to be that girl again.The stupid one.
‘I wasn’t there,’ he answers, his words fervent. ‘Ask any one of Dylan’s famous mates, and they’ll tell you the same—the press fucking twist things. I’ll take you to the club—I’ll prove it to you. But I need to know about him?’ He jerks his chin in the direction Jon was marched away.
‘He just... turned up. Delusional. Arrogant. Stupid? Take your pick.’
‘So hang on a minute,’ Rory challenges. As though preparing to fight, Kit’s chest tenses against my own. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re in love with Elizabeth?’ What began as a reaction of confusion, or maybe cynicism, ends with genuine, dare I say not unhappy, surprise.
At Rory’s knowledge of my name, Kit’s head shoots up, and I begin to giggle. ‘I told you you wouldn’t be very impressed.’
‘How the hell do you get Bea from Elizabeth?’ he asks, confused.
‘Well, you take a child with a lisp who can’t pronounce things properly, and let her refer to herself as B-lizabef until she’s five.’
Our friends start to chatter, giggle, and exclaim, all drifting away until only the two of us are left.
‘So you love me?’
‘It would appear so.’
‘Like a cold you can’t get rid of?’ He snorts, his long fingers drifting up to hold my face.
‘I don’t need a cure. All I need from now on is regular doses of my honey.’
