Billy sat down where Imogen had been sitting and noticed the still-steaming, untouched cup of tea. She picked it up and took a sip.
Rosa sat at the opposite end, turning to face her. She reached for her own cup and sipped.
“Imogen has a football match tomorrow and I told her I’d ask if you’d like to come along and watch… with me, as her family.”
“Yes,” Billy said instantly. “Absolutely.”
“I thought you’d say that, but I didn’t want to get her hopes up, and I don’t want to give her a false impression—”
“Even if it’s the right impression.” Billy grinned at her. “I understand. You want us to appear as a unit, but be very much two separate parents who are getting along for the sake of theirdaughter, and are secretly sleeping with each other, with plans of getting back together.”
“Something like that, yes,” Rosa answered.
“Alright, I can do that.” She sipped more tea. “We’ll arrive separately, enjoy a civil couple of hours cheering our girl on, and then go—”
“To the café and let her enjoy an afternoon with both of her parents while she talks animatedly about the game and anything else she wants to share with us.”
Billy smiled slowly. “And if this goes well, we will do it again?”
“I imagine so,” Rosa said. “I want to give her as much of what she wants from us as we can give her.”
“I am open to spending as much time with both of you as I can.”
“Okay.” Rosa placed her mug down. “Nowwe can go upstairs.”
Chapter fifty-two
There had been a frosty start to the day. The temperature overnight had dropped and left a blanket of white across the garden.
Rosa stared out at it through the bedroom window, before her attention was drawn back to the bed and the woman still asleep in it.
Dark curls were spread out over the pillow, the duvet pulled up under Billy’s chin. The same woman—the only woman to have ever slept in her bed.
For a moment, Rosa was able to forget all the years apart, her memories stitching together the past and the present, creating a comfortable space where it had always been just them.
But something still itched at the back of her mind—something that stopped her from claiming this for herself and announcing to the world that Billy Fisk was hers again.
Billy’s eyes opened and a lazy smile appeared on her face. “Morning,” she said, her voice husky from sleep.
Rosa smiled. Having Billy in her bed again was certainly something she enjoyed—a lot. Her mind flicked back just a few hours—to the confidence she’d felt, the positions they’d tried that she couldn’t recall ever exploring before. Despite their history, sex with this version of Billy—and this version of herself—was much more…adventurous.
“Good morning. I was about to go and put the kettle on.” She pulled her dressing gown tighter.
Sitting up, Billy shivered and pulled the duvet back around her.
“Why don’t we go for breakfast somewhere and then head on over to watch Imogen?”
“We can’t keep eating out.” Rosa chuckled.
“Okay… Come back to bed and we’ll eat in.” Billy smirked, watching Rosa blush at the offer.
“I need actual food,” Rosa laughed, “if I’m to maintain this level of activity at night.”
“Waskind of athletic.” Billy reached out and grabbed Rosa’s hand, pulling her on top of her.
“Billy!” Rosa grinned, shaking her head at Billy’s antics.
They were running late. One kiss had led to another, and before Rosa could argue, Billy had shifted so they were scissoring. It was instant—that feeling of something more than sex—an intimacy Rosa couldn’t deny, and her clit refused to ignore.
