“We’ve had more parcels than if Santa were delivering.”
“It’s a good job that Pip rerouted my mail from the agency.”
“Oh, yes. It’s absolutely spiffing.”
“I cannot help that Hermès, Dior, Gucci, and—” I snap my fingers. “Line, please.”
“YSL,” he says obediently.
“—and YSL are so enamoured of my body that they wish to adorn it.”
He shakes his head. “And it’s all free,” he marvels.
“Yep. I even got a Hermès travel bag for free the other week.”
He blinks. “And is that a good thing?”
“It is if you don’t fancy dropping fifty grand.”
He blanches. “What? On abag?”
“Yep, and you usually have to beg to acquire one. They don’t let just anyone buy them.”
“You have to bevettedto give them fifty grand?” I nod. “Get the fuck out of here.” He shakes his head. “The fashion world is fucked up.”
“From your lips to Anna Wintour’s ears.”
“Who is she?”
“I am not even bothering with you anymore.”
He laughs, and I take the opportunity to examine his face. He looks a little more rested. The lines at the corners of his eyes have disappeared today, and his face is clear of that awful grey look. There are still signs of trouble—a weight that never quite seems to lift from his broad shoulders. It’s been there for so long it almost seems a part of him. I think I understand now that the weight doesn’t have to do with me. He’d give me anything—the shirt off his back, all his money—but he won’tever give me the full weight of his conscience. He would view that as dishonourable and selfish. I view it as sad, because he still doesn’t see me as an equal—someone who can help bear his burdens.
I love you, I think despairingly. And it’s so fucking dreadful.
“You okay?” His eyes have grown concerned.
“Fine,” I squeak. “Absolutelyfine.”
“I wanted to thank you,” he says.
“Why?” I ask blankly.
“For last night.”
“Why would you thank me forthat?”
He straightens his shoulders, rising to his full height. “You were very kind.”
“Oh, please don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” He hesitates. “Would it be okay if I hugged you?”
I make an exaggerated grumpy noise to make him smile. After his mouth curves obligingly, I raise my arms. “If you must.”
I hold my breath as he wraps his arms around me and then relax into his body. He gives a gusty sigh and rests his head on mine, and we stand for a few seconds. My hand is on his chest, and I can feel something through his jumper. There’s a slight lump there as if something is hanging on it, and I trace it with my fingers. What is it?
He stirs, and his hand comes up, capturing mine. I look up, and his eyes are steady and warm. “Between us, I want you to know that I’m grateful,” he says in a low voice. “I know you have no reason to be kind, but you were. You have a very generous soul, Xavier.”
