Eventually, I stir. “I’ve been a very successful model for years and won most of the jobs I ever went for. And some of them weremajoraccounts.”
He doesn’t protest the abrupt subject change. Just says wryly, “Are we still not mentioning the Burberry business?”
“That was an accident that could’ve happened to anyone.” I pinch him. “How do you fuckingknowabout these things?”
“I told you that I always kept an eye on you.” His wry expression tells me my delight at that statement has been very poorly concealed.
I hug him. “Despite all those big accounts, you were always the only call back I ever wanted.”
He leans in to kiss me. “I’m sorry I left you alone for the year.”
“Why did you?”
He bites his lip. “I was tired,” he finally says. “And so weary of the heartache.”
“I’m—”
He puts his finger over my lips. “Don’t say sorry. I’ve had enough of that word now. I told myself it was hurting you just as much as me, and maybe you’d be able to move on if I wasn’t around for you to hate. Even if it meant I never saw you again, if you were happy, then I could bear that loss.”
“How did I ever end up with someone like you loving me?”
“Because you are, to use your own words, completely fuckingepic.” He kisses my forehead, nosing in amongst my hair and inhaling.
“I suppose this is just manifesting in action.”
He cranes his neck to look up at me. “What the fuck is manifesting in action?”
I spin my ring idly on my finger. It feels strange but the right kind of strange, as if it’s been waiting to go home. “I’m not entirely sure. Pip’s always going on about it. I think it’s to do with wanting something hard enough that you write it down and then you make it come true.”
“Did you write me down?” He’s managing to sound both touched and like he wants to laugh.
I roll my eyes. “Of course not. I just kept fucking you into mattresses around the world and making myself far too interesting to ignore.”
His laughter is loud. “You’re the Antichrist of manifesting.” He raises my hand and kisses my wedding ring.
We snuggle back down, wrapping the sheets around us. We’re warm and snug, and the noise of the sea is almost hypnotic. I can feel my body growing lax, the tension draining from me.
“So, no more secrets,” I finally say. Tiredness is making my words slow.
I’m almost asleep when I finally hear him reply. “I still have a lot of shit in my head, but they’re secrets you don’t ever need to know.” He kisses my cheek. “Sleep, baby. It’s all fine.”
I lie quietly listening to his breathing even out into the peace of sleep. I stare out of the window at the moonlit mass of the sea and stroke my fingers down his chest gently enough not to wake him. Too much has happened today for my brain to switch off.
My fingers bump against the gnarly scar tissue on his chest and I come up on one elbow staring down at him. The terrible scar is dark on his skin in the moonlight. I could have lost him then. The knowledge is stark. He’d have been gone and I’d only have known when I read about it in the news—everything that was him boiled down to a dry newspaper article. Just like Jez.
I drop a kiss over the scar. He twitches in his sleep, and I hold my breath thinking I’ve woken him, but he carries on sleeping peacefully. It seems to be a rare occasion for him, and I feel a surge of happiness that I’ve contributed to it in some small way. I’m going to keep doing that. Things are going to be different from now on. He’s not the only caretaker in this relationship. I can do that too.
“I love you,” I whisper fervently. His nose wrinkles, but he doesn’t wake. “And don’t you worry. I’m going to look after you. It’s my turn now.”
chapter 21
. . .
Reuben
One Week Later
The afternoon sun on my body wakes me. I sit up, scrubbing my face with my hands. My body aches—a deep-seated pleasurable ache that is testament to all the sex we’ve had this week. However, my partner in the bedroom Olympics appears to have done a runner.
