‘Are we?’ My voice came out harsh, snappish.
Hers was steady, though. ‘Yes. Always.’
I forced myself to take a breath. If she couldn’t give me a satisfactory answer to this question, I told myself, I would let go.
‘Then tell me about this five-year plan of yours.’
‘Oh!’ She sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Is that all?’
‘What do you mean,is that all? You’ve got five years of Lily Fireball all planned out! Five years – minimum! – of being an entirely different person! Five years—’
‘—of working withyou, Murray.’
She brought my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles. ‘I know it’s not the same as it used to be. I’m not the same as I used to be.’
So I drew a line. A line between me and that woman, because I couldn’t be her.
‘But look at all the shit we can do with an inside man,’ she said. ‘The ways we can shape the story. The delicious messes we can create.’
‘You do realise,’ I said, teeth gritted, ‘that in all your plans, you’re publicly dating other people?’
‘And I’m sure those relationships would be incredibly real and deeply sincere. Just like the Dylans.’
‘Don’t joke. Not about this.’
‘I’m sorry.’
I wanted to believe – so badly – that she meant it.
‘But come on, Murray. Do you really think there’s a world where I would throw you away for some waxed-chest man-child onJuliet on the Beach? If I was some ordinary contestant, you’d be rubbing your hands with glee about the potential of Lily Fireball.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but you’re not.’
‘No, I’m not. Because I’m better.’
She tangled her fingers in my hair, pulling my head back so she could press her lips behind my ear. ‘We’d be stupid to throw Lily Fireball away. She’s too good a storytelling tool. And even if we wanted to, we can’t. She’s going to be too famous. We’ve both done our jobs too well.’
She bit my earlobe. ‘So we use her. You and me. Together.’
I pulled back, so I could look her in the eye. ‘Together?’
‘Together.’
It was such a compelling story. That word –together– made me ache with wanting.
‘Imagine what it’ll be like,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be terrorising all the little waxed-chest boys by day. You’ll be standing there, watching, playing them, pressing all their buttons. They’ll have no idea that we’re in on it together. That they never had a chance. That when it’s late at night and it’s just you and me, you’re yanking my dress up and bending me over and—’
I kissed her, hard, swallowing the rest of her story. If I let her finish, I might never have another clear thought again.
‘We have to set some ground rules, though,’ I growled, when my mind was organised enough for me to get the words out, fingers curled around the nape of her neck.
‘Okay—’ she kissed the tip of my nose, ‘Daddy.’
‘Number one: don’t call me “Daddy”. You’re my partner, not my subordinate.’
I desperately wanted her to agree with me –yes, Murray, Iamyour partner, just like I’ve always been– but she just smirked. ‘It’s hard, when you do the voice,’ she said, ‘but fine.’
‘I don’t want it to be like our first weeks here,’ I said, trying to focus as her fingers stroked down my neck, playing with the chest hair that peeked out from the open collar of my shirt. ‘No working around me. No holding things back.’
