Page 20 of Unapologetic Love Story

She stood in the vestibule of the department store, a room filled with flowers. He could hear Mirren gently calling his name in a confused voice as he moved towards the floral entrance.

Raina was holding a large red vase that was sculpted to look like a woman’s arse.

She hadn’t noticed him. Her long hair was pulled into a messy bun and she was wearing dark glasses and glossy red lipstick. She laughed with the florist as he arranged a bouquet for her. A rose here, a sunflower there. She wore a pale-pink trench coat, and the vase definitely looked like an arse.

Raina’s mind was happily occupied with the smell of the roses when she looked up and started at the sight of Tom Branimir.

‘Are you following me?’ she demanded, clutching her newly purchased vase.

‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘My sister works here.’

They stared at each other. The florist glanced between them, a little bewildered. The silence was broken by a mature woman in a raincoat bustling by and stopping to look pointedly at the red vase.

‘That vase is shaped like a woman’s derrière,’ she said plainly, before exiting the building.

‘It is,’ Raina said sheepishly. ‘I like it.’

‘It’s very’ – Tom gestured towards the vase – ‘striking.’

‘Yes, that’s how I prefer arses to be. Striking.’

‘Well. It is.’

She sniffed, looking him up and down. ‘Game recognizes game, I suppose.’

He scowled. ‘Are you implying that I’m an arse?’

‘These will be thirty pounds,’ the florist said in a high-pitched chirp, the kind that signalled to Tom and Raina that he was due a paid break, and if they could move along, that would be appreciated.

‘Here, let me,’ Tom Branimir said, fishing for his wallet.

‘Oh, no, thank you,’ Raina said, not unkindly. ‘I can pay for my own flowers to put in my own arse vase.’

When the florist finally had his money, Tom opened the door for her. She smiled awkwardly and stepped out into the street, where the two of them hovered for a few seconds.

‘It was . . . interesting to see you again,’ Raina finally said.

She hated small talk more than just about anything. She could barely manage it with people she vaguely knew, let alone Tom fucking Branimir.

‘Can I buy you a drink? I wanted to run something by you.’

‘Oh.’ Raina desperately tried to think of a polite excuse. ‘I should really get home and put these in some water.’

It was one of the worst things she’d ever said but it did technically make sense. At least until a big drop of rain landed on her forehead. The dark clouds opened and the two of them were suddenly standing in a downpour.

Tom somehow whipped a newspaper out of his inner pocket, holding it over Raina’s head, weakly trying to save her from the storm.

‘Well,’ she shouted over the torrent of rain. ‘I suppose I could wait with you until this stops.’

Tom Branimir nodded and steered her gently towards the first pub on Carnaby Street. He ordered a half pint of lager and Raina asked for a lemonade. She fussed and busied herself with the flowers, putting them in their butt vase.

Tom just watched her, until she eventually met his gaze. ‘So?’

He sat across from her and splayed open his hands. ‘I was wondering if I could profile you for something.’

Raina arched a wet eyebrow. ‘You want to expose me?’

The words hovered in the air and Raina was surprised by how breathy they’d sounded. The writer’s eyes dropped to her collarbone, which was dotted with raindrops, and then shot back up to meet her gaze.