Page 52 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘I’m sorry for how I’ve been. It’s not me. That night at the V&A, the first time we came here . . . People are right, I’m a dick. I don’t know how it happened; I just lost all of my . . . I don’t know. My colour, I guess. Everything got kind of sepia-toned after Mum died.’

Raina fought a wave of emotion. ‘You’re not a dick, Tom.’

She watched his pupils dilate at her use of his name.

‘I’ll text you the address of the party,’ she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful and platonic.

‘All right,’ he said softly.

She moved to jump off her stool but realized her feet were bare.

‘Shoes,’ she said to herself.

Tom reached for her heels before she could. He took one foot with a gentleness that sent shockwaves through her arches, while he carefully slipped it into the correct shoe. Without thinking, she presented her other foot so that he could do the same.

He wrapped one hand around her ankle to hold her foot steady and she pointed her toes, waiting for the second shoe to slide on seamlessly.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he gently pressed his thumb against the arch of her foot.

It felt incredible. She had to suppress a moan.

‘I’ll text you the address,’ Raina repeated.

His dark eyes met hers. If he’d noticed her breathless second utterance of the banal statement, he didn’t say so. ‘Please do.’ Then he slid on the shoe.

It wasn’t until later she realized that at some point, she’d no longer been able to feel the cool breeze from the ice box. Just his hands.

She found herself dreaming strange things. One woke her with a start while she took the coach from Victoria to Oxford. She’d drifted off before they’d passed Marble Arch.

Dreaming about firm hands and cold cellars.

She was having lunch with the family. Technically, it was to celebrate her birthday, but Raina had a fair idea of how the afternoon would go. Or at least where it would end. Family gatherings were nothing if not predictable.

As she walked up the quiet street in Woodstock, she remembered why she loved London. Only when leaving the city did this feeling hit, and Raina was always relieved to know it was still there.

She knocked on her old front door before letting herself in. She could hear the dogs barking and her father shouting at them to be quiet.

‘Hello?’ she called, shutting the door behind her, shrugging off her pale-pink trench and kicking off her heels.

‘Through here!’ came her father’s cheerful voice, almost drowned out by the thundering sound of two Labradors bounding down the stairs to greet her.

Raina hugged the two wriggling, panting creatures and smiled. It was the warmest welcome she was going to receive in this house, guaranteed.

She found her parents in the kitchen/dining room at the back of the small house.

‘Happy birthday,’ her dad said, waving awkwardly from behind the breakfast bar.

‘It’s tomorrow,’ another voice commented.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ Raina said. She glanced over at the woman dressed all in white with her long nails, in red shellac. She was making a salad. ‘Hi, Mum.’

Her mother looked her up and down and frowned a little. ‘Is your iron broken?’

Raina smiled tightly, almost thirty years of practice stepping up to the crease. ‘Nope.’

‘Oh. And that cleanser I called you about? Are you using it properly?’

‘Where’s Solana?’