Bad Boys of London(191)

‘How do you feel this morning?’ Shane asks.

‘Yeah, fine,’ I say uncomfortably.

‘Good. What do you want to have for breakfast?’

‘Shane?’

‘Yes.’ He appears solicitous. A stranger.

I dig my fingernails into my palm. Wow! It’s been a long time since I did that. The pain of my fingernails dulls the other pain. The pain of thinking he regrets ever hooking up with me. Lenny accidentally revealed once that other men wouldn’t want me after they knew about what had happened to me, and I grew up in India where the shame of being raped actually causes women to be killed. He always claimed he didn’t care, but other men might not be able to take it. Some men are simply not strong enough to cope with such horror. Some marriages even break up after a rape.

‘I’m … sorry about last night. I haven’t had a flashback in months. It must have been the shock of what happened outside the club that triggered it.’

‘Don’t apologize for last night,’ he says harshly, striding towards me and stopping a foot away from me. ‘You have nothing to apologize for.’

‘Erm … OK,’ I say, taken aback by the sudden fury in his voice. ‘Er … Thanks for asking your sister to bring me these clothes. I’ll just pop back to my apartment and get some of my clothes later this afternoon … if you still want me to stay, that is,’ I say uncertainly, my gaze searching his face for clues of reluctance or a change of mind.

His eyes are like frozen blue orbs and his words as sharp as razors. ‘I’ve not changed my mind, and you’re never going back there again. I’ve thrown away your red dress. From now on I pay for everything that goes on your back.’

‘Oh,’ I exclaim, stunned by the intensity of his words. The more I know him the more I realize that beneath the easygoing charm and humor lurks a much darker beast.

His expression warms suddenly, confusing me. ‘Now, do you want blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, a banana smoothie, waffles, warm brioche with butter and cherry-plum jam, or a full English for breakfast?’

‘Oh!’ I exclaim, overwhelmed by the choice. ‘I usually just have toast or cereal.’

He smiles. ‘Yeah, I’ve got that too.’

I pause. Why should I have the same old boring thing? ‘Actually, the brioche with butter and cherry-plum jam sounds really good.’

His eyes twinkle. ‘It’s one of my favorites too. Sit and talk to me while I get it.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Nope,’ he says immediately.

So I sit at the able while he moves about preparing our breakfast. Soon the entire kitchen fills with the lovely yeasty aroma of toasting brioche and hot coffee. He brings the food to the table and I realize just how hungry I am.

I watch Shane’s large, capable hands tear apart the soft loaf and the steam rise from the middle of the bread. I watch him spread the jam on the pastry, not across the whole half, but just a corner. And on top of the jam a shaving of cold butter. Then I watch his strong white teeth bite into the piece and his sensual enjoyment of the complex tastes in his mouth, cold, warm, sweet, starchy, buttery, plummy.

As I watch him, I feel the thaw inside me. Ever since that horrible day I could not connect with anyone. I was frozen inside. I just felt utterly alone. Kim’s betrayal made the whole world frightening. I knew I could trust no one. Everyone wanted something from me. Even Lenny.

For the first time today I feel something deep and real.

I feel love. Great love for the man sitting next to me.

After we eat, I look at him. Somehow I have to explain away last night. I can’t just leave it like that.

‘About last night.’

He lifts his head and looks at me expressionlessly.

‘I know I was downright pathetic in the bathroom yesterday, but I guess I’m not a very strong person. I—’

‘Not a very strong person? What the hell are you talking about? Fucking hell, Snow. You’re one of the strongest women I know. You were strong even when your whole world was crumbling beneath your feet.’

He shakes his head.

‘You came to England on your own in search of a dream. That’s brave enough to start with. And then you endured an ordeal at nineteen that could have sent a grown woman mad. And the best part, you survived it all on your own, without any professional help, any proper medication or counseling to lessen the pain, and under the manipulative and insidious influence of a total psychopath.

‘That, in my book, makes you an incredibly strong person. Strength doesn’t always mean a woman never cries or has a breakdown, or a woman who never gives an inch to man because that could be interpreted as her being weak. But it definitely means a woman who quietly rebuilds her life after it is shattered through no fault of her own. You’re a fucking warrior, Snow.’