‘Have I done something funny?’ I croak. My throat is rough and parched.
‘No, not funny.’
‘Then why are you smiling so hard?’
‘Because you made me promise that I would,’ he says, planting a light kiss on my nose. ‘If I ever make you a promise, Livy, I’ll keep it.’ He pulls me over to his side of the bed and goes about giving me his thing, positioning me beneath him and squeezing me tightly, sinking his face into my neck. ‘I’ll never do anything less than worship you,’ he whispers. ‘I’m never going to be a drunken fumble, Livy. Every time I take you, you’ll remember it. Each and every moment will be etched on that beautiful mind of yours for ever.’ He kisses my neck sweetly and squeezes a little tighter. ‘Every kiss. Every touch. Every word. Because that’s how it is for me.’
My breath catches in the back of my throat, his words sending a deep warmth to my very centre, pure happiness shining through my fuzziness. But my eyebrows meet in the middle. I feel like he’s privy to a one-way, secret conversation.
‘It’s a good job I keep my promises.’ He emerges and studies my face closely. ‘You disappointed me last night.’
His light accusation stimulates a blurry memory of me . . . and another man . . . and lots of alcohol. ‘It was your fault,’ I retort quietly.
His brow wrinkles in surprise. ‘I don’t remember demanding that you let another man taste you.’
‘I didn’t let him, and I don’t remember agreeing to you bringing me here.’
‘I don’t expect you to remember a lot.’ He leans down and bites my nose. ‘You threw up all over me and my new club; you fell over, more than once; and I had to stop the car twice for you to be sick. And you still managed to vomit in my Mercedes.’ He kisses my nose while I concentrate on cringing, mortified. ‘You then decorated the floor in the lobby of my apartment block and the floor of my kitchen.’
‘Sorry,’ I whisper. I must have sent him into a tailspin with his cleaning habits.
‘You’re forgiven.’ He sits up and pulls me onto his lap. ‘My pure, sweet girl turned into the devil last night.’
Another memory is jolted. My Livy. ‘Your fault,’ I repeat, because there’s nothing else I can claim, apart from it being my fault, which it is, partly.
‘So you keep saying.’ He stands and places me on my unstable feet. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
I try to focus on him, annoyed my clouded, post-drunken vision isn’t allowing me to absorb him all. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll give you the bad news.’ He gathers my hair and rests it neatly down my back. ‘You had one dress and you’ve vomited all over it, so you have no clothes.’
I look down, finding I’m completely nude, not even knickers, and I doubt the vomit reached those.
‘They were lovely, but I prefer you naked.’
I glance up and find a knowing look. ‘You’ve washed my clothes, haven’t you?’
‘Your lovely new knickers, yes. They’re in the drawer. Your dress, on the other hand, was rather soiled and needed soaking.’
‘What’s the good news?’ I ask, slightly embarrassed by his acknowledgment of my new underwear and reminder of my vomiting episode.
‘The good news is that you don’t need them because we’re broccoli today.’
‘We’re broccoli?’
‘Yes, like veg.’
I smile my amusement. ‘We’re going to veg like broccoli?’
‘No, you’ve got it all wrong.’ He shakes his head a little. ‘We lie like broccoli.’
‘So we’re vegetables?’
‘Yes,’ he sighs, exasperated. ‘We’re going to veg all day, making us broccoli.’
‘I’d like to be a carrot.’
‘You can’t lie like a carrot.’
‘Or a turnip. How about a turnip?’
‘Livy,’ he warns.
‘No, scrap that. I would definitely like to be a courgette.’
He shakes his head on an eye roll. ‘We’re going to slob out all day.’
‘I want to veg.’ I grin, but he doesn’t give me anything. ‘Okay, I’ll lie like broccoli with you,’ I relent. ‘I’ll be whatever you’d like me to be.’
‘How about less irritating?’ he asks seriously.
I have a raging hangover, and I’m a little confused by how I came to be here, but he’s smiled at me, said some meaningful words, and he’s planning a whole day with me. I don’t care whether he laughs or smiles any more, or if he doesn’t engage with me when I’m trying to be playful. He’s too serious and there’s no sign of a sense of humour, but despite his clipped manner, I still find him impossibly captivating. I can’t stay away from him. He’s alluring and addictive, and as he glances down at his watch, I remember something else . . .