‘Yes, it was,’ I agree. ‘I’m not here to be snapped at.’
‘It’s just . . .’ He looks at the fridge and clenches his eyes shut, like it hurts him to see the smears. Then he sighs and walks forward, holding his hands out, silently asking my permission to touch me. Stupidly or not, I nod, and he visibly relaxes. He wastes no time and crowds me, pulling me close and sinking his nose into my damp hair. The comfort it gives me can’t be ignored. When he said that he wouldn’t sleep, he really meant it. He didn’t look at the mess when I hinted at it, but clearly it was playing on his mind, tormenting him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeats, kissing my hair.
‘You don’t like mess.’ I don’t ask it as a question because it’s painfully clear, and I’m not giving him the opportunity to insult me by denying it.
‘I’m house proud,’ he counters, turning me and pushing me back towards the bedroom.
Every step we take, I’m reminded of my palatial surroundings. ‘Don’t you have a cleaner?’ I ask, thinking a businessman who lives in a place like this, dresses like Miller and drives a prestigious car, would at least have a housekeeper.
‘No.’ I’m unwrapped from the sheet and lifted into bed. ‘I like doing it myself.’
‘You like cleaning?’ I blurt, shocked. He really can’t be real.
His lips tip at the corners, making me feel a whole lot better about the events, words and feelings that have come after our intimacies. ‘I wouldn’t say I like it.’ He slips in beside me and pulls me in, tangling our naked legs. ‘I suppose you could call me a domestic god.’
I’m smiling now, too, and my hand is having a field day with free access to his bare chest. ‘I never would’ve thought it,’ I muse.
‘You should try to stop thinking too much. People overthink things, making them bigger deals than they actually are.’ He speaks softly, almost nonchalantly, but there’s more meaning to those words, I know there is.
‘Like what?’
‘Nothing specific.’ He pecks the top of my head. ‘I was just being general.’
He wasn’t being general at all, but I say no more. His reversed mood has calmed my earlier unease, and I’m letting the security of his body encasing me ease me into a peaceful slumber. It’s not long before my eyes slowly close and the last sound I hear is Miller humming something hypnotising and soft in my ear.
In a panic, my eyes snap open and I bolt upright in bed. It’s completely dark. Brushing my wild hair from my face, I take a few moments to backtrack and it all comes back to me . . . or was I dreaming?
I pat around on the bed, feeling nothing but soft bedding and a pillow with no head on it. This bed is enormous, but I wouldn’t lose a whole man in it. ‘Miller?’ I whisper timidly, then feel down my body, noting no clothing. I always sleep in my knickers. I’m not dreaming, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or frightened by that. I stumble out of the bed and feel my way around the wall. ‘Shit!’ I curse, smacking my shin on something hard. I rub away the stab of pain and shift further, meeting something with my head. The crash pierces the silence, and I fumble with something attacking me. ‘Bollocks!’ I lose the battle to hold whatever has hit me and let it fall, wincing when it smashes, before rubbing my forehead. ‘Bloody hell.’
I expect Miller to appear from wherever he’s hiding to investigate the commotion, but after standing in silence for ever, hoping he’ll flick a switch that’ll bless me with light, I’m still blind. I resume my tentative groping of the wall in the darkness until I feel something resembling a switch. I flick it on, blinking back the harsh invasion of artificial light. Of course I’m alone, and I’m also naked. I note the cabinet that I smacked my shin on and the floor-standing lamp that I bumped my head on, which is now resting against the cabinet, smashed into a million pieces. I hurry back to the bed and grab the bedding, wrapping it around me as I walk back towards the door. He’s probably cleaning the fridge again, but once I’ve found my way into the kitchen, I find no Miller cleaning. In fact, I find no Miller at all. Nowhere. I circle his apartment twice, opening and closing doors, or all that will open. There’s one that won’t. I jiggle the handle but it doesn’t shift so I gently tap and wait. Nothing. I head back to his bedroom with a completely furrowed brow. Where’s he gone?
Sitting on the side of his bed, I wonder what to do, and for the first time the full force of my stupidity smacks me hard in the face. I’m in a strange apartment, naked in the middle of the night, after having crazy, no-emotions, reckless sex with a stranger. Sensible, wise Livy has just pulled a stunt worthy of an award. I’ve let myself down.