The Real Romero(64)

                Lucas sighed and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. ‘It is and for that I apologise. In actual fact, I have been thinking the same as you. It’s time to start letting my mother know that this situation between us isn’t going to work. For one thing, I’m sick to death of sleeping on that sofa. I’m a big man. Far too big for a sofa. I never even did that in my teenage years.’

                ‘You never slept rough?’

                ‘Never. But we’re getting off topic here. We will have to be a bit more proactive. I admit, I’ve been at fault here...’ Yes, he had. He had preferred to enjoy the atmosphere in the house, his mother’s delight with his latest conquest, so different from her reactions to the few women she had met over the years. Lazy. He had been lazy. ‘Tomorrow, we stage an argument. It shouldn’t be too difficult. We have precious little in common.’ He shrugged with the usual graceful nonchalance that Milly found so seductive.

                Milly drank some of the white wine that had found itself into the oversized glass in front of her. She had hardly been aware of a waiter pouring from a bottle.

                ‘If we have so little in common,’ she mocked, ‘then how is it that we haven’t been at each other’s throats by now?’

                Lucas flushed. It was a good question. ‘It’s called the route of least resistance. When my mother has been around, it has been all too easy to let her see what she has wanted to see, but I have a life to get on with. I can’t afford to spend much more time here. Naturally, I will commute on weekends, but I need to be back in the saddle. I need to return to London. As do you. So that you can make good on the bargain you struck with me. Have you told your landlord that you will no longer be needing his flat? Or house? Or wherever it is you live?’

                ‘House. I’ve already told you that.’

                ‘My short-term memory can be occasionally short.’ The house she had shared with her so-called good friend. Of course he remembered! He remembered everything, every little detail. Too much.

                ‘And, no, I haven’t told my landlord yet. I can email him in the morning but you have to give me your word that you won’t renege on our agreement. I don’t want to find myself without a roof over my head.’

                ‘You did as you were asked. Naturally I will keep my end of the bargain.’

                He was barely aware of ordering another bottle and, by the time they had finished eating, they were two bottles down and were making inroads into a third.

                ‘And what do you think our staged argument should be about?’ After a brief lull in hostilities, Milly picked up the thread of what they had been discussing earlier. The meal was finished, the bill paid; when she stood up, she had to focus, really focus, to stop herself from teetering on her unfamiliar heels.

                He reached out to steady her and his hand remained there at her waist.

                ‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ Lucas murmured.

                ‘Maybe we could weave that in. Maybe you could turn me into an alcoholic.’

                ‘My mother would never buy it.’

                ‘Because I’m such a boring girl-next-door type?’

                ‘Where did that come from?’ He stopped dead in his tracks and spun her to face him. Of their own volition, his fingers sifted through her hair and brushed her cheek.

                Milly was transfixed by that gesture. He was staring down at her and she experienced a weird, drowning feeling. He was right. She’d drunk too much. She couldn’t peel her eyes away from his handsome face.