Sun streams through the glass and the shout of voices from outside the open windows cuts through my lazy, dream-filled doze. For a minute there I could believe Elijah and I were together and lying in a hotel room in the South of France. I could believe that we’d rediscovered each other under the gauzy hangings of a four-poster bed.

Fingers trail up my spine. “Are you awake yet?”

“No.” I smile slowly, my eyes still closed. His touch is somewhere close to heaven. His fingers dip along the curve of my buttocks, slipping between the cleft there.

“Awake now?”

My smile grows, and I stretch, rolling over to face him. It’s not a dream, this is real.

This morning we were in his London Mews home. Now we are here, which I think must be some place that doesn’t actually exist. As far as I can tell we are in a town that’s built within medieval castle walls. Well that’s what I could see before we got to our room and all I could see, taste, and feel was Elijah.

His hand moves to my front, trailing delicate brush strokes across my stomach, between my breasts around the swell of each one. I reach my hand for his head, my fingers sliding through his hair as I guide his mouth to mine, kissing him with such intensity it all but consumes me. My tongue darts against his, my teeth grazing his lower lip. His body stirs next to mine, his arousal hardening and pressing into my thigh. “Fuck, Faith, I could stay here forever with you.”

I grin stupidly.

“What?” His smile presses against my mouth.

“No one has ever said that to me before.”

“Well clearly everyone is dumb.”

I smile, but I know it’s not the case. No one has said it before because I’ve never allowed anyone this close to me before.

I shut my mind to Dan and the argument we had earlier. The disappointment in his eyes... I’ll sort it out with him. We are best friends.

His eyes hold mine. “Are you scared?” He slides on top of me and my body ignites.

“Of letting you in?” I clarify. “Petrified.” My hands run along his back, cupping his arse. “Three weeks ago, I promised I’d never let anyone hurt me the way you did. Now I’m back here with you. I don’t know if I’m dumb or a fool.”

His lips catch mine, kissing me hard, determined. “I will never hurt you again, not ever. They’re the rules. But I will protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you.”

I nod, swallowing a tight lump of emotion. The damn tears can fuck off though. I’m done crying.

He protected me from his mother. He made sure I got the money I deserved. That I met the people who could give me the career I want.

What I don’t think he will ever understand is that I would have lived without all those things just for him.

Money is nothing.

My career? I’d work in a laundrette if it meant I was safe with him at the end of every day.

“I think you and I have different ideas on what’s important.” I shrug a little. This conversation can only go one way. And it will end with him being pissed off that I don’t want him protecting me. “Although you can protect me from your mother any day of the week.” I change the subject—it’s safer that way.

“She’ll come around.” He doesn’t sound overly sure and it makes me giggle.

“Ooh, not in this lifetime. I don’t plan to ever see the bitch again.”

He doesn’t say anything. That’s a worry. But before I can question his silence, he rolls off the hotel bed and stands next to it, his erection huge and proud, and standing to attention. “Faith Hitchin. Will you do me the honour of going on a date with me?”

I snort a laugh. “I think we are past dates. We made rules that can’t be broken, that’s almost marriage.” What the actual fuck? I can’t believe I’ve just said that.

His eyes widen a fraction, but he shakes his head and reaches for me, sweeping me into his arms. “I’m ticking all the boxes. I don’t want you complaining when we are old that I missed something out.”

I stare at him in shock. He expects to be an old person with me? That is marriage... and babies and all the things I’ve never allowed myself to think of.

I’ve never seen the future further than a week away. It’s all I know.

“Jeez, Faith, stop overanalysing everything. Let’s go and grab some food and I can show you the sights.”

“Have you been here before?”

He smiles and it’s all knowing. “You’ll see.”

––––––––

WE ARE USHERED TO A small wooden table. The restaurant is rustic, and that’s giving it some credit. “This isn’t The Ritz is it?” I tease. “But it is one step up on McDonalds.”

Elijah shushes me with his hand. “It’s much, much better than both of those.” He turns to the waiter and rambles something off in rapid French while I sit with my mouth hanging wide open, swooning into a puddle of my own drool.

When he raises his eyes and the blues meet mine across the table, he smirks.

“Fluent French?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes which is downright adorable. He looks scrumptious. This is how I like him best, casual, relaxed. He’s wearing a button up black shirt, open at the neck, allowing me to see the tanned skin of his throat. The shirt is untucked and paired with distressed jeans and converse. Fucking gorgeous.

I hadn’t known what to pack, and what with this being Elijah, I didn’t know whether my skin and ink would be suitable, so I packed my oversized cotton shirt and some boyfriend jeans. I’ve tucked the shirt in and wrapped a skinny red leather belt around my waist, paired with a pair of espadrilles. We look the perfect combination of holiday chic. Good thing too as we seem to be in the Mediterranean having dinner... At some point soon, I’m going to believe this is real.

His eyes keep falling to where I have some ink peeking from under the edge of the cotton shirt and every time he does that, it makes heat rush through my body. I want his hands on my skin again. His mouth on mine. But then I am a little hungry. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

I’ve already caught him frowning at the angle of my hip bones in the hotel, and it wasn’t a bother to push the excessive shirt into the waistband of my jeans. Heartbreak doesn’t allow for food. Neither do cigarettes.

“I went to a private grammar school,” he says with a smirk, bringing my wandering mind back to his conversation with the waiter. “They beat you if you can’t speak a second language fluently.”

“I went to Brighton Comprehensive. You get beaten by the other kids if you do.”

He snorts and shakes his head, but is interrupted from saying anything else by the waiter bringing us over some wine and glasses. “You don’t like champagne. And prefer a bottle of beer.” Elijah watches me closely. “But you do like wine.”

I nod. “Yes, I do. Especially red.”

“Well this is super bloody expensive, so you’d better appreciate it.”

“I doubt it. It all tastes the same to me.” I stop him from pouring. “Don’t waste it on me.”

He chuckles and bats my hand away. “I’m joking, Faith, this is the cheapest wine you can get.”

“Well, fuck, Elijah, don’t cheap out on me now. Or is this your way of telling me you’ve been cut off and that’s why you’re so desperate for me to use your studio to make us some money?”

His eyes alight at the word Us. This is crazy. Any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I’m not that poor.” He fills my glass almost to the brim. I can sense a headache coming on already. “And I haven’t been cut off yet. Although the gates of Bowsley aren’t open to me right now.” He grins and I swoon as his eyes shine. “But, let’s be serious. That is no major imposition. But I do still have a job, which I think I need to focus at this coming week before I get sacked.”

I can’t imagine him being sacked, but then he did spend a lot of time with me over the summer and not at work. And when he wasn’t with me, he was driving the MG between London and Hampshire where I was. So actually, maybe he is close to being sacked.

“You’ve had weeks to knuckle down.”

“I’ve been a little distracted. It’s all about the hours you put in, and well, I haven’t put much in, and then when I have, I’ve just been unfocused.” I watch mesmerised as he raises his glass of wine to clink against mine and then he takes a sip, swiping his tongue along the edge of his lips when he’s done.

“By what?”

“Working out how to win back the woman of my dreams, trying to organise an art exhibition—with Damien of all people.” He raises an eyebrow and I giggle. “That guy has some serious verbal diarrhoea.

“Why did you tell me I couldn’t have the work from Bowsley? Jeez, I wanted to cut your dick off and feed it to wild dogs.”

He chuckles and gives a small shake of his head. “Such a way with words. How could I release your work and organise you a surprise exhibition in my bid to win you back?” I watch another sip of wine slide into his mouth before I remember to take one of my own. The wine is delicious, heady, and full of blackcurrants and raisins. “Which worked,” he adds.

“Hm.” I take another sip. “Why haven’t you been cut off?”

He grins wider. Damn that handsome face. “Actually, it’s a devastating situation. Sienna decided she didn’t want to marry me when she realised I was in love with someone else. So she broke off our engagement.”

I scowl at the mention of her name and he chuckles and reaches forward to rub the creased skin between my eyebrows.

“And did you ask her to do that? Would she have married you anyway if she could?” Of course she would have. Look at him!

He shrugs and sips his wine. “Does it matter? Either way my mother can’t cut me off.”

My eyes narrow into my evil stink eye. “But your mother or rather, grandmother, still won’t let you date who you want. So I’ll still never be your girlfriend.”

“Is that any loss right now, Faith? Do you want my mother being the harbinger of doom on our relationship?” He takes another sip; this stuff is potent, even his cheeks are flushed, which is surprising considering I’ve seen him drink a bottle of whisky and still stand.

“But what about when we are in London, or when I’m coming and going from your home? Do I go in the back door so as to not be seen?”

“Sunshine, we can do the back door whenever you like.”

I splutter my wine everywhere and he chuckles, his shoulders rising and lifting.

“You want to be my girlfriend?” he asks once my furious blush has calmed down.

It’s so childish but I smirk. “Maybe.”

“Is that the title you want?”

“I don’t know. Three weeks ago, you broke my heart and made me break the best sculpture I’ve ever made.”

“Tell me about it. That was a bitch to pick up.”

“Eli! That’s not funny.”

“Girlfriend.” He holds the glass out again and I lean across and place mine against his and then clink glasses.

“If you wish.”

“I do.”

“So, work? I guess you’ll be at work while I’m hanging around in lectures and class. Won’t that be weird for you, being involved with someone on such a different path?”

He shrugs, but his face smooths as he contemplates my question. “I think knowing you are on a different path and seeing how exciting that is will make going to work just that little bit easier.”

“Why don’t you quit, follow your dream?” This isn’t the first time I’ve said this. “You don’t have to protect anyone anymore. Not me, not Tabitha. You said yourself she’s doing her own thing.”

He hesitates. “Maybe.”

“What’s holding you back? Did you see how everyone reacted to your work at the ball? It wasn’t all my work they were interested in.”

A frown creases between his eyebrows and he chews on the side of his mouth.

What’s holding him back? What’s he trying to protect now? Or... “You’re scared?” I whisper.

His eyes hold mine. “I was brought up to not believe in things like dreams.”

“Why the fuck isn’t Peter getting all the heat? Why is it you?” God, I hate the thought of him living his life with this sorrowful emptiness. It makes me want to grab him and love him and never let him go. To fill him with the love he deserves, the love he’s been starved of.

I reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “I’m going to make you dream, if it’s the last thing I do.”

We both look up with a start as the waiter brings us steaming bowls of what looks like stew topped with fresh herbs and a big bowl of skinny fries speckled with... I peer closer. “Is that garlic?” The waiter pushes a bowl in front of me and I take another sip of the nuclear wine.

A smile spreads across Elijah’s face. “Yep, it’s just as well we are only kissing each other tonight.”

I laugh and nod. “Jeez, I’m hungry.”

“You look like the picture of a starving artist at the moment.”

“I knew you were looking earlier.”

“I care about you, and I want you to be well.”

I’m going to retort that maybe he should have filled me in with what was happening three weeks ago, but what’s the point?

“You can feed me up whenever you like.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

I break eye contact. The food smells fricking amazing and I’m going to dive straight in. “Faith.”

“Yeah.” I glance up and find him watching me, his face serious.

“This is yours.”

He opens his palm and the black tear-shaped diamond is sitting there. 

“It is.” I sense how important it is to him. And whilst it’s huge and I’m scared I’m going to lose it I let him slip it on my right hand. Silence hangs awkwardly between us, and he frowns slightly.

“What is it?” I ask.

With a small shake of his head he smiles, and it lights up the room. “Nothing. Come on, eat, my starving artist.”

Chuckling, I fork some of the bean mixture into my mouth. Oh my goodness, that’s bloody amazing. Relinquishing my focus towards my bowl, I eat like I haven’t eaten since before I even met Elijah the first time.