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“For how long?”
“Indefinitely,” he replies. “After all, we’re not even halfway through the list.”
I swallow hard. “How would it work?”
“Simple. You move in with me and we continue our … exploration of your body, and your desires.”
Wait, what?
“I … move in with you? I don’t even know where you live.”
“Pssh,” he replies, waving away my concern. “Minor detail.”
“Doesn’t this feel a bit, I don’t know, fast?”
We’ve known each other for less than a week.
“Everything about us is fast, Ivy Mickelson. I fell for you the second I met you.”
We look into each other’s eyes for a moment, absorbing the gravitas of what we’re saying.
“And every day since,” he continues. “Falling deeper and deeper.”
His eyes are alight with emotion.
My heart jumps. I nod. I don’t trust my croaky voice to reply.
“Besides,” he says, trying to lighten the energy. “I’ve already met your family.”
We exchange smiles. My folks wouldn’t shut up about how wonderful Alistair was. When I reminded them that he was a billionaire, my mom tutted and said, “No one’s perfect, dear.”
“You don’t have to decide now,” Alistair says. “You can stay here as long as you like. Think about my proposition.”
“What’s to think about?” It‘s a total no-brainer, apart from the whole crime syndicate thing, which I am getting very good at ignoring.
“That’s a yes?”
“It’s not a yes. It’s a hell yes.”
Alistair takes my cheek and kisses me tenderly on the mouth. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
But I do have an idea, because my body is singing with excitement and a weird kind of hopeful happiness. How is it possible that a man can make me feel this way? I’m not up for delving too deeply into the question. There will be time for that later.
“I’ll let the staff know to expect us later today.” Alistair knots his tie. Oh my god, the staff? Of course he has staff. I watch him add cufflinks. He looks incredible in his suit.
“I hope your bed is as glorious as this one,” I jokingly remark.
“It will be if it has you in it,” he replies.
He comes around to kiss me goodbye, slipping me a gift from his pocket. A new iPhone.
“Try not to lose this one,” he says, lips curved.
“Very funny,” I reply.
After Alistair leaves, I eat my ice cream breakfast, which soothes my raw throat, and switch the new phone on. It already has all my information on it, as if the previous one was never lost in the fire. In a way, it feels like a different life. Or rather, I feel like a different person. Damaged, sure, but buoyant with hope about my new life.
Yes, I’ll have to sit down and have a proper talk to myself to sort out my myriad issues.
