“No,” he says immediately.
I huff crossly. “I hate that word.”
His mouth quirks. “I’m sure you do, but if the world were a sensible place, you’d hear it every second for the rest of your life.”
I give him a playful pout. “So, what are we going to do in the long time before we have to entertain the manchild again?”
“Be nice,” he chides.
I’m not touching that with a bargepole. If I reply and say something about Jez, he’ll get defensive and try to persuade me to see his good qualities. Even if I had a map, a compass, and thirty years of spare time, I couldn’t find those. I don’t want to burst his bubble, though. Reuben’s a seriously nice man, but Jez is a cunt. Why can’t Reuben see it? The only people Jez is interested in are himself and Reuben.
“So what are we doing? Jez said I should pick my own entertainment.” I lick my lips. “And I’m looking at it.”
His eyes flare, and for a second, I think he’s going to grab me and kiss me, but sadly for me and my neglected dick, he does neither. Instead, he looks thoughtful.
“I would like to do something, and I need your help.”
I brighten. “Is it sexual?”
I watch him laugh, relishing how real he is, his head thrown back and the sound loud and lusty. I feel like I’ve won a prize or have done something irredeemably clever when I uncover his appetite for life. Not a feeling that I’ve experienced with someone else.
Finally, he sobers and looks at me. I shift position because it’s such an analytical look.
“I want to photograph you,” he declares.
My mouth drops open, and I stare at him.
The silence stretches, and then his lip quirks, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Wow. If I’d known it would silence you, I’d have asked a lot sooner.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“What an absolutelydelightfulexpression. No, really. If I’d known this would be your reaction, I’d have asked on the first day. Maybe the first minute. It would have spared me a lot of torture.”
“No, I mean, you want to photograph me?” I point at myself in case he misses the emphasis. “Me?”
His eyes flare with amusement. Amusement and a little nervousness, and it’s the latter that stops my pisstaking. It makes me feel suddenly horribly tender.
“I would, actually. You’re very—” He pauses, and I wait for the usual compliments on my hair and body. “You’re so vivid and full of life,” he finishes. “Like sunshine on a cold day.”
I blink, and something soft and warm unfurls in a small spot under my ribs. Something fragile. The moment stretches for a few seconds. “Okay,” I finally say softly. “Yes, you can photograph me, Roo.”
His eyes twinkle. “Thank you, Xavi.”
We walk slowly inside, and even though there’s distance between our bodies, I feel so connected to him that surely it must shine out of me. Why can’t the other guests see it?
When we get to his room, he pauses outside the door, and it seems odd. Normally, we’d be rushing inside in case Jez sees us. I find Ilikenot doing that.
He reaches out and brushes a strand of my hair off my face. It immediately flops back down. “Such wilful hair,” he says.
I clear my throat. “It has a mind of its own.”
“Like its owner.” His voice is so affectionate that it makes my eyes feel hot. Then he takes a deep breath. “It might not work.” I raise an eyebrow, and he elaborates. “I might not be able to take any pictures.”
I surprise myself by reaching up and cupping his face in my hands. His skin is sun-warm under my fingertips. “You will,” I say, pushing all my confidence into that statement. “Iknowit.”
He stills beneath my hands. “Really?”
I nod fiercely. “Yes. You’re the best photographer in the whole world.”
