I sneak a glance at him and start to laugh at his outraged expression. “It was just a question.”
He huffs. “Sometimes I want to know what’s in your head, and at other times I bless the good lord that I’ll never know. Fuck Jez? What the hell?”
“It’s a logical question. He’s abnormally attached to you.”
“He isn’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”
I raise my head off his chest. “I’m not being ridiculous. You should be careful around him, Reuben. His attachment to you isn’t helpful, if you ask me.”
“Nobody did,” he snaps. The words are like a slap and completely unexpected coming from him. I can’t help my recoil, and he immediately makes a soft, sad noise and drags me closer. “No, don’t go. I’m sorry.”
I stare at him and then make my body relax. “I’m just speaking as an outsider.”
“I’m sorry you’re that.”
“I’m not sorry.”
“What?”
“I think I’d be more screwed up if Jez had an actual hand in raising me. Put it this way—his methods probably wouldn’t have corresponded with those of my grandparents.”
I want to say more about Jez, to give him a clearer warning, but I make myself shut up. He’s not my boyfriend or even a friend really, despite the fact that I feel closer to him than anyone I’ve ever known. I should keep my advice to myself.
I hesitate. What I’m about to say next will make him sack me off pretty fucking quickly. But I’ve always been truthful and gone for things I want. I think I fear not trying more than I fear failure. And this thing I have with Reuben has been more important to me than anything else. I hate the idea that I’ll never see him again when we leave. I think I’ll miss him, and that’s a terrifying thought.
I take a bolstering breath and ask, “Do you think we’ll see each other after this?” I’d managed a careless voice, but he immediately stiffens all over, and I grimace. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that.
“I’m just asking,” I say before he can say something I’mreallygoing to regret hearing. “You’re not bad at shagging even though you’re an old bloke. Seems a shame to waste it.”
He huffs, his tension bleeding away a little. “Notbad? I’m sure I’ve got better testimonials somewhere.”
“They were probably written with a quill and ink.”
His tension relaxes completely, and he laughs. “You’re such a little shit.” He pauses. “Xavier,” he says in a careful tone. “I?—”
I’ve abruptly had enough of this conversation. I already know what he’s going to say. “So, how did it feel taking pictures again?” I interrupt.
He turns on his side and comes up on his elbow, looking down at me. His eyes search mine intently, so I keep my expression very light and unbothered. It takes more work than usual. His finger traces down my chest slowly, and I see the moment he decides to go along with me. “It felt incredible,” he finally says. “Thank you.”
I blink. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because you have a way of making things seem very simple. You make me see a way through the brambles because you’re so clear-sighted and practical.” He presses his lips tight. “I’ve seen so many scenes of horror that sometimes I forget that there is a simple beauty to this world. The same beauty that made me pick up a camera in the first place.”
“Is it very bad?” I ask softly.
He eases onto his back, and I curl into him. His arms band around me and his hand holds mine on his flat belly. “Yes,” he says quietly. “It is the worst.”
“Tell me something. Tell me your worst memory.”
He looks horrified. “No. Absolutelynot.”
“Please,” I say, cutting through his rough voice. “I need to know.”
“Why?”
Because I think I’m falling in love and I’m terrified that you’re going to break my little heart.“Because if you share it, it doesn’t stay with you so much,” I say instead.
“I could never give that to you.”
