“I had social media channels for both,” she explains, “but the books took up most of my time. I used to curate my outfits to match the book or the content of my reviews.” She sighs, lookingdreamily into the distance. “Last year, I did a whole series matching books to Erica Lefroy’s Spring collection.”
“Erica Lefroy, who—”
“Is now dating my ex-fiancé?” she interrupts. “Yes. I don’t hold any bad feeling towards her, if that’s what you’re wondering. She was always nice to me, and I was a huge fan well before I knew about her and Seb being a thing. She has the most wonderful fashion line. I used to have a pair of her shoes. Amazingly comfortable, considering how high the heels were. A feat of engineering.” She lets out a giggle that has a hint of self-ridicule, as if she thinks I won’t care about her opinion. “She also did a line of silk dresses that were stunning; they were so easy to match with romance novels because each one felt like a fairytale. And this autumn, she had a collection of leather and satin which would have worked perfectly for…”
She glances away from me.
“For what?”
“Taming the Beast. It’s my favourite book.” She shrugs, and I get the impression she’s used to dismissing her passions for other people’s comfort. “They’re making it into a movie, and Erica has the lead role.”
“I see.”
Diana squirms in her seat, almost as if she’s uneasy that I’m listening so closely to what she’s saying. “Erica’s clothes are gorgeous, and I loved pairing them with books. I didn’t have many because they are crazy expensive, and I could only buy more if my dad allowed me to. But it was my thing; what people knew me for.” She bites her bottom lip, casting me an anxious glance as if she’s expecting to be judged harshly for her words. “Anyway, I can’t do that anymore, and recently I’d let things lapse because I was busy. I was supposed to get married and didn’t know how that was going to change things.”
She doesn’t look at me when she says it, but I can sense there’s shame there, whether it’s the non-wedding or the fact she didn’t take her business seriously when she had the chance, I can’t tell.
“My dad had no interest in helping me make money. I was more valuable to him as a single woman with no personal income, who could be coerced into marriage,” she adds. “That’s where my value lay. And because I didn’t do what he wanted, he took away my chance to become financially independent too.”
“No, he didn’t.”
She looks at me, aghast. “Yes, he did. I have no mailing list, no website, no social media content because of him. I have nothing. I don’t even…” Her voice breaks, and she takes a moment to collect herself. “I don’t even have clothes.”
She doesn’t have clothes? What happened to all the beautiful dresses she was using? I want to ask, but it doesn’t feel appropriate; there’s a vibration of distress in her voice that I don’t want to disturb.
“The only thing you need to succeed is the determination to do so. He didn’t take that from you. Look at what you’ve done today,” I say, gesturing to the copious notes she’s made.
Her cheeks take on a rosy hue, and she looks away for a moment. When she turns to face me, her sudden proximity causes me to lean back.
Her mouth, herlips, areright there.
We pause, staring at one another, and that same energy from before sparks between us.
“Mr Bastion,” she says quietly.
I have no idea if she’s going to say anything else, but I correct her with a quick, “Rafe.”
She nods, licks her lips.Those damn lips.“Rafe. You’re right. Thank you. That means a lot.” She swallows, her gaze slipping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before she adds, “Especially coming from you.”
My heart pounds like it’s just remembered it exists to pump blood around my body and wants to do every fucking drop at once. I wish she would stop sayingyoulike that, making it sound like I’m somehow important to her. It’s flattering, but when she looks at my mouth right before she does it, it turns my thoughts in a direction I don’t want them to go.
“I don’t need much,” she continues, her tone lighter now. “Just a stable income so I can rent somewhere decent. Where my neighbour doesn’t come home drunk and piss all over my threshold.”
A horrified groan leaves my mouth. “Someone did that?”
“Yeah. I think he was trying to mark his territory. Either that, or he thought my front door was the bathroom.”
She lets out a tiny giggle to let me know she’s joking, but none of this sounds amusing, and the idea of her being alone in a place like that pains me.
“Sounds like Lizzie did the right thing, making you come here. I would have done the same in her position.”
Diana’s gaze skates over my face, like she’s trying to scan for deeper meaning to my words. Whatever she sees, she misinterprets it because her next words come out rushed. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave as soon as I possibly can. I just—”
I push my stool away from the island and stand. “It’s fine,” I blurt, knowing I sound curt and uncaring, but it seems preferable to confessing that the idea of her living where someone would urinate against her front door makes me want to offer her a permanent home right here, with me. I nod at the documents she’s prepared. “You have everything you need to be well on your way to a livable income if what you’ve listed is actionable immediately. I don’t know that I helped you at all. You’ve done it yourself.”
“No.” She does a rapid micro-shake of the head. “I’ve been stuck on this stuff for weeks. I needed to know you were comingback.” The air around us comes alive with an energetic charge that crawls across the back of my neck. “I needed that external pressure. That support. I’ve never really had it. My dad never cared about what I was trying to achieve, and my mum was hardly ever around. It made everything so much easier, just knowing you’d come back and look it over.”
“I’m glad.” I pick up my jacket and fold it over my forearm, but before I walk away, I ask, “Tell me, why is this so important to you?”
