‘All right,’ I’d replied. ‘Let me get some shoes.’
‘Fuck that,’ he’d said, and swept me up in his arms like I was a princess.
I could get used to him carrying me places. I shouldn’t, but I could.
The inside of the boat – the cabin? Dylan and I might have spent a lot of time talking, but he’d never provided me with a handy glossary of boat words – was small, but cosy, bathed in yellow light from two lamps, sitting on either side of his neatly made bed. ‘Here,’ he said, pulling out a chair for me at a tiny dining table. ‘Sit.’
I did.
‘Drink?’ he asked. ‘Nightcap? Tea?’
‘Tea.’
‘Chamomile?’
‘Please.’
He filled up the kettle and flicked it on. ‘I hope tea bags are okay.’
‘They’re fine.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Because I’m talking about tea like I’ve never had a human conversation in my life before,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m nervous, that’s all.’
‘Why are you nervous?’
‘What do you mean, why am I nervous?’ he said. ‘I’m nervous that…’
He turned away from me, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the ends. ‘When Murray told me that you wanted to talk to me, I just about lost my mind.’
‘Mur—’ I started to say, and then stopped.
Lily. The producer she had wrapped around her finger. Of course.
‘When you ran away from me, it took everything I had not to chase after you,’ he said, still facing the wall. ‘Everything. I’ve thought about just turning up at the Convent every day to see you, but I couldn’t do that to you. Even if… Even though—’
‘What, Dylan?’
‘No,’ he said.
He turned back around. ‘Whatever you want to say to me, Cece, just say it,’ he said. ‘Rip the Band-Aid off. Yell at me. Scream at me. I can take it. I deserve it. Just do it quickly, because every single second we spend together just makes this harder.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘About Dylan G. You and her.’
For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.
Then he slumped into the chair opposite mine at the table, eyes closed, fingers pressing into his eyelids underneath his glasses. ‘How long have you known?’
‘Not long,’ I said. ‘Lily told me. I didn’t know if it was true, but… I guess it is.’
He sighed. ‘There’s an agreement, yes.’
Behind us, the kettle boiled. Neither of us moved.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ he said at last. ‘I nearly did tell you. A couple of times. But I signed an NDA, and… Fuck, Cece, I wish I could explain it in a way that makes sense.’
