Page 73 of Pretender

There’s the unmistakable hiss of what can only be him opening a fizzy drink. So he didn’t leave.

Phew. It must have just been a delivery.

Knowing he’s out there relaxes me again. It’s weird how quickly he’s grown on me. I’ve kept him at arm’s length for two years, and now I’m as comfortable in his company as I am with my closest friends.

That’s probably more about his way of being than me, it’s not how I usually do relationships of any kind. Even friendships take time. But Aiden is warm, and I kind of want him to cuddle me but it’s just because I’m not well.

I lie back on my pillow, thinking back to yesterday and my decision to follow Aiden here instead of coming up with all my regular excuses. It feels good to be able to say yes to this. I’m free.

The memories of Aiden talking about his father return. Is he sharing more with me than he has with his lifelong friends? He took me here, to Florence. As if he wants to share. With me.

Ugh, I need to be careful.

I should stick to my rule, not get too close. But this budding friendship means more to me than I expected it would. It’s thawing the ice in my stomach I’ve been carrying around since well before the divorce. But it hasn’t been obvious to me how lonely I’ve been until I’m not.

Aiden knocks. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.”

He pops his head through the door and I give him a tired smile.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“I heard you rustling, thought I’d give you this before I have a shower.” He shows a golden, structured paper bag. “I had some new clothes picked out and delivered for us. It should be everything you need, and some soft pyjamas if you want them.”

I nod, and he enters the room. He’s in a robe. My ears burn red, and I’m sure he can see it. There’s nothing to hide them with—my hair is tied back with a sash.

The one he needs to keep his robe closed.

Right now he’s holding it together with his free hand and he’s doing a terrible job of it.

He carefully places the bag on the bed, the edges of the robe gaping, and the view of his tan chest makes my ears flush harder.

Jesus Christ. Again.

“See you soon,” he says.

In my mind, I reach out to grab him, because I need a cuddle. I need his warmth. But my hand isn’t moving, it’s too heavy. So are my eyes. Aiden smiles. Mmm. I like his smile.

I wake up from a hand on my ankle. Weird, I’m naked and sprawled on my bed, but I’m comfortable like this. It’s like it’s my bed but we’re in Florence. And I’m not sick anymore. The hand feels familiar, and I lift my head, finding Aiden by the foot of the bed in his trousers but no shirt, just like in the shop. There’s a hunger in his eyes as his gaze roams over my naked body.

I say nothing. He says nothing. I just open my legs for him, and he licks his lower lip, biting it. I want him to touch me so badly, I’m aching for it. If he doesn’t touch me soon I’ll need to touch myself. I writhe on the bed, and he chuckles.

“So ready for me,” he rumbles. He glides his hands up my legs and as he crawls up on the bed I realise he’s naked, but I can’t see him clearly. Oh fuck, I didn’t shave, I just remembered, but when I glance down I’m smooth as if I’ve just had a wax. That’s handy. Aiden kisses his way up from my knee and I spread my legs more, writhing. I need him to touch me now.

“Aiden,” I whimper. “Please.”

He growls, his mouth so close to where I’m aching for him.

“Please, Aiden.”

“Linnea,” I hear him say but I can’t see him talking. “Linnea, are you okay?”

That’s when I really wake up and Aiden sits on the side of my bed. Fully clothed. The only thing that’s real is the intense throbbing between my thighs, and the sweat on my forehead. I move an arm and thank fuck, I’m not naked like in my dream. My robe is on, my blanket covers me. Phew.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks. “You were writhing. I thought it best to wake you.”