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‘Sex is different with every partner,’ he says, somewhat noncommittally.
I guess that makes sense. Hadn’t I just been thinking how intimacy would have an impact on closeness?
‘Have you ever slept with someone you were in love with?’
He laughs again. ‘You’re a romantic, Millie.’
‘Am I?’
He stands, pulling his pants back in place, strolling across the cabin and opening a small door. A liquor cabinet, concealed within the panelling. He pulls out two bottles of spring water and hands one to me. I crack the lid, watching him thoughtfully.
‘Yes,’ he says finally, but his smile seems somehow tight, his eyes a little serious.
‘I propositioned a stranger for sex; I don’t think that makes me a romantic.’ I sip the water. ‘I was just wondering if sex is different if it’s with someone you’re in a relationship with.’
‘Apart from knowing what the other likes in bed?’ he prompts, cynicism in his tone.
I refuse to be diverted from my line of thinking. ‘Yes.’ And I kneel on the bed, scrambling over to where he stands at the edge, wrapping my arms around his back. ‘Think of this as the theoretical part of my study.’
‘And you’re a thorough student,’ he says seriously.
‘Uh huh.’
His eyes are locked onto mine, and I am losing myself in their depths, their darkness, their intensity. I am losing all of myself. ‘How come you walked away from your career?’ he asks, still staring at me, still intense, despite the subject change.
‘I haven’t.’
‘You must have worked your ass off at uni. You’re a doctor working in a bar?’
‘It’s... I promised my mum,’ I say simply.
His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. ‘But surely she would have wanted you to pursue your dream? I imagine medicine is your dream?’
My dream? Such a romantic way of describing a vocation. ‘It’s something I’m good at.’
At that Michael’s frown dips. ‘You could be good at lots of things. Why be a doctor?’
‘You don’t think saving lives is a noble pursuit?’
‘Sure. So is saving people from wrongful prosecution.’
I bite down on my lip thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, of course.’ I tilt my head to the side. ‘I don’t know if I have an answer for you,’ I say after a moment. ‘I’ve always liked it. Fixing people, putting them back together. I’m good at it. I guess there was a confluence of events that led to me enrolling in medicine at university. And once I got in and did well, I didn’t think about it again.’
‘But it’s what you want to do?’
‘It’s what I’m trained to do.’ The distinction even makes me frown. The plane rocks again; I feel it more, kneeling. He wraps an arm around my back immediately, bracing me to him, holding me tight against the sky’s eddies.
‘And your mum must have been proud of you,’ he says softly, but with an undercurrent of something speculative I don’t understand.
‘Yes,’ I say simply. ‘She was.’
‘And then she told you to leave your life and come to the other side of the world?’
Something like defensiveness pricks at my side. The man holding me tight is no longer my lover, he’s a skilled, ruthless barrister. ‘No.’
‘No?’ He strokes my back and for once I’m not distracted by the intimacy of our contact.
‘No. She begged me not to make the same mistakes she did,’ I say quietly, my heart aching for my beautiful mum, for the regrets she died clutching. Stupid, unpredictable tears make my throat thick.
