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His lips tipped up. “Something like that.”
I tipped my head to the side. “Have you been with women who found it difficult?”
“No. But I have been with women who’ve grown addicted to it.”
I pulled a face.
“Precisely,” he agreed.
“I haven’t escaped that, you know. Dad was a big personality. He did not shrink from the limelight. It was the opposite. And Lou’s famous.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
I shrugged and took a sip of my cider, but those words sure were nice coming from his lips.
“When you’re with me, and we’re not here, we’ll be photographed. Often,” he warned.
I drew in a breath on that.
But there was nothing for it. It came with him. I wanted him. So if we got to that point, I’d suck it up.
However, Ian needed reassuring. I knew it when he said his next.
“Portia lives life boldly. You, privately. I didn’t need investigators to tell me some things. A simple Google search, even on your name, brings up more pictures of her than you.”
“It might not be an everyday thing for me, but it is for Lou. In London, she can’t walk down the street without people staring. Dad needed security. It’s been part of my life.”
“Darling, you can’t duck your head and look cute trying and failing to hover in Lou’s shadow. With me, it’ll be inescapable.”
He had an uncanny knack at saying all the right things.
If I wasn’t falling for him, I’d find it scary.
“I feel I’ve failed after surviving multiple, attempted fake hauntings to communicate to you I’m made of some stern stuff,” I joked.
“That hasn’t escaped me. But our motto is eyes open, no?”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Multiple, attempted fake hauntings aside, this is our idyll. One of the reasons why I wanted you to stay here with me. When real life intrudes, things will be much different. Far more challenging.”
“I’m not the type to get addicted to that kind of attention, Ian.”
“I don’t think you are. I think you’re the type to get sick of it.”
Dear Lord.
Was he sharing vulnerability?
Even insecurity?
Only Ian could make that attractive.
“How about, with eyes open, we just be in this without worrying about what might become of it? Whatever that is will happen, no matter how hard we try to shape it,” I suggested.
He looked away, took a sip of his stout, and murmured, “She’s wise, along with gorgeous, humorous, and achingly loving.”
I pressed into him where I was settled in his side and teased, “Achingly loving?”
