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“Yeah. And my best friend got attacked when she was sixteen. That’s how we both got into martial arts and stuff. But when she got bored, I still kept going, and heading in that direction, I… became a bouncer, of course. It was really kind of natural.”
“You can hold your own, I bet.”
“I’m like you, though. I never knew where it all came from.”
“Yeah, it’s been hard to take sometimes,” he admits, “when you know nothing about the other half of yourself.”
“Yeah, and my father’s kind of… a lonely soul. He was bullied mercilessly growing up. They’d moved over from Spain when he was eight or something. He hardly knew English back then. Now you’d think he was born here except when he gets angry, which is very rarely, and he sounds a lot more Spanish when he’s shouting, let me tell you.”
“So, you don’t see him much?” he says.
“No. It’s just… difficult.”
“That’s sad, Mira.”
“Yeah, it is. I don’t remember him being so cold before she left. He was always detached… but then there was like nothing. And I had to kind of raise myself, you know?”
“Jesus, fuck, I couldn’t imagine how I’d have turned out if I’d had to raise myself!”
We both bark with laughter, him nearly running us off the road… yet again!
I don’t say it, but I do appreciate very much how he seems to want to make light of dark things… and not force me into telling him about any of the other terrible stuff I endured growing up.
Chapter Five
Southend-on-Sea is not where I expected him to bring me, the Essex seaside town that largely appeals to the masses—certainly not billionaire playboys. I can’t stop giggling as he parks up in a place where every other car is worth at least a tenth of this.
“Don’t worry, the alarm on this is shit scary,” he laughs sadistically.
“Can’t believe ya fort I’d be impwessed by Sarfend,” I say laughing, mimicking the local accent. Badly.
“Can’t believe ya too posh fo’ good ole Sarfend by the sea, me old cocker.”
I double over laughing at his absolutely atrocious impression—much worse than mine.
His voice is very deep, masculine and of course, you can tell he grew up with an Oxford don for a mother.
I agree to let him lead me to the fun and fun we do have. We’re so blessed, that even the sun comes out and I don’t end up regretting the leather jacket in favour of a winter coat and scarf!
Fish and chips is swiftly followed by a walk along one of the longest piers I’ve ever seen. There’s even a railway on it, it’s that long. We spend time chatting about the fun things he gets to do as part of his job, such as jumping from airplanes for charity, climbing tall buildings, running the London marathon yearly, sponsoring various charities across the city… it goes on.
He’s even become a donor to his mother’s beloved alma mater. The way he talks, walks, carries himself… and especially his wealth would tell anyone he’s a catch. So, how come he’s still single?
There’s some hilarity in one of the amusement arcades, then we find ourselves in a Victorian tea shop enjoying a bit of cake and a pick-me-up before the drive back. With bank holiday traffic, it might not be so great on the road going home.
All the while I can see how other people respond to his presence. Men and women are trying to figure him out. He’s so unusual looking. Kind of like a thug, but so well-spoken and well-dressed, he’s utterly disarming. A bit like Daniel Craig, I suppose. Yes, he could almost be the bloke’s long-lost son. He’s got the same eyes, but that very dark hair that would make you think he was European. I think they call it the Brutus style. The stubble is ridiculous given he has to have shaved that morning. What virility!
As we’re walking back to the car, which surely has to have been nicked by now, he says casually, “So, do you think we could do this again? Maybe something in the city next time?”
“Hmm, I have a question to ask you.”
He grins, welcoming a challenge. “Go on.”
“Why didn’t you call sooner? It’s been, what? Six weeks since you interviewed me.”
A tendon in his strong jaw ticks and beneath the casual façade, there is someone who definitely does want to see me again—and is eager not to muck this up. “Yes, you’re right to ask.”
“Am I?” I shoot him a look and he pinches his lip between his teeth.
