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“You’re very talented,” he says at last. I smile, accepting the compliment with a brief rush of excitement.
I don’t know what I expected of this evening. Empty silences. Awkward moments. Clunky chatter of no importance only had to kill time. But there’s none of this. Gianni and I talk late into the evening about many things, but mainly art. His love of paintings runs deep—his grandmother had instilled it in him as a young child. We have both visited Monet’s Garden—I’d been there as part of my A-Level art studies, and Gianni had gone with his mother when he’d been much younger. He remains on his chair, and I stay on the end of the sofa, but I’ve never felt closer to him.
I glance at the clock. It is after one in the morning, and as much as I want to stay sitting here talking to him, I need to go to bed.
“Oh my God, it’s so late.” I yawn, “I should head up.” Gianni nods, and I continue, “There have been no signs of intruders. You really don’t have to stay. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“I said I wouldn’t leave you.” His voice is hoarse as if the words dried his mouth.
“Well, there are unopened toothbrushes in the main bathroom, which is upstairs, first door on your left. I don’t have spare clothes, I’m afraid. My dad’s wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired.” I rise from the sofa and wobble slightly. My legs have already gone to sleep. Gianni stands, and it suddenly feels a little strange.
“You’re welcome to stay in any of the guest rooms. This sofa may look great, but I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable.”
“I don’t sleep much. The sofa will be fine.”
“Well, I’ll head up.” I don’t know else what to say. It’s as if I’m forcing him to sleep on my cold leather sofa while I sleep in my king-size bed.
“Goodnight.” His hands are in his pockets, his shirt unbuttoned, and his hair soft. I hover by the doorway.
“Goodnight.” I wait a moment before I turn and leave the room.
I splash about in the bathroom, taking off my makeup and brushing my teeth. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting in the living room. A hug? A kiss? Even as the thought enters my head, it seems ridiculous, but even so, I feel a little empty after the time we spent together. And why is he still here? It’s quite clear no one is going to return. What will happen in the morning? Will he stay until I wake up, or will he go as soon as it gets light? Will he leave a brief note pinned to the refrigerator telling me he has gone? And how strange will this all be tomorrow?
I peel my leggings off and throw them in the laundry hamper and stand in front of the mirror. My skin is clear of makeup. It always surprises me how young I appear without mascara and lipstick. I walk over to the door and open it to find Gianni standing on the other side.
“Oh, sorry, I was just…” I stand inches from him. I can still smell the cleanser I’ve used and feel the freshness on my cheeks. He says nothing, simply stares at me. I expect this moment to feel intense. But instead, I feel alone. It’s like he’s looking at me but not seeing me. I often catch him watching me like this in the shop. I have mistaken the look for hatred and dislike, but after tonight, I know this can’t be true. Why would you choose to spend your free time with someone you hate?
“Gianni?” My voice is slight. I don’t want to wake him from the trance he appears to be in. He says nothing but takes a step toward me. His hand rises to my cheek and pushes my hair from my face. I’m back in the stockroom when he stood behind me, his closeness shrouding me. His hand lingers, his fingers soft, his touch hypnotizing. I blink slowly, my head resting lightly on his hand. I want to close my eyes. I want to slip quietly into his embrace and never return. His hand drops, and my eyes widen.
“Goodnight,” he whispers and walks past me into the bathroom.
The door closes, and I heave air into my lungs. I don’t know what I’m more shocked by, his touch or my not wanting him to stop. I turn and face the closed door, wondering what he’s doing on the other side. A tear rolls down my cheek. What’s wrong with me? I know the answer, but I don’t want to admit it. I’ve let myself down. I’m weak.
I turn away from the door and walk back into my room. I need to get away from him. But the trouble is I don’t want to.
* * *
I wake with a thump in my chest and a feeling that something is in my hair. My hands are swatting my scalp, and my fingers are tangled in my bedhead. I smell burning and feel the sting of smoke in my eyes. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. My body is ready to move, but my head is not. I take an unsteady step as dizziness flashes into my brain, making me reach out to support myself. I hold on to the bedside cabinet as my head levels out, and I become a little more grounded.
I unlock my phone and check the time. It is three thirty-two in the morning.
I was dreaming. It’s always the same dream. I’m asleep in my flat when I hear noises coming from the spare room. I investigate, only to find the room ablaze and a bird trapped in there. I must rescue the bird, even though the heat is immense against my face. I enter the room, the smoke filling my nostrils and the flames licking at my skin. I run over to the bird, but it is frightened. It resists me, flapping its wings in my face as the heat builds and the fire burns. And then I wake up, the smell of burning ever-present in my nightmares.
I rake my fingers through my hair as I place myself back in the present.
Gianni.
He comes to me in a flash. I wonder if he’s still here.
As if sleepwalking, I’m out of my room and tiptoeing down the stairs in a moment. I creep along the hallway, and I can already see the glow of the lamp in the living room.
I stop in the doorway. Gianni is propped up in the corner of the sofa, his arms folded over his shirt, his head leaning to one side. His legs are raised, his shoes gone. He’s asleep.
His face is peaceful, his slumber quiet. I gain a sense of harmony simply watching him. I’ve never seen him this calm. I thought his furrowed brow and turbulent glare were a permanent feature. I want to touch him. I want to smooth my hand down the side of his face, press myself against his body, and feel his arms wrap around me, but it would spoil his tranquility. Instead, I stand and watch him sleep.
ChapterTen
It’s early when I wake, and I wonder if Gianni is still here. Will he know about my nighttime visit to watch him sleep? I shove on jeans and a T-shirt in record time but don’t bother with makeup. Gianni has seen me in the flesh.
