“Good God, no. I’m pretty sure she’s certain she was Lady Chatterly in a previous life.”
He snickered at that, and my lips curved into a smile at the sound of his laughter. “You’ll have to hook me up with one of her books so I can check it out.”
My eyes widened with horror. “Why would you put yourself through that torment?”
Amused, he shoved my arm, and asked, “What about your father?”
“He’s Casanova reborn. It used to be embarrassing, but now I’m past caring.”
“Why was it embarrassing?”
“He’d come to school and hook-up with my friends’ mothers.”
Micah’s eyes popped open. “You’re shitting me.”
“I wish I was.” I pulled a face. “I got the crap kicked out of me way too many times. Until I got big enough to handle myself.
“Truly, I don’t know either of them very well. I had Nanny until I was eight, but then I was shipped off to boarding school in Hampshire.” My nose crinkled. “I was at Highcamp until thirteen, which was when I started at Eton.”
“They sent you away at eight?” he rasped, his voice loaded with horror. “Jesus, Devlin, no wonder you’re weird.”
I snorted. “Thank you. I think.”
His hand snapped out, and he cupped my wrist. “Seriously. That has to mess with a kid’s development.”
I hitched a shoulder. “Home life wasn’t that warm and cozy, what with both my parents trying to out fuck each other. Not that I knew that, of course. At the time, I mean. School was no better or worse.”
“I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
His earnestness tore at something deep inside me. I shot him a shaky smile. “The same could be said for a kid who had to hide away three-quarters of a million from his parents because he knew they’d reject you.” He tensed at my words. “Quite a pair, aren’t we?”
“They can’t hurt us now,” he told me, his tone fervent. Too fervent.
“Can’t they? Mine can’t. Not really. They can piss me off, but there’s little they can do to hurt me.”
“After what mine put me through? I’m done with them,” he spat, but he was protesting too much.
“I don’t think we’re ever really done with a parent,” I told him carefully. “Even if they let us down repeatedly, we still hope.
“There’s always going to be a kernel of hope inside you that’s praying he’ll change. That he’ll relent and accept you, and the worst thing is, that’s normal, Micah. He should relent. He should accept you. And he might, but he might not.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and I knew it took a lot for him to admit, “I wish he would.”
Because I’d known that without him having to say a word, everything inside me clenched down at his vulnerability, and the most ferocious desire to slay whoever and whatever hurt him overcame me.
At that moment, if his father had been standing at the side of my bed, I’d have beaten the shit out of him.
“I wish he would too. For your sake.”
His eyes gleamed for a second, glittering with tears he didn’t shed before he clenched them closed.
Neither of us spoke, letting the silence drift between us, until he broke it with forced cheer, “I think we should have a competition. My family thinks I’m going to hell in a hand basket because I’m fucking you.” He popped a single eye open. “What’s the worst yours can do?”
“Tie me to some Hoo-ray Henrietta just so I can whelp some progeny that’ll inherit the Keighly duchy and waddle around in their misery as much as their ancestors.”
“I feel sorrier for me.”
I laughed. “I suppose hell is a worse fate, although, you say that now. You haven’t met the Henriettas I’m talking of. They can bray like horses.”
His lips twitched. “That’s not nice.”
“No? You haven’t met them. It’s not all Made in Chelsea.”
“What the hell’s that?”
I grimaced. “A show. Henriettas all wear tweed, are fond of pearl necklaces—and I’m not talking the good kind—ride horses, dislike the government for banning the hunt, and think the House of Lords should only answer to God.” I shuddered. “A living hell, wouldn’t you agree?”
“You don’t have to marry someone like that,” he pointed out.
“I have no interest in women. No interest in men, either,” I said wryly, but I stroked his bottom lip as I made that particular comment. “I feel as if I’ve only ever been interested in you.” My brow puckered. “Isn’t that strange? A one-night-stand who I barely know, and you’re all I can think about. When I close my eyes at night, I see you.
“I’ve never noticed how empty my life is until you walked into it, so, why wouldn’t I be nervous, Micah? You’re alien to me.”
His brow furrowed. “Have you never been in love before?” Quickly, he licked his lips. “I mean, I’m not saying you love me, I, just, well... I mean, you’ve never felt infatuated?”
I snorted. “Course I have. But this isn’t an infatuation.”
“How do you know?” he rasped, his surprise at my statement clear.
Maybe it was because I’d been sick, or because he’d cared for me when the only person who’d ever done that was my nanny when I was a child. Maybe it was because he was beautiful and because he looked at me like I mattered more to him than just for an open wallet. And maybe it was because I wanted to... I’d never know what made me be so candid, never know why I admitted the truth to him.
“Because when I look at you, I see a future. A future I could fuck up by being me, and that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve felt in my entire life.”
Twenty-One
Micah
Three days later
The peace of the office was pleasant after weeks and weeks of the madcap rush, in the run up to several summer releases, that were penned as large launches.
I’d been around for the mania, and while that mania hadn’t died down yet, with Trevelyan’s book still a high priority, there wasn’t much to be done when over half the staff were out for the count with the same stomach flu Devlin and I had endured.
It was mean of me, but Cassandra was out sick too, and I was really loving being at this end of the floor without her sniping at me or glaring at me. It wasn’t like she could have this bug forever though, so I was just appreciating the lack of judgment from her quarter, and taking advantage of the silence of the floor.
Even if it was odd to be one of only eight on staff.
The pressure was intense, but after the past few days, I was glad for it.
Work was a sanctuary I’d never expected it’d be.
Devlin was... well, to be frank, he was more than I could ever have hoped for.
Both of us getting sick had calmed him down some, and when he’d been bright enough to talk, our conversation had really eased the tension in him. Now he’d made that crazy admission, he seemed to be better, was less awkward, so it was ironic that I felt as if that awkwardness was contagious.