Page 142 of Heart of The Night

‘It was bloody rude.’

‘It wasn’t personal,’ I chuckled.

‘So you’ve said, but consider this: I’d honestly grown attached to that name by the time you were introduced under a different one.’

I sniggered and kissed his shoulder. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘I like Cara, though. It’s a pretty name.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ve actually looked it up. Did you know it means “dear” in Italian?’

I smiled, touched by the gesture. ‘Yes.’

He met my gaze, his eyes softening. ‘I quite like that when I call you by your name, it’s actually an endearment in itself.’

My smile widened further. ‘Did you look up your own?’ I asked, stroking his chest.

‘Yeah. Apparently, it means “strong-willed warrior”.’

I pulled back slightly, tittering. ‘You’re joking.’

‘I’m not,’ he replied, his lips twisting with amusement.

Another laugh bubbled up from me. ‘Really? “Strong-willed warrior”? Your name could not be more suitable!’

He grinned, clearly enjoying my reaction. ‘I know. I’m literally epic.’

‘You are.’ I propped myself up on my elbow beside him and leaned in for a kiss. Our lips met tenderly, moving together in that effortless synchrony that was uniquely ours. The familiar sensation was exhilarating, a reminder of how right it felt to be with him. But as he deepened the kiss, teasing my tongue with his own, frustration surged through me. I hated that we couldn’t go further, hated Oliver and Francesca for nearly taking away the man I loved so deeply.

When William’s arm curled around my waist, pulling me closer, I forced myself to break the kiss.

‘Don’t,’ I whispered, placing a hand on his chest to steady him. ‘You need to be careful, Will.’

He let out a moan of annoyance. ‘I bloody hate this. I want to make love to you.’

I gave him a sympathetic smile, cupping his cheek with my hand as I studied his face. ‘And you will, once you’re better. For now, I’m perfectly content making a different kind of love to you – with words and gentle touches.’

His eyes softened, the tension in his expression fading as he held my gaze. ‘You’re everything to me, you know that?’

I traced my thumb along his chiselled jawline, feeling the roughness of his stubble. ‘And you’re everything to me.’ Gently, I ran my fingers through his hair, letting the strands slip between them as I memorised the feel of him, the warmth of his skin, the way his breath hitched slightly under my touch. There was something so fragile about this moment, yet so profoundly strong – like we were rebuilding something that had been broken, piece by piece.

‘I love you, William,’ I said, leaning in to press another tender kiss to his lips. ‘More than anything.’

‘And I love you, Cara,’ he murmured, his voice filled with quiet conviction as he returned the kiss.

6 December 2019

32 | i’m grateful we existed

WILLIAM

Dr Fielder’s office was a sanctuary to me, a place I genuinely enjoyed visiting. The old man exhibited a taste that favoured the antiquated, awash in the dignified, muted colours of a bygone era. His desk, an ornate piece of dark wood, stood boldly by the window, echoing the one in my own study. Surrounding it, imposing chestnut bookshelves covered every visible part of the walls, the shelves sagging slightly under the weight of countless tomes.

During our first meeting about three months ago, I’d been delighted to discover that he shared my enthusiasm for literature. Spotting Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari on the coffee table between two leather chairs, I asked if he had read Richard Dawkins’ The Blind Watchmaker.

‘I have,’ he replied, a shrewd gleam in his eyes. ‘Would you say you’re a religious man, William?’ he then asked, and I’d realised before I answered No that he had already commenced his psychological evaluation of me, carefully dissecting my worldview. Psychologists, especially those as indisputably talented as him, sometimes unsettled me – it often seemed like he was inside my head, discreetly observing and rearranging my thoughts, like a surgeon performing an invisible operation on my brain.

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