Page 105 of Pride and Privilege

He looked at her—at that face that had already seemed familiar when he first saw it months ago in a dimly lit bar. The muse painted on Conyers’ ceiling. Except not quite, of course, because Poppy was alive and real and more beautiful, more unique and wonderful and baffling and hilarious and intoxicating than any painter could capture.

Poppy Fields, naked on his lap.

His eyes moved down her body. It was almost as familiar to him now as her face. Had they caught up on those missed few months? They had certainly tried, neither of them with jobs to go to, spending every possible moment together ever since he had first dragged her back to the mews house.

They had spent the whole rest of that day in bed, tangled together, dozing, talking, and everything else.

“What will your mother say?” Poppy had asked, and Roscoe had guessed she had started there because it was easier than saying:Will your father ever accept me?

“She won’t care much,” he had answered truthfully. “Maybe she might ask me if I have enough money. She’ll want to know I’m not heading down in the world.”

Poppy had swirled idle circles over the muscle of his shoulder and chest, painting him with secret tattoos. Quietly, she had said, “And that would be my fault.”

“Don’t even think that.”

“I don’t. Not really. But she might.”

“No. She’s not that kind of snob.”Not like my father,he didn’t add.

She had paused, then said haltingly, not looking at him, “But can you really see… I mean… I can’t imagine I’m getting invited for Christmas dinner.”

“I doubt I will either.”

“You’re his son. Of course you will.”

“But I won’t go without you.”

“Don’t… You know… There were all sorts of things I almost said to him. But if I said them, I knew I couldn’t take them back. I made myself remember he’s your dad. He’s going to be in your life. And that’s…important. Even if I can’t stand him, even if I can’t pretend to myself I’ll be able to like him, I’ll find a way to be around him. I’ll fake it. Whatever. And maybe he can learn to pretend to put up with me…”

“Hey, hey.” He pulled her tight against him. “I’ll never ask you to do that. You’ll never have to see him again if you don’t want to.Idon’t want to.”

“But you’re his son. Roscoe… I don’t have a dad. Neither do my brothers, not really. I don’t want to make you choose that.”

“You’re not. He… He broke it. Whatever our relationship was. Father. Boss. Mentor. He ended up being none of those things.”

She touched his cheek. “You might feel differently one day.”

“Maybe. But you won’t suffer for it. I promise you that.”

Now, the excitement in her voice drew his eyes back to her face. Her hand was gripping the phone tight, her eyes alight. “Yes,” she was saying, fighting back a grin. “Yes, that’s fantastic. Thank yousomuch.”

She hung up, still grinning. “I got it!”

He smiled. “Of course you did.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I can.”

They looked at each other for a moment, both smiling like loons.

“God, I love you,” he said.

Her smile grew even wider. “I love you, too.”

She cupped his face in her hands, kissed his forehead, then his cheeks in turn. “You’re beautiful,” she told him seriously. And even after everything, he found himself blushing.

He laughed it off, laughed because he was happy and so was she. And then he kissed her, slow and scorching under the Mediterranean sun, all around them foreign birds singing in foreign trees, and not a care in his head but the girl.

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