Page 91 of Unbind

‘Who cared for you, to look after you.’ She presses her lips together like she’s worried she’s said the wrong thing.

‘I’m a big boy, sweetheart. And I’ve never had anyone to look after me. Not really. Not until I could afford Kamyl andBal and the rest of them.’ She looks like she’s going to cry, so I press on. ‘Look. I didn’t know my childhood was fucked up for a long time. Kids tend to embrace their own lived experience as ‘normal’. I’ve never been able to decide if that’s a blessing or a total travesty.

‘But as it turns out, I was essentially neglected for a long time—we all were. So this is how I deal with it—by making sure I’m well looked after by people who I can rely on to show up for me, and by making sure that I in turn look after them well. It’s a wonderful covenant. It works for me, anyway.’

I wholeheartedly believe this. You can’t choose the caregivers who bring you into this world. You can’t control their all-consuming demons any more than you can control the relentless work responsibilities they face. My mother and father were both absent for entirely different reasons. I’ve made my peace with that; I understand that none of it was my fault. So when you can cherry-pick the most wonderful employees and lay out to the word exactly what you require of them?

It’s bloody miraculous.

But Nat’s not staring at me as though it’s miraculous.

Carefully, she gets to her feet again and picks up a light mahogany chair from its place in front of the antique roll-top desk. She proceeds to set it next to me and sit on it, placing my tray on her lap.

I blink at her. ‘What are you doing? I’m ill, not totally incompetent.’

‘You need to learn,’ she says softly, ‘that there are people in this world who will take care of you because they can think of nothing more they’d rather do. Open.’

I’m pretty sure the wordopenshould be preserved for me, for my most commanding Bedroom Voice, and that itshould refer to her long, slim legs and not my mouth. Way to make me feel like a ninety-year-old invalid.

Nevertheless, I open my mouth and allow her to spoon some clear, fragrant broth in, mainly because her face is so pretty and her expression so earnest that I’d rather die than reject her sweet gesture and risk hurting her feelings. She’s in leggings and a dusky pink sweater that’s seen better days, her hair pulled back and her face makeup free.

She looks like an angel sent to have mercy on the undeserving.

‘If you’re going to do the nurse thing,’ I quip, ‘we should at least get you a proper costume.’

She shakes her head at me and refills the spoon. ‘Very funny. Here.’

‘I’m deadly serious.’

‘There will be no boners today, thank you. You’re recuperating.’

I suspect my poor, flu-ravaged body wouldn’t be capable of an erection even if she did rock up in fullnaughty nursemode, but I have no intention of admitting that.

‘What a wasted opportunity,’ I mutter before closing my lips around the warm metal of the spoon.

She studies me. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What do you mean?’

She hesitates and puts the spoon down on the tray. ‘I’ve been getting the distinct impression that you’re uncomfortable having me look after you.’

‘I’m not uncomfortable,’ I hasten to reassure her. ‘I just feel guilty. It’s shitty for you. We’ve only been together for a few weeks—you didn’t sign up for this.Andyou’re missing work. I look like shit, and I’m all sweaty and snotty andrevolting. You should beat a hasty retreat and come back when I’m my usual, sexy self again.’ I wink at her, but she doesn’t rise.

‘You really don’t get it,’ she says, picking up the linen napkin from the tray and twisting it in her hands. ‘Do you?’

‘Get what?’ I ask.

‘I don’twantto be anywhere else.’ She clears her throat self-consciously. ‘I just want to be here with you, in any capacity.’ Her beautiful, expressive eyes keep flitting from my face to the napkin she’s wrecking. ‘I’d rather be here than at work, missing you. And I’ddefinitelyrather be here if you’re ill with only paid employees to look after you.’

My heart contracts painfully at her words, but she keeps speaking.

‘Listen to me. I care about you, you idiot. I’ll take you any way I can get you, and there’s no way on earth I’d leave you when you were ill. I hate that you’re feeling crap, and I’m going to do everything I can to make it all the slightest bit less grim for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.She cares about me.I hoped it was true—I suspected it was—but I couldn’t be certain that she felt anything beyond a physical attraction and a connection borne out of our common career experiences.

She sets the tray on the coffee table and comes to sit on the edge of the sofa. I shuffle my bum to make room for her. She has her hands on my face when she says, ‘Adam. This is really important. I know you didn’t have anyone to look out for you when you were younger, and it makes me so fucking furious that that’s your frame of reference. But this is what people do when they care about each other. They look after each otherbecause they want to. I promise you, there’snowhere else I’d rather be today than right here with you. Oh, and you may be sweaty and snotty, but you still have my absolute favourite face. So stop trying to get rid of me, okay? Because I’m not going anywhere.’

Her lips are so soft when she brushes them lightly against mine. She holds my face, and I slide a hand around her neck as we stay like this for a moment.

---