Page 61 of The Black Trilogy

“What made you stop?”

“I met someone who showed me I was worth looking after.”

“Who?”

“That’s not important. Now, why don’t I take your mind off things?”

Luke lay back on the bed, happy with the change of subject. Tia was quickly forgotten as we continued what we didn’t get to finish earlier.

The next week passed peacefully enough. Luke had to go back into the office, of course, but he made an effort to come home on time each day.

“I should’ve started this delegation lark years ago,” he told me on Tuesday evening after we’d done something on the pool table that may have involved balls but definitely wasn’t pool. “Although my staff seem a little disgruntled.”

“They’ll get used to it. Don’t back down.”

Don’t back down. I used to live by that mantra, right until the moment I’d run to England. I needed to abide by my own rules.

“Not planning to. Not if it means I have more time for this.” He ran his tongue along my lips and I surrendered.

Maybe rules were meant to be broken.

While Luke worked, I took advantage of his gym. With that and the running I’d been doing, most of my strength had returned. The little potbelly I’d developed had shrunk away, and the outline of my muscles became clear again. At least my body had returned to its previous state—now only my head needed work.

Having no responsibilities and nothing pressing to do all day was a novelty at first, but I soon found mid-morning television didn’t deliver.

“What’s this?” Luke asked as I plonked his dinner on the table in front of him.

“It’s supposed to be coq au vin.”

Except I’d burned the chicken and drunk most of the wine. Despite Nora’s efforts to teach me, I was a terrible cook.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Nora can make us dinner.”

“I was bored, so I thought I’d experiment.”

“I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but it looks like a science project gone wrong.”

Wasn’t that the truth? How come I could make a bomb out of store-cupboard staples but not a meal?

“Sorry. I’ll find something else to occupy my time. I suppose another job would be the sensible thing.”

He reached over and squeezed my hand. “You don’t need to work. I’ve got plenty of money.”

That may have been the case, but it didn’t mean I enjoyed spending it. I’d always prided myself on being self-sufficient. Sponging off a man didn’t sit well with me.

On Thursday, Luke dropped me off in town, and I spent a day rounding up Christmas presents from the list he’d hastily scribbled over breakfast. Wrapping was tricky, and I got tape stuck to everything. Who did this for fun? Knots were a specialty of mine, though, so I went to town with the curly ribbon, and by the time I’d finished, the parcels looked passable.

But I still had one gift left to buy. What should I get Luke?

According to Wikipedia, The Times Rich List reckoned he was worth £60m. Glamour magazine had him at a more conservative £50m in their “UK’s 50 most eligible bachelors” feature last year. I could hardly get him a packet of socks and a paperback, could I?

Inspiration hit when I was standing in the den. The skis hanging on the wall reminded me of Luke’s past love of winter sports, and didn’t he say he hadn’t seen snow for ages? I found an indoor ski centre nearby and booked us a session.

Despite time ticking by slowly, I had little to complain about. Luke was good company, and we spent our evenings watching TV, talking, and doing fun things in the bedroom. Okay, mostly the latter if I was honest. By the end of the week, the lines on Luke’s forehead were less pronounced, and my numbness had receded a little more. The only sore point was my continued refusal to sleep in Luke’s bed at night.

“Stay?” he’d asked yesterday evening.

“I can’t.”

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