Page 53 of Come Back To Me

I sit back down, but I scoot my chair back a few inches. He lost my trust with the “M” word.

“I was thinking it’s time to move in together.”

“Oh my God,” I say, clutching my heart. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because now moving in together doesn’t feel quite as scary. You just escaped the dreaded ‘M’ word.”

“Clever,” I tell him. And I mean it. Moving in together doesn’t sound half as scary as it would have if he hadn’t brought up marriage first.

“Why?” I ask him.

“Why do I want to move in with you?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Is this multiple choice or essay?”

“Essay,” I tell him.

He clears his throat. “All right. I want to move in with you because I love you. I mostly hate life, except when I’m with you, that is. I was a mangy sewer rat before, a deplorable. Now I feel like a teenager. Up here,” he taps his temple, “and down here.” He moves his hand to his pants.

I laugh.

“Seriously, Yara. I just want to be with you all the time. I am committed. I want to share more than the occasional dinner date and Sunday stroll through the park with you. I want to have a fucking Christmas tree and Easter ham with you.”

“All right,” I say. “Top marks for that excellent essay.”

He gets up to kiss me, and you’d think by the expression on his face that Ihadsaid yes to a marriage proposal.

“Where will we live?”

“We’ll find somewhere new,” he says. “Where I haven’t fucked dozens of hos.”

I choke on my water and he has to stand up and hit me on the back—a completely senseless thing people do to make themselves useful when someone else is choking.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“In hopes that you’d agree, I’ve already been looking up flats to rent. There’s one quite near here. I can ring the agent and see if we can have a look before someone else snatches it up.”

“You’re pulling my leg. What an eager beaver.”

But, he already knows he has me. The thought of getting out of my grubby little flat is thrilling. The thought of starting something solid with a man I love and respect feels like movement forward. It makes the past a joke if you can somewhat behave in the present. Like it didn’t really matter that I walked out on a man and a marriage, or that I’ve never managed to stay in a relationship for longer than a year. Moving in with Ethan will make me legit.

“Call her,” I say. “I’m excited.”

“I love when you’re excited,” he says. “You wear it like a child.”

I don’t know if that’s a good thing, but I smile at him over my wineglass as he pulls out his phone to text the agent.

After dinner we catch the train to Embankment and walk the short distance to a stately limestone. The Eye is lit up to a neon pink and I wonder if we’ll be able to see it from the flat.

“I always thought this was a hotel,” I say to Ethan.

The agent is waiting for us outside, looking put out and checking her watch like we’re already late. He gives her a little wave to let her know it’s us she’s meeting.

“A stickler,” I whisper to Ethan. “Let’s annoy her.”

He winks at me conspiratorially and we step forward to do our handshaking and name giving. Her name is Lucinda, or Lucretia, or some shit like that. She sums up my bag and my shoes, usually a telltale sign of a woman’s wealth and stature in the world. I’m carrying a secondhand Gucci bag Posey gave me. I seem to pass the test as she glances at it appreciatively and leads us into the building.

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