Page 92 of Charlie Sunshine
I try to look winsome and innocent, but I can’t hold it, and break into laughter instead.
“Wanker,” he says, shoving me gently. We lie back down. “You had me,” he admits.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” I say demurely, and a comfortable silence falls as he plays idly with my hand, tracing the veins on my wrist in seeming fascination.
“I will one day though,” he says suddenly.
“You will do what one day?” I ask idly.
“I will propose one day.”
I stare at him in astonishment, feeling warmth wrap around me.
“I’m just warning you,” he says. “I’m going to make the proposal so fucking lovey-dovey that your head will explode.”
“Not sure that’s quite the outcome you should be looking for, but thank you for warning me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Just so you know, I’m going to say yes to you, Misha Lebedinsky, because you’re the love of my life.”
“I know,” he says calmly and kisses me.
He pulls back and snuggles down into the sofa, dragging me with him until we’re curled tightly together. Once we’re situated to his satisfaction, he falls asleep with the suddenness of a child, and I stroke his hair, pressing a kiss to the black wavy strands.
Words fail me as I try to determine how I feel. I’ve read all the classics with their descriptions of love. I’ve read wildly romantic books and their stories of passion and I’ve absorbed every word, but they still can’t describe Misha and me. All I can say is that I’ve never felt soseenby someone before. I’ve never been loved for everything that I am—the full me—before. And I’ve never felt like this about any other person. I love him with a depth and a breadth I didn’t know I possessed, and I would go to the ends of the earth to make him happy. It all feels right. Warm and bright. Like together, we’ve managed to bottle real sunshine.
EPILOGUE
CHARLIE - FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER
I come awake to find Misha staring at me an inch away from my face. “What the fuck?” I mumble. “Misha, you’re being weird again.”
“There is nothing weird about giving you this,” he says.
He forces a card into my hands, looking at me expectantly until I tear open the envelope. I open the card and, after a second, a huge bang sounds. I blink at the sight of multicoloured confetti twirling madly around our bedroom and mingling with the dozens of yellow balloons that are bobbing against the ceiling.
“Happy Birthday, Charlie Burroughs,” Misha shouts.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
“No, but close,” he advises me. He has a rose tucked between his teeth, and he looks a bit like a pirate. I eye him consideringly—a naked pirate.
He removes the rose and throws it rather cavalierly over his shoulder. “None of those naughty looks from you,” he says. “You’ll have to resist the glory of my naked body for a little longer.”
“How much longer?”
He shrugs, reaching down by the bed and bringing up a tray laden with food. “As long as it takes to eat all this.”
“Bloody hell,” I breathe. The tray has a huge pile of assorted pastries on it, as well as a cafetière of coffee for him and a big mug containing my green tea.
“Don’t worry,” he says, setting the tray down before wriggling into bed and pulling the duvet over him. “I didn’t make any of it apart from the coffee and tea. The bakery down the road supplied the croissants.”
“That’s a huge relief,” I tell him and, ignoring the tray, I lean over and kiss him soundly. I add a bit of tongue for good measure and pull back. I’m gratified to see his eyes looking glazed over, as they always do when we’re close.
He cups my cheek in his palm. “Happy Birthday, darling,” he says, his eyes warm and so loving.
I smile at him and then turn and look at the tray. “You did all this for me? What a lovely birthday.”
