Page 90 of After Felix
He murmurs his thanks and tugs me to the lift. Once we’re in the tiny cubicle and he’s pressed the button for our floor, I sneak a look at him. He seems far away.
“You alright?” I ask.
He glances up from his study of his shoes. “I’m fine,” he says cautiously. “The more important question is, how are you?”
“Why is that more important?” I say, bewildered. “Don’t you count?”
His eyes are dark and confusing. “You’re more important to me than anyone,” he says, the words stiff and almost formal.
“Since when?”
“Since the day I walked into the biography section of Waterstones and saw you there,” he says steadily.
“Bollocks,” I say without any real heat. “I was just a shag.”
The door opens on our floor, but he puts out a hand to stop me leaving. “You were never just a shag,” he says quietly. “I just wouldn’t allow myself to recognise the fact.”
“Allow?” I’m struck by his use of the word. “What do you mean?”
“If I had sobered up and admitted what you were coming to mean to me, it would have scared me shitless.”
“Why?”
“Because it made me question everything.” The words seem to tumble out of him now. Ungraceful and rushed and filled with so much emotion and so unlike him. “If I felt something for you, then what did that mean about my feelings for Ivo? The one thing I prided myself on was my loyalty. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me going. If I had switched my affections so quickly, what did that say about me?”
“You never showed any signs,” I say.
“Felix, I was a bloody mess,” he says in a despairing voice. “A fucking godawful mess that summer. I was reeling at giving up a job that was my life and trying to make a life outside of it. I never expected to live through my correspondent days. It came as quite a surprise to find myself on the other side. I hadn’t got over that when I met you, and I was struggling with what I now know is PTSD. I just couldn’t show you any of that shit.”
“Why?” I ask, pained.
“Because you were so young and so bright, you hurt my eyes. And I told myself that I’d have you for a bit, but it didn’t mean anything to me. I could do that and still be loyal. Then one day I woke up at the wedding of the man I thought I loved.” I flinch, and he reaches out and cups my face. “The man IthoughtI loved,” he says steadily. “Only to find that the man I’d really fallen in love with had gone because I was a blind and stupid idiot and he’d taken all the sunshine with him.”
“You were inlovewith me?” I whisper, my head reeling. I feel dizzy, like the lift rose too quickly.
“Were?” he asks. “Felix?—”
“Excuse me, but are you going up or down?” A dapper old man with a cultured accent stands by the lift. He raises one eyebrow.
I laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. “Some days, it’s hard to know.’
Max murmurs his apologies and draws me out of the lift, his hand in mine. I follow him, and once we’re inside our room, I’m not sure what to say, “Max…” I begin.
“Let’s not talk anymore,” he says quickly. “Let’s just have a nice last night in Venice. We can talk tomorrow.”
I’m pretty sure I don’t hide my relief. I need to think about everything he’s just said. “Are you sure?”
He smiles sadly. “You’re about to start putting barriers up, so I’m pretty positive.”
“I’m not—” I start to say and then sag. “Maybe,” I admit.
He draws me to him and cups his hand around the back of my head. His fingers stroke through my messy waves as he kisses my forehead. The tenderness in his gesture makes tears prick in my eyes.
“It’s only natural,” he says quietly. “I hurt you, Felix. I took the love that you offered so freely and bravely, and I flung it back, not knowing how precious it was and how you gave it to so few people. And that’s on me. But now you can’t trust me to give it again.”
“I want to,” I admit, desperation in my tone.
He pulls back, smiling at me. There’s no trace of turbulence now—just a serene sort of resignation. “I know, and maybe you’ll never be able to again.” He breathes in. “Enough of this,” he says huskily. “I’ve got a present for you.”
