Page 92 of Red Flag
A couple of weeks ago, while in my hotel room, he had found my English breakfast tea bags that I restocked in my suitcase with every visit home. He’d laughed so hard and loud, I had got dressed, sure that it was going to expose us.
“Thank God,” I sighed, giving up my quick tidy and going to boil the kettle.
He pulled at the collar of my silk nightshirt. “This is cute. This is very cute.”
He’d seen me inloungewear, but never pyjamas. This was actually domestic.
“You are so cute.”
I frowned as I got two mugs out of my cupboard. “When you call me cute, it makes me feel unworthy.”
He blinked and turned to me with the most appalled look. “You feelunworthy?”
“You shouldn’t be with someonecute. You should be with the sexiest woman alive.”
He shook his head in small motions, dismissive. “Who said I’m not?”
My swallow was harsh in my throat.
He tried to bite back a teasing grin. “Clara.”
The way he fell about laughing told me he thought it was a hilarious joke, but I only stood there, mouth slightly open.
“Hey, hey,” he said and cupped my face in his palms. “Obviously you. I thought it the second I saw you. Why do you think I was so adamant about you wearing the baggiestCiclatitop I could find?”
I shrugged.
“One, to cover you up—”
“I was in a blouse and blazer!”
“And, two, to see you in my colours. Sorry, that was theshittestjoke ever, wasn’t it? I promise you, I truly believe there is no one better.”
He kissed my forehead, and the clicking of the kettle made me jump, almost hitting him in the chin. He steadied me,trying not to laugh and went back to the food as I made us both a cup of tea. My one goal for our two-week stay was to convert him from coffee to tea.
“What are your plans for the week?”
“There are a couple of times I need to do some stuff,” I admitted, feeling awkward that I had dragged him to England and would have to leave him on occasions. “I need to meet with the lawyers again and then I have to sell all my stuff.” I looked away as I said it, over to the living room. I’d put so much time, energy and money into this place. Now, it was tainted.
We were seven floors up with a view of busy Stratford. The windows to the balcony were floor to ceiling and, being south-facing, the room was alive with sunlight. At the height of the media storm againstVinny, he had stayed here for a while and he’d helped me install new flooring.
It was the first change I’d made to the flat since my dad died.
“Hold off on selling your things,” he said.
I waited, expecting more, but he didn’t clarify. I retrieved two plates and stared at him expectantly for the rest of his sentence.
“Why?”
“I mean, obviously, have a clear out if you want to, but anything you want to keep, keep.” He opened the oven and pulled out the hash browns.
My mind couldn’t compute what he was saying. “Nix, I’m moving out. There’s nowhere for me to put my stuff, so I need to get rid of them.”
Dishing up and avoiding eye contact, he said, “I found somewhere you can store your things.”
“Yeah, but it’s really expensive—”
“For free.”
