Page 155 of In Sheets of Rain

We spent the weekend in bed. Rediscovering each other and occasionally eating. We talked about where we wanted to travel to. What we wanted out of life. He wanted two kids. I wanted three.

He told me how much he loved me. How much he was proud of me. I’d met budget again for the month, and he wanted to celebrate.

We ordered in takeaways and sat in the middle of the bed grinning.

We drank a South African red to wash down all the grease.

We watched old movies. His favourite wasBlade Runner. Mine wasThe Thomas Crown Affairstarring Pierce Brosnan. Michael spent half an hour telling me Brosnan was not swoon-worthy. But Rene Russo was a babe.

And then we debated who was the best James Bond.

I told him about growing up with a mother who had a mental illness. He told me about his family holidaying at the beach. We talked about England. He hadn’t known I held a British passport; that I had dual citizenship. He joked we could go live there. I could work, and he could look after my every personal need.

We both knew we’d never live anywhere other than New Zealand.

We talked about dreams and hopes and our wildest fantasies. He managed to fulfil at least one of mine while we whiled away a weekend in bed.

I told him I wanted to finish my degree. He said we’d make it happen. That I could be and do anything.

We talked of love; of soul mates; of destiny.

We joked about Countdown Supermarket being the best place to find all three.

Michael told me I was amazing. I was unbelievably sexy. I was clever and funny and so very good at everything.

I told him he was a dream become reality.

Monday morning came, and I didn’t want to leave. He followed behind my car to work while whispering sweet nothings in my earpiece.

I was in love. And he loved me.

And despite everything, I was floating. I was free.

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