Page 24 of One Secret

'"A meet".' she emphasizes mockingly. 'You make it sound like a business deal, not a romantic getaway.'

I snort softly to myself.

That, my friend, is exactly what this is.

'So, what does he do when he's not in Rome?' Lily-Anne asks, turning her attention back to the window. Her curls bounce and sway as she looks first east and then west, inspecting the desolate street for any signs of life. 'What car does he drive?'

What does he do when he's not in Rome?

Or, more specifically, what had he been doing for the last two weeks whilst in Rome?

Whilst I have every intention of finding out the answer to those questions as soon as Cyrus and I are alone, I've had to push them to the back of my mind until today. Dwelling on the unknowable, worrying about the future... all of it is ineffective and has been sending me into spats of jitters.

I only ever shower in my apartment because the bath is creaky and always seems at risk of falling through the floor. But I've taken that chance three times over in the last fortnight just to try and de-stress amongst the bubbles.

The only revelation I've come to, lounging very still amidst the suds, has been to keep my focus on the present. Not to worry about Cyrus's past absences. Nor lament the future in which he'll be nothing but absent. If this is the only time I'm choosing to have with the man, I'm going to savor it. Not allow myself to be drawn into distraction by all the crap I cannot change.

Ignoring Lily-Anne's first question—simply because I don't know the answer—I focus on the second.

'He doesn't drive a car. Least not that I've seen. He rides a—'

'Holy crap...' Lily-Anne breathes, suddenly twisting her neck and smudging her cheek against the window. The blinds rattle and crack.

I glance at the clock on the wall.

11:29am.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, no doubt with his habitual message.

"I'm here."

'Told you,' I tell Lily-Anne. 'Always on time.'

'On time?!' my friend screeches, popping the blinds wider. 'You have sex with this man regularly and all you tell me is that he's punctual? Jesus, Darcy, he's some serious yum!'

I move to find my own crack in the blinds.

Cyrus has arrived on his bike—a large silver beast of a machine—and is parking up along the curb right in front of my building. Silver lining: when you live in as decrepit an area as we do, you never have parking trouble. Beside the graffitied sidewalk and the uneven slabs, Cyrus's bike looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. And him the Hollywood star headlining it.

'I mean God, Darcy,' Lily-Anne croons. 'Look at those shoulders!'

Wearing tight jeans and a fitted riding jacket, Cyrus's figure is even more noticeable than usual. The splay of his collarbone and upper body, the sharp taper down to his hips, and the powerful point of the triangle down his long legs.

Plus there's that tight little butt...

'Please tell me he's ugly as sin under that helmet,' Lily-Anne begs. 'I do not want to fall out with you over a piece of man candy.'

''Fraid not,' I chuckle to myself.

'Oh, look at you!' she cries with a laugh.

'Look at me, what?!' I try to avoid her gaze, leave the window, and head for my bag.

'You're grinning!'

'Am not!'

'Sweetie, the only person to grin bigger than that is the Cheshire Cat. After he ate the canary and got the cream.'

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