He sinks his nose into my hair and breathes me into him. ‘Because when I look into those bottomless sparkling sapphires, I see freedom.’
My body relaxes on a contented sigh. I would not have thought I could take my eyes from the stunning outlook of Miller’s squidgy sofa, but when he follows up his heartfelt words with his signature hum, I’m proven wrong. London slowly disappears before my eyes, and the horrid images I’ve fought and failed to remove from my mind’s eye for so long disappear with it.
Chapter Twelve
I come awake slowly, feeling safe and content, the hardness of Miller’s torso pushed into my back, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and his face buried snugly in my neck. Smiling, I melt further into him, closing any space there may have been, gripping his hand on my tummy with mine. It’s early, the rising sun offering a hazy glow through the window, and I’m warm and cosy, but I’m also thirsty. Completely parched.
Breaking away from Miller’s firm clench is close to unthinkable, but I can quickly find my place again once I’ve quenched my thirst. So I tentatively peel my body from his, detaching his arms from around my midriff and shifting towards the edge of the sofa, being sure not to disturb him. Then I quietly stand and study him for a while. His hair is everywhere, his dark lashes spread and his full lips slightly parted. He looks angelic, beautifully tangled up among the blankets. My emotionally impaired part-time gentleman.
I could remain here motionless for an eternity, just watching him sleeping serenely. He looks peaceful. I feel peaceful. The air surrounding us is so peaceful.
On a contented exhale, I take my na**d self out to the corridor and follow my feet until I’m standing before one of Miller’s paintings. London Bridge. I c**k my head, pouting while I ponder his perception of the landmark, the blur of paints sending my eyes crossed after a few moments of staring, making me see the bridge perfectly. Then I frown, uncrossing my eyes, making the painting a perfect mess of oil paints again. He’s taken a beautiful London landmark and made it almost unappealing – like he wants people to be averse to its actual beauty, and it’s in this moment I wonder if Miller Hart sees everything in his life as distorted and unclear. Does he see the whole world in this tainted manner? My neck retracts as another speculating moment descends on me abruptly. Does he see himself in this tainted manner? At a distance, the painting looks perfect, but get up close and beneath the surface, you find a wreck. A mess of colour – something ugly and confusing. I think he does see himself like this, and I think he goes all out to blur people’s perception of him, too. The sobering thought is paining but equally maddening. He’s beautiful inside and out. But I may be the only person on this planet who knows that for sure.
A distant chiming sends me on a startled jump and yanks me from my pondering, my hand flying up to my chest to put some pressure on my suddenly pumping heart. ‘Jesus!’ I blurt, following the sound until I’m rummaging through my bag for my new phone. A glance at the screen tells me it’s five-fifteen and Nan’s calling. ‘Oh shit!’ I answer immediately. ‘Nan!’
‘Olivia! Oh my goodness, where are you?’ She sounds beside herself, and my face screws up guiltily, mixed with a little dread. ‘I woke to use the toilet and checked your room. You’re not in bed!’
‘Well obviously.’ I wince and drop my bare bum to a chair, hiding from no one by burying my face in my spare palm. I hear a little gasp through the phone. It’s a gasp of realisation. It’s a happy gasp.
‘Olivia, sweetheart, are you with Miller?’ She’s silently begging the answer is yes, I know she is.
My na**d shoulders rise and brush my earlobes. ‘Yes,’ I squeak, my face screwing up further. I should be apologising for causing her such worry, but I’m too busy clamping down on my bottom lip in anticipation of her reaction to this news.
Nan coughs, clearly trying to restrain her squeal of delight. ‘I see.’ She’s failing terribly to sound nonchalant. ‘Well, um, in that case, uh, I’m sorry for disturbing you.’ She coughs again. ‘Yes, I’ll be going, then.’
‘Nan.’ I roll my eyes, my face heating with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, I should have called you to—’
‘On no!’ she screeches, piercing my eardrum. ‘It’s fine! So, so fine!’
I knew it would be. ‘I’ll be home to get ready for work.’
‘Okay!’ She must be waking the whole street. ‘George is taking me shopping early. I might not be here.’
‘I’ll see you after work, then.’
‘Ooooh, with Miller? I’ll do dinner! Beef Wellington! He said it was the best he’d tasted!’
I rub my forehead and flop back in the chair. I should have expected this. ‘Maybe another time.’
‘Oh, well, I can’t organise my life around you two.’ She can and she would. ‘Enquire as to what day would suit him.’
‘I will. See you later.’