But he interrupted me.
“None of that matters. And I think you’re wrong anyway – I can’t imagine not wanting you – not ever. You’re smart and funny and I enjoy being with you even when we don’t… when we’re not… making love. When I was eight years old, I used to imagine that you were my girlfriend and that we’d run away together. And then you left and I’d lost my best friend, too. I used to dream about you coming back. As I got older, I… I began to understand the… the nature of my feelings for you better. I didn’t think dreams could come true – but they have for me, Caro. Why are you so scared? I mean, forget all that legal bullshit… why do you keep trying to… I don’t know, make me change my mind? What do you think I’ve got here that I wouldn’t give up in a heartbeat to be with you? There’s nothing to keep me here: I’ll go anywhere, do anything to be with you.” He sighed. “I know you have more to lose and I hate, hate that I’m responsible for that, but… Do you want to be with me? Forever. Sempre.”
I didn’t have any words of opposition or defiance left in me. The future was unwritten: maybe one day I would be too old for him and he would leave me – it seemed inevitable. But wouldn’t two or three years of love be worth having, regardless? I knew my marriage was over: it had been over for a long time before I’d met Sebastian – I’d just been too much of a coward to admit it.
Was I prepared to take a chance on the future… a chance on love? I looked into his lovely face, tension and fear and anxiety holding him rigid. I thought again about the question he’d asked me: did I want to be with him.
“Yes. I do.”
He exhaled deeply as if he’d been holding his breath.
“That’s all that matters.”
He pushed his chair back and walked over, draping his arms around me. He rested his chin on my shoulder and nestled his face in my neck, his breath warm on my skin.
We stood like that for some moments, allowing the fear and tension to drain away.
“You’ll have to let go if I’m going to finish making you supper,” I said gently.
I felt his smile as he tightened his grip momentarily and then let his hands slide away. He sat back at the table and grinned at me.
“It’s good to know you want food more than you want sex,” I couldn’t help commenting.
He laughed. “It’s about even at the moment, but you told me that I’d need my energy so I’m just following your advice.”
I loved to see him like this, happy and relaxed, teasing me. I felt guilty for causing the tension in the first place, but relieved we’d talked it through – for now, at least.
I finished making the pesto and served up the linguini with toasted pine nuts and freshly grated parmesan.
“Aren’t you having some?”
I shook my head. “I had mine hours ago.”
“It smells great.”
He ate rapidly, shoveling in huge mouthfuls. He was clearly ravenous. I thought it was rather poor that the club hadn’t ensured that their young staff had had a proper meal break.
“What’s this photography course that you’re interested in?” he said, between mouthfuls.
“When I met up with Carl Winters at City Beat he really liked my photos of Base life. I thought I might try and take a course in photojournalism. What do you think?”
“That sounds great. I haven’t seen your photos – I’d really like to.”
“Would you?”
He rolled his eyes at me as he chomped through another enormous mouthful.
“Okay, well, I’ll show you later if you like.”
“Later, like tomorrow,” he said assertively.
A thrill of anticipation ran through me at his words. Yes, later.
“I’m going to have a glass of wine: would you like one?”
“Isn’t that illegal,” he smirked at me. “Plying a minor with liquor!”
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I retrieved the bottle of red wine I’d opened earlier.