Page 51 of Under Your Spell

‘I get that you’re all about keeping things casual,’ I push on, desperately, ‘and I was the one who said I wanted to try a one-night stand first and then you said you did too. Consenting adults. Boundaries. Crystal clear. I don’t want you to think that I hold anything against you. I mean, it wasn’t great that you didn’t tell me who you really were, but I do get it: I get why that must have been nice for you, that I didn’t think of you as Theo Eliott.’ I’m rambling now.

Theo just looks at me coolly. ‘I didn’t say I wanted a one-night stand.’

It is literally the last thing I expect him to say. ‘What?’

‘I didn’t say that. I asked you if a one-night stand was what you wanted, you said maybe, and I said perhaps we should find out.’ He ticks the points off on his fingers.

I blink. How did he even remember all of this? And what was the difference between what he said and what I said?

Theo gets to his feet then, the neck of the guitar clasped loosely in his hand. He comes to stand in front of me and with his free hand he reaches out and gently tips my chin so that I’m looking right up at him, right into his eyes. There’s no hint of sparkle there now.

‘Clemmie.’ His voice is rough, deeper than usual. So deep it sends a shiver over my skin. ‘Let me clear up a misconception that you seem to be labouring under. I will admit that that wasn’t my first one-night stand, but it was the first one in over a decade. And I wasn’t the one who left the next morning.’ He lets those words hang between us for a second before continuing. ‘So don’t tell me that I’m the one who wants to keep things casual, okay? You feel however you feel, but don’t put words in my mouth.’

He just looks at me for another beat. Then his fingers move from my chin, drifting up along my jaw in the lightest touch before his hand falls away.

‘I’m going to go and work now,’ he says calmly. As if nothing momentous has happened at all.

‘Okay,’ I manage. ‘I’ll see you later?’ It comes out as a question.

‘Yes, you will,’ he responds, and I don’t understand why the words sound heavy, weighted with something. It’s not until later that I realize they sound like a promise.

Chapter Twenty

‘So he’s definitely writing?’ Serena asks, her eyes narrowing.

I nod. ‘Yes, he has been all week. He told me to tell you he thinks it will end up somewhere between ten and thirteen tracks based on what he has so far.’

On the screen Serena’s face relaxes, her shoulders slumping. ‘Thank fuck for that. And? Is it any good?’ Before I can say anything, she carries on. ‘Actually, don’t bother answering that. You wouldn’t have a clue.’

‘Right, I’m going to put your especially charming mood down to stress,’ I say. ‘And what I’ve heard is good, I think.’

I’m not going to tell her that I’ve only heard little snatches of music here and there, that Theo is being pretty cagey, spending most of his time in his room again. That neither of us have talked about what he said the other day. Or what it meant.

No, that’s just been my own personal, private form of torture – lying awake replaying the conversation over and over and trying to work out what the hell happened.

I return my attention to my sister. ‘He said it’s going well, that he’s feeling good about it. Obviously it’s still early, but he seems really genuine.’

And that’s true too, because even though I have been seeing less of Theo now that he’s writing, he hasn’t gone back to the moody, distant man who arrived here.

No, he’s positively cheerful, still as funny and flirtatious as ever. We’re still friends. And even that is messing with my head. What he said… had it been anyone else, I’d think they were saying they were interested in me – and not in a one-night-stand way. But it isn’t anyone else; it’s Theo Eliott, literally the Sexiest Man Alive, according to People magazine, and Biggest Womanizer Alive according to everyone else.

But, my brain whispers, he said he hadn’t had a one-night stand for over ten years. Ten years.

And I believe him. Maybe that makes me an idiot, but I know Theo wouldn’t lie to me. Not about that. So that means… what, exactly?

‘This is such good news,’ Serena breathes, and any lingering vulnerability in her face or voice is banished when she crows, ‘I knew this would work! Two years! No one has got anything out of him, but then I come up with a plan and BAM! God, I’m good.’

‘And don’t forget humble,’ I say.

‘Women don’t need to be humble.’ Serena’s smile is sharp. ‘It only furthers the agenda of the patriarchy. Wait,’ – she leans forward, suddenly suspicious – ‘this sudden burst of creativity…’ Her eyes drift over me on the screen. ‘You’d better not be sleeping with him.’

‘What?’ I splutter. ‘Of course I’m not sleeping with him! I would never.’

‘You already have.’ Serena folds her arms.

‘Yes. Technically,’ I manage. ‘But I barely even remember it.’ Liar, liar.

‘You barely even remember the night you described as “an experience that transcended the boundaries of space and time when you looked upon the face of God and she was beautiful”? That night?’