Page 63 of Under Your Spell

‘Yeah, I’m trying to.’

‘I’d love to hear some of it,’ she says. ‘Only if you want?’

I wonder for a second if Serena has put her up to this. Meeting Theo’s eye, I can tell he’s having the same idea.

‘Sure,’ Theo shrugs, and I’m surprised by how casual he is when he’s never offered to play anything for me. Maybe it’s different because Lil’s a musician too. I try not to let that bother me.

Then Theo starts playing and all other thoughts empty out of my mind. ‘I don’t have lyrics yet,’ he says, but he hums a melody while he plays. His long fingers dance over the strings, and the music soars, filling the room. And it’s beautiful. It’s just him and the guitar but somehow it sounds bigger than that. I can feel it all the way through me. I can feel it in my teeth.

‘That’s all I’ve got,’ he says, coming to an abrupt stop.

‘Oh my God, Theo,’ I manage. I’m breathing like I’ve just run a marathon.

He looks at me and whatever he sees on my face has his cheeks turning pink. ‘It’s not done,’ he says gruffly.

‘I can’t believe all of that… is in you,’ I say disjointedly. I am in so much trouble here. What a massive cliché, going weak at the knees over a handsome man playing the guitar.

‘It sounds incredible,’ Lil enthuses, saving me from further mortification. ‘I love it. What else do you have?’ And now I know she’s not asking because of Serena; she’s asking because she’s absolutely caught up in the moment.

Theo grins. ‘I’ve got a couple of other things on the go.’

And then Lil’s sitting on the sofa beside him and they’ve got their heads bent together while Theo plays something else. And eventually, after a while, Lil starts singing along and he nods and plays some more and then she grabs the guitar from him – grabs it without asking, like she’s hanging out with a friend, all reverence of the fancy instrument gone – and Lil starts to play, changing what Theo was doing very slightly, in a way that I don’t understand. Then Theo is the one who gets enthusiastic, and before any of us know it… they’re writing a song. Together.

I watch silently. Watch these two people I care about, completely lit up with this thing that they love, and I feel a messy swirl of envy and tenderness and loneliness and joy.

I remember what Theo said, about how he only likes to write alone, but now he’s here with us and he’s writing with Lil, and he looks so happy and unguarded, there’s none of the anxiety I’ve felt coming off him over making this album.

When he looks up and catches me watching, he smiles at me, a sweet smile that knifes through my heart because it’s full of something I don’t know how to interpret. Or perhaps I just don’t want to. And so I look away, and let the music wash over me instead.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I wake up on my thirty-third birthday to what must be the hot-blooded fantasy of a decent percentage of the population. A shirtless Theo Eliott is in my bed, and he’s singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.

More precisely, he’s not in my bed but on it, sitting on top of the covers, playing his guitar next to my ears. Very loudly.

‘Jesus, Theo,’ I groan, turning and pressing my face into the pillow. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s seven thirtyyyyyy,’ he sings, strumming the guitar.

‘Why… is… anything?’ I mumble.

‘It’s your birthday!’ He nudges my arm. ‘I was so excited I couldn’t sleep.’

I sit up, rubbing my bleary eyes, and glare at him. ‘And yet, I was managing just fine.’ My eyes flicker over his bare chest and I will myself to feel nothing about the rippling muscle, those two little grooves at his hips, disappearing down into his pyjama bottoms. Nothing. I am ice. ‘And why are you half-naked?’ I ask, waving my hand vaguely in the direction of all of that.

‘I spilled stuff on my shirt while making breakfast,’ he explains patiently.

I groan. ‘I thought we agreed that you were not to be let loose in the kitchen unsupervised. Remember the scrambled eggs? We had to order Petty a whole new set of pans. I didn’t even know you could melt eggs. Like, I think it defied the laws of physics.’

‘As I pointed out at the time, I think if you had been a more patient and understanding teacher, that incident wouldn’t have occurred…’

‘I was a patient and understanding teacher!’

‘You threw a spatula at my head.’

‘It was silicone,’ I grumble. ‘And it was in a panic, when you hurled a pan of fire towards me.’

‘I think you’re really overreacting,’ Theo says. ‘I know loads of chefs and they’re always setting fire to things.’