Page 65 of Tears of Glass

I hadn’t known what to pack, and what with this being Elijah, I didn’t know whether my skin and ink would be suitable, so I packed my oversized cotton shirt and some boyfriend jeans. I’ve tucked the shirt in and wrapped a skinny red leather belt around my waist, paired with a pair of espadrilles. We look the perfect combination of holiday chic. Good thing too as we seem to be in the Mediterranean having dinner... At some point soon, I’m going to believe this is real.

His eyes keep falling to where I have some ink peeking from under the edge of the cotton shirt and every time he does that, it makes heat rush through my body. I want his hands on my skin again. His mouth on mine. But then I am a little hungry. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

I’ve already caught him frowning at the angle of my hip bones in the hotel, and it wasn’t a bother to push the excessive shirt into the waistband of my jeans. Heartbreak doesn’t allow for food. Neither do cigarettes.

“I went to a private grammar school,” he says with a smirk, bringing my wandering mind back to his conversation with the waiter. “They beat you if you can’t speak a second language fluently.”

“I went to Brighton Comprehensive. You get beaten by the other kids if you do.”

He snorts and shakes his head, but is interrupted from saying anything else by the waiter bringing us over some wine and glasses. “You don’t like champagne. And prefer a bottle of beer.” Elijah watches me closely. “But you do like wine.”

I nod. “Yes, I do. Especially red.”

“Well this is super bloody expensive, so you’d better appreciate it.”

“I doubt it. It all tastes the same to me.” I stop him from pouring. “Don’t waste it on me.”

He chuckles and bats my hand away. “I’m joking, Faith, this is the cheapest wine you can get.”

“Well, fuck, Elijah, don’t cheap out on me now. Or is this your way of telling me you’ve been cut off and that’s why you’re so desperate for me to use your studio to make us some money?”

His eyes alight at the word Us. This is crazy. Any moment now I’m going to wake up.

“I’m not that poor.” He fills my glass almost to the brim. I can sense a headache coming on already. “And I haven’t been cut off yet. Although the gates of Bowsley aren’t open to me right now.” He grins and I swoon as his eyes shine. “But, let’s be serious. That is no major imposition. But I do still have a job, which I think I need to focus at this coming week before I get sacked.”

I can’t imagine him being sacked, but then he did spend a lot of time with me over the summer and not at work. And when he wasn’t with me, he was driving the MG between London and Hampshire where I was. So actually, maybe he is close to being sacked.

“You’ve had weeks to knuckle down.”

“I’ve been a little distracted. It’s all about the hours you put in, and well, I haven’t put much in, and then when I have, I’ve just been unfocused.” I watch mesmerised as he raises his glass of wine to clink against mine and then he takes a sip, swiping his tongue along the edge of his lips when he’s done.

“By what?”

“Working out how to win back the woman of my dreams, trying to organise an art exhibition—with Damien of all people.” He raises an eyebrow and I giggle. “That guy has some serious verbal diarrhoea.

“Why did you tell me I couldn’t have the work from Bowsley? Jeez, I wanted to cut your dick off and feed it to wild dogs.”

He chuckles and gives a small shake of his head. “Such a way with words. How could I release your work and organise you a surprise exhibition in my bid to win you back?” I watch another sip of wine slide into his mouth before I remember to take one of my own. The wine is delicious, heady, and full of blackcurrants and raisins. “Which worked,” he adds.

“Hm.” I take another sip. “Why haven’t you been cut off?”

He grins wider. Damn that handsome face. “Actually, it’s a devastating situation. Sienna decided she didn’t want to marry me when she realised I was in love with someone else. So she broke off our engagement.”

I scowl at the mention of her name and he chuckles and reaches forward to rub the creased skin between my eyebrows.

“And did you ask her to do that? Would she have married you anyway if she could?” Of course she would have. Look at him!

He shrugs and sips his wine. “Does it matter? Either way my mother can’t cut me off.”

My eyes narrow into my evil stink eye. “But your mother or rather, grandmother, still won’t let you date who you want. So I’ll still never be your girlfriend.”

“Is that any loss right now, Faith? Do you want my mother being the harbinger of doom on our relationship?” He takes another sip; this stuff is potent, even his cheeks are flushed, which is surprising considering I’ve seen him drink a bottle of whisky and still stand.

“But what about when we are in London, or when I’m coming and going from your home? Do I go in the back door so as to not be seen?”

“Sunshine, we can do the back door whenever you like.”

I splutter my wine everywhere and he chuckles, his shoulders rising and lifting.