Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
I swallow a lump of anxiety. His question feels like a dig, though I know it isn’t, and that it’s my own insecurities trying to push me back into a box of my own making. “I don’t want it to.”
His arms fold below my neck, hugging me close to his chest. “If it helps, this celebrity business is easier to control than you probably imagine.”
“How do you mean?” I ask, interest officially piqued.
“Well, I know from the outside it looks like we cannae walk down the street without our mug appearing in the paper, that some journo somewhere is documenting our every shite before we’ve even finished wiping our own arse, but—”
“Such an eloquent way with words, Laurence. Stunning imagery.”
“What I’m saying is…how long have we been doing this for now, eh? You and me. And how many times have you seen me chased by photographers, or even unruly fans? Never. You know why? ‘Cause the majority of the time, when that happens, someone’s manager has told the paparazzi where to go beforehand. And something else? When they do get a shot, they give first refusal to the manager or PR team before selling it on to the gossip rags.”
“You’re kidding me?”
“It’s business.” Laurence shrugs. “Obviously, some things slip through the cracks.”
“Like the bar. In France.” I say it gently, guilt clogging my throat, wondering if I caused his reckless behaviour that night…knowing I probably did. “Wearing my jacket.”
I feel Laurence’s chest deflate behind me. “You saw those…”
“Lucy showed me some reel or another on Instagram.” I don’t add that I couldn’t sleep for days afterwards, or that I typed out a dozen texts asking him to meet me before deleting every one.
“Aye, well, Andy was a wee bit preoccupied taking care of my sorry arse to stop those photos coming out, but let’s just say he did manage to prevent any further damage. Look, basically, if you wannae stay hidden, William, I can do that for you.”
“I…I don’t want to. Really. It’s just, I dunno. I’m still scared, I suppose. Shit, my dad hasn’t found out yet. How much of a coward does it make me that I’m nervous as hell about that? At my age. Jesus. I don’t know why I even give a shit…but, somehow, I do.”
“Your father is the coward, William. What kind of person is so scared of learning, so terrified of change, that they’d rather bully and hurt another human than even try? Especially a kid. Their own kid. That’s a fucking coward. Not you.” He kisses the side of my forehead again, his lips warm and tender from the steam. “Not you.”
Thank you, I mouth, sound unable to pass through the lump in my throat. In this moment, naked in his arms, I feel more secure than I’ve ever felt in my life. Peace washes over me with the water he scoops onto my chest, and I wonder if this is what acceptance feels like. This is what beckoned the boy in the mirror all those years ago. That boy needed someone to see who he was and love him not in spite of, but for it. And it’s here. This is where his dreams led. Right here, to this tub, in these arms.
“You know,” I begin, “Sometimes I wonder where I’d be if I hadn’t lost my job that day.”
“You’d be exactly where you are,” Laurence says, rinsing the suds from my arms. “Because I’d have found you anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” I scoff. “How do you figure that out?”
“Because we’d have recognised each other, just like we did when we met. You saw me that night, and I don’t mean the famous face. You saw through that, and I saw you. That’s how we’d have always met, William, as two strangers who glimpsed a part of ourselves in the other. Doesn’t matter where. In that hotel bar. Crossing the street. On the tube. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”
“That was awfully profound,” I say, because if I don’t make light of it, I think I might cry. “Not to mention bullshit. Since when do you take the tube?”
Laurence snorts a chuckle, rests his chin on my wet hair. “Probably part of a script I read once. Really, you shouldnae trust a word I say.”
But I do trust him. I believe him. I… “I love you, Laurence.”
“What?”
I spin around, crawling onto my knees, making the water splash over the rim of the bath. I take his face in my hands, his stubble coarse and ticklish against my palms, and I press my nose to his. “I said I love you. I love you differently to the way I’ve loved anyone else. It’s a different love, and it’s a special love. It’s a love I don’t want to live without.”
The way Laurence squeezes his eyes closed, the way his expression contorts as he lifts his fingers into my hair, almost looks like he’s about to break down. His answer, though, is to kiss me.