‘Batman and Robin?’
‘I’m struggling here. What I’m trying to say is we’re perfect for each other, in our own imperfect ways. I fell in love with you as soon as I met you and I fucked up big time, but you gave me a second chance, and a third … and a fourth. When I came at you full-on, you didn’t run away.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Well you did a bit, but you always came back.’ He slows down, emphasising every word. ‘You believed in me. You looked past the appalling furniture and the shag pile carpet and the disgusting avocado bathroom suite. You saw the real me … and you saved me.’
He takes a jittery breath. Good God, Daniel Foster’s actually nervous? He thinks I’ll say no?
‘I love everything about you, Maya … apart from your cooking.’ He shakes his head. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Will you do me the honour of being my wife? Because I love you. I fucking love you. I can’t exist without you. I need you and I want you. I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world, ridiculously happy, so happy, ordinary people are going to think you’ve lost it. You might even get committed.’
‘Finished?’
‘Think so. Maybe.’
He frowns, clearly convinced he’s just made a hash of the whole thing. But my God, he hasn’t. My heart’s on fire with happiness.
‘Say it again.’
‘What? All of it?’
‘No, just the marry me bit.’
A small, relieved smile creeps across his lips.
‘Maya, will you marry me?’
I make him wait for a few seconds. He gazes into my eyes, the blue whorls filled with hope.
‘Yes,’ I breathe finally.
‘Well, thank fuck for that.’
He slips the ring back on my finger, stands and draws me to my feet.
And then he kisses me … thoroughly.
Chapter Twelve
I step out of the shower and inspect myself in the bathroom mirror. Wet hair, tangled and matted; green eyes, slightly glassy from lack of sleep; a little thinner than usual. Still nothing special, nothing to shout about.
‘Don’t think that,’ I whisper, needing to hear the words spoken.
I’m still struggling to understand how it all happened, how I went from lonely, friendless misfit to this: a successful artist engaged to a thoroughly wonderful man. I can’t help the confusion. After all, in my eyes, I’m still that awkward, oddball child. I raise my hand and examine the ring. Simple and beautiful, just like everything in our world, it’s a symbol of Dan’s commitment to me, a sign of his belief. And now I need to repay him. I need to believe in myself because that’s what he wants for me. It’s a journey I’ve started on, and I’ve still not reached my destination, but one of these days, I’ll get there. I know I will.
After towel-drying my hair, I tug a brush through it and wander back into the bedroom, glancing at the rumpled covers on the bed where we spent the entire morning, cuddling, talking, filling each other in on what we’ve been up to over the past few weeks … and making love. A quick freshen-up was definitely in order. I’m just surprised he didn’t join me in the shower. Instead, suddenly preoccupied, he opted to make himself a coffee.
Pulling on a fresh shirt from the wardrobe, I send Lucy a quick text, the third one today.
Are you okay?
I don’t know why I’m bothering. I scroll back to the first text.
How’s it going?
Ignored.
And then the second.
Are you still angry with me?
Also ignored.
I wait for a minute or two, hoping she’s calmed down by now and forgiven me. When nothing comes, I finally give up and go in search of Dan.
The living area’s deserted, breakfast dishes cleared away and roses glowing in the bright New York winter light. I hear water running in the kitchen and go to join him, quietly padding across the floor in bare feet. I find him at the sink, hands clenched on the worktop, shoulders stooped, head down. At first I can’t make out what’s going on, but then I spot an open bottle of tablets in front of him.
‘Dan?’
He jolts, switches off the tap and straightens up, suppressing a grimace.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So, what’s this?’ Before he can stop me, I grab the bottle and examine the label. ‘Codeine?’
‘Like I said, nothing.’
He moves to the breakfast bar and sits on a stool.
‘Nothing?’ Still holding the bottle, I turn. ‘This isn’t paracetamol, Dan. It’s strong stuff.’
He stares at me, doing his best to bring down the mask. But it isn’t working, not today.
‘Don’t give me the hero act,’ I admonish him. ‘You’re in pain.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
And that’s a lie.
‘I want the truth.’
He draws in a breath.
‘Okay, it’s my leg.’ The words catch as he exhales. ‘It’s not worth talking about. I’m fine.’
‘Oh, stop it.’ I slam down the bottle next to the sink. He jolts again. I’m furious, but not with Dan. I’m angry with the man who’s caused all of this. ‘Stop it now. I need to know.’
He says nothing, and he doesn’t need to. It’s all there in the pallid skin and taut lips. And I can hear it too. His breathing’s shallow, uneven. Two things are completely obvious: the man I love is suffering, and this isn’t the time for anger.
‘Why didn’t you tell me last night?’ I ask, softening my tone.
‘It wasn’t this bad last night,’ he admits, adjusting his position on the stool.
‘But you showed me the scars.’
‘They’re difficult to hide.’
‘And you
