I register her expression and my smile falters. She looks like a colossal zit, angry, red and throbbing. Following her filthy stare, I spot a tall, leggy blonde sashaying across the street.
‘Printer-room girl?’ I ask, casting my eyes back to Lucy.
‘Eleanor!’ She snaps out of her mood and rushes over, her arms held wide open. ‘What are you doing here?’ She crashes into me, knocking me back a few paces. ‘I thought you were picking me up in a taxi.’
‘Thought I’d get ready at yours.’
Breaking away, she holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say on a laugh, glimpsing over my shoulder, finding no trace of Price. But it doesn’t ease me. He must have followed me here. Am I being watched?
‘You sure?’
I return my attention to Lucy, slapping a huge smile on my face. ‘So sure.’ I link arms with her, getting us on our way, forcing myself not to scan the street for Price.
‘How’s Mr Magnificent?’ she asks.
‘He’s magnificent.’
‘Officially moved in?’
I frown to myself, feeling Lucy’s hard, teasing stare on my profile. That’s not been discussed, I’m just there. Home. That’s what he asked. When will I be home? We step into the road and weave around the back of a few stationary cars. ‘Are you missing me?’ I ask, throwing her a sideways grin.
‘Yes, actually,’ she grumbles. ‘How is it going?’
‘I love him so much.’ I blurt out of nowhere, and she pulls me to a stop, looking at me like I’m a nutter. I don’t know why I felt the need to say that. Maybe my hidden stress after my encounter with Price has got me analysing exactly what the hell I’m doing.
‘I know you do,’ she says softly, almost sympathetically. ‘But do you trust him?’ It’s a sensible question that any good friend would ask. Especially since we’re talking about Becker Hunt – the modern-day Casanova. A man who has never been committed to anyone. Hell, a man who can’t even say the word without developing a nervous twitch. A man who’s never surrendered his heart and has never accepted another’s. A man who’s had more women than Ivana Trump has shoes. A man who . . .
‘Yes.’ My answer is sure and assertive. Others would probably think I’m fucking crazy. But I do trust him, and that reason is actually very simple. Becker trusts me. It’s evident in all of his actions, the things he’s shared, the way he looks at me. He trusts me with his secrets, but most significantly, he trusts me with his heart. It’s fragile. He’s given me a rare and precious gift. I’m keeping it, I’ll protect it, and I’ll love it like I’ve never loved anything before. Fiercely. Passionately. For ever. ‘With my life,’ I tag on the end, to wipe any element of doubt from Lucy’s mind.
‘Wow. Should I buy a hat?’
‘Jesus, no.’ I laugh nervously on behalf of Becker. If commitment makes him twitchy, I expect marriage would have him spontaneously combust.
‘I can’t believe a word you say. I remember quite clearly you calling Mr Magnificent, aka your new boyfriend, a tosser, a wanker, a twat—’
‘He’s still all of those things.’ I nudge her in the side. ‘And it just makes me love him more.’
‘And does he love you?’
‘Oh, he loves me,’ I say, smiling. ‘More than his treasure, which means I’m worth fucking millions.’
Lucy chuckles as we descend the steps of the Tube station. ‘Come on. Let’s get ready and drink wine. I need to get you when I can, since he’s taking you away from me.’
‘He’s not taking me away from anything.’ I say, reclaiming my arm and holding on to the handrail. That’s not true. He’s taking me away from my conscience and my senses.
I glance at my apartment door momentarily while Lucy finds her keys. I feel no sentimental pull towards my little home. I feel nothing. I thought perhaps my lack of missing it was simply because of all the distractions at The Haven. I was wrong. I never want to step foot in there again. I shudder as Lucy pushes her door open, and I get my phone from my bag. ‘I need to call Becker,’ I say, dialling as she heads straight to the bathroom.
‘To check in?’ she calls over her shoulder, sarcasm tinging the edges of her question. No, I’m calling to pick his brain on Price.
‘So, she’s alive,’ he says when he answers as I drop to the couch. ‘How’s