“Sorry, I assume you’re not asking to use the facilities?”

“No I…I think I’d just like to go in there.”

“If you dump me through a door again, I’ll be very angry.”

“I’m not going to. And my end goal is to get to the stage where we can have this kind of conversation in the same room. But, y’know, baby steps?”

He made a defeated gesture. “Fine. If that’s what you need.”

So I went to Oliver’s bathroom, locked the door behind me, and sat on the floor with my back to it. “You can still hear me, right?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Okay.” Breathe. Breathe. I had to breathe. “This…whatever it is…that we’re having, it’s…the best thing that’s happened to me in five years. And I know it’s supposed to be fake, but it’s not felt that way to me for… I don’t know. A while. And that’s, I guess, rearranged my messed-upness in ways that are overall really, really…good. But I also feel vulnerable and frightened, like, all the time.”

The door shuddered slightly, which took me a moment to interpret. But then I thought maybe Oliver was sitting on the other side of it, with his back to mine. “I… Lucien. I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to. Just, um, listen or something.”

“Of course.”

“So when I saw that article, it brought up all this old stuff that I… Yeah. You see, my last boyfriend—Miles…we were together all through university and a little bit after. And I think it was one of those relationships where the stuff that keeps you together at uni doesn’t work in the real world. We were sort of going through a rough patch, but I guess I didn’t know how rough, because he went and sold his story…my story…our story…to the Daily—I can’t even remember which. For fifty fucking grand.”

I heard Oliver draw in a breath. “I’m sorry. That must have felt awful.”

“Pretty much. What I couldn’t hack was… I thought when you’re in love, it’s supposed to be safe, isn’t it? You’re supposed to be able to do things and try things and make mistakes, and it’ll be okay because you know who you are to each other. I genuinely believed we had that, but he took it and flogged it to the press, and they turned five years of my life into a couple of threesomes and that one time we did cocaine at a party in Soho.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Oliver whispered through the door. “This is clearly very difficult for you, and I appreciate your trust.”

I should have been done. But, somehow, now I’d started talking about this shit, I couldn’t stop. “He met my mum. I told him about my family, about my dad, how I felt, what I wanted, what I was scared of. And he made it all so ugly and so cheap. And now everyone thinks that’s who I am. And half the time I believe it too.”

“You shouldn’t. And I know that’s easy to say and harder to believe, but you’re far more than pictures in papers, and a couple of sad little articles written by sad little men.”

“Maybe, but it came back on Mum as well. She’s gone through enough without the tabloids turning her into a crazy has-been.”

“Of course,” he said softly, “I don’t know her as well as you. But she seems…resilient to say the least.”

“That’s not the point. She shouldn’t have to pay because I trust the wrong people.”

“One person. Who betrayed you. Which is on him.”

My head fell back gently against the door. “The thing is, I didn’t even see it coming. I thought I knew him. Better than anyone. And he still…”

“Again, that’s about him, and his choices. Not about you and yours.”

“Rationally, I know that. I just don’t know when it’s going to happen again.”

“And so you haven’t been with anyone since?”

“Basically.” I tried to pick at Oliver’s floor like I had my own, but the grouting was too clean. “It was liberating at first. It felt like the worst had already happened, so I thought I might as well do anything I wanted. Except, then, doing what I wanted became steering into people’s worst assumptions about me. And before I knew it, I’d lost my job, alienated most of my friends, and my health was trashed and my house was a tip.”

I felt another ripple through the door—it was weirdly comforting, like he was touching me. “I had no idea how difficult it’s been for you. I’m so sorry, Lucien.”

“Don’t be. Because then I met you.”

Leaving the bathroom still seemed like a terrifying prospect, but I was coming to the conclusion that waiting wouldn’t make it less terrifying. And while Oliver’s toilet was way nicer than, say, mine, I hadn’t quite sunk low enough that I’d be happy to live there for the rest of my life. I got shakily to my feet, opened the door, and walked straight into Oliver’s arms.

“Yeah,” I said a few minutes later, still clinging to him, “I should probably have done this the first time round.”

He gave me a wholesome cotton pyjama squeeze. “We can work on it.”

“Does this mean you’ll have me back?”

I was treated to one of his intense stares. “Do you want to come back? I’m only just beginning to understand how much this is asking of you.”

“No, Oliver. I came to your house at whatever it is in the morning and spilled my guts all over your bathroom floor because I’m so-so about this.”

“I find it oddly comforting that you’re feeling well enough to be sarcastic at me.”

I risked smiling at him, and he smiled slowly back.

Chapter 33

A few minutes later we were back in Oliver’s tiny kitchen, and he was Olivering at the stove because he’d apparently decided that what we really needed now was hot chocolate.

Sitting uselessly at the table, I faffed around with my phone and discovered it was well after five. “You are going to be wrecked at work tomorrow.”

“I’m not in court. So I have no intention of actually going in.”

“Can you do that?”

“Well, I’m technically self-employed—though the clerks tend not to see it that way—and I haven’t had a sick day in…ever.”

I flooped. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“Don’t be. Obviously I’d rather we hadn’t had a crisis, but I’ve come to terms with the idea that there’s something I care more about than my job.”