Page 86 of Pride and Privilege

“No. I don’t. Because you were perfect from the beginning.”

She stared at him, unable to speak. His soul had been in those words, as though he had pulled it from his body, put it on a silver plate and held it out to her.Believe me, his eyes pleaded.

Was it her?she wondered again. This chip on her shoulder about being less than him—was that all her? Had he ever treated her like she was nothing? Was he even capable of seeing anyone that way?You wouldn’t like him if he was, her heart said.Think about it.

“Please, Poppy,” he said. “Tell me that you seemedifferently. That you don’t see the man other people at work see, the type of man they can make up those stupid rumours about, throwing my privilege around, exploiting it. Please… Do you seeme?Do you feel free to say no…? My name, my family, my money… Tell me none of it scares you.”

She looked up at him—the size of him, the shape of him, the beauty of his face. All the frantic fear and thoughts that went on behind those eyes. Phone chargers and Easter eggs and his insane generosity. Cleaning her fingers and hiding in toilets and destroying himself for his father’s sake. Beautiful, stupid man.

“I do see you.”

He took a half-step closer. “You’re not lesser, Poppy. If anything, you’re far better than me.”

She was crying again, helplessly, silently, a feeling in her chest so big it hurt, though it was made of a thousand things other than pain.

He moved closer still, and why were they smiling? Soggy, stupid, smiles, both of them somehow almost laughing. Crying, laughing, but it was only the relief… It was only seeing the sun rise after the storm and knowing the world hadn’t ended… Catching sight of each other again after the dark.

“I’m not better than you,” she said.

His smile slanted, telling her it was an argument she wouldn’t win. That he would argue the point until the end of time and delight in every moment of it.You’re better than me, Poppy. I’ll believe it forever.And now there was hope. A cautious hope in his eyes, fragile and hanging on hers. Pleading apology and warmth building as they kept looking at each other, a steady glow rising in all the corners of the room, in the shadows the lamplight made, in the windows and the glints in the ancient, imperfect glass.Are we through this? Are we through the worst and still together?

“Equals,” she said.

He gave the tiniest shrug, and she watched him smile. Shelovedhis smile. It seemed miraculous to see it again—have it be for her.

“But you realise,” he said. “I’m a complete idiot?”

She bit back a wobbly laugh. “Yes.”

“And you’re definitely not intimidated by me anymore?”

“I’m notnow.” Her laugh, wet and sniffly, stretched the dried tears on her cheeks. “I’ve lived with you. Slept in the same bed as you.” She grinned. “Heard you snore.”

He paused, head tilted. “I do not.”

“Don’t worry.” She bit her lip, mischief sparking. “It’s very cute. Like a snuffly puppy.”

He narrowed his eyes, but she continued, awash with giddy joy. “What I’m saying is, I know you leave towels on the bathroom floor—”

“One time!”

“And drink juice from the carton—”

“I’m used to living alone—”

“And you don’t eat the crusts on your sandwiches.”

“Only to spite my old nanny,” he deadpanned.

She bit back a laugh. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not intimidated anymore, because we’re friends, aren’t we? We have each other’s back. Or that’s what I thought… What I hoped…”

“Yes, God, we’re friends.” He moved towards her as though the thought of hernotbeing his friend was somehow worse than all the rest. He took her hand. “I hope we’ll always be that.”

She looked down at her hand in his, all the light dimming. “That’s what you want? To be friends?”

“No. I want everything.”

FORTY

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