Page 63 of Paper Roses

I’ve been in love with him for so long, and last night, he looked at me the way I’ve always dreamed—his eyes black with want, the green swallowed by his pupils. And remembering his face when he’d come, face creased, mouth slack, his whole being focused on me… It makes me dizzy to think of it.

But how can I not feel guilty for putting him in this position? He would never have looked at me in a sexual way, if it weren’t for this silly, ever-complicated situation we’re in.

And last night, I took advantage of him. I should have pretended to be asleep while he touched himself, but I’d heard his soft grunts and fast breathing and the slick sound of his hand on his cock, and I could not have stopped myself touching him if my life had depended on it. He’d groaned, pushing into my grasp, and I’d felt so powerful?—

“You’re distracted today, Artie.”

I flash a panicked glance at Eric and find that he’s watching me with an amused expression.

“I haven’t had coffee yet,” I say hoarsely. I look helplessly around the shell of the kitchen as if a barista is going to pop up and pour me a latte.

It’s odd having to don a hard hat before entering my home, but this room is going to be lovely. I’ve picked a mixture of natural oak and avocado-green-painted cupboards with an oakwork surface and breakfast bar. I’ve said to hell with my budget. My savings will be long gone, and I’ll be in debt until I’m eighty, but it’ll have been worth it.

I’ve spent years dreaming of living in this house again, imagining how I’d arrange the furniture and decorate the rooms. Those dreams kept me going through the rough times when I’d felt totally alone, when I’d had to live in places that felt borrowed, when I’d had to stay with people who didn’t quite want me. This is the house that always felt like it should be home, even if for the past decade, I’d been pushed away. And now I’ve been reunited with it, and with every wall that has come down, it’s become more mine.

I haven’t let Jed help with the money, but I’ve taken some of his recommendations. He has a keen eye and doesn’t force ideas on me. He offers suggestions with a diffident air and it’s been thrilling to have his input on something that means so much to me. Almost as if he’s helping to renovate me and not just my home.

“Jed sleeping in? That’s unusual,” Eric says.

“We were at his mum’s house last night. We may have had a little too much to drink.”

He chuckles. “I like that. He was always up and out with the morning chorus when I worked with him before. Made me feel like a slacker. Mick was the one who was usually around.”

“Of course,” I say, cautiously interested. “You knew them, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did their flat. Nice couple.” He looks suddenly awkward.

I shake my head wryly. “I do know he’s been married before. It’s fine.”

Smiling, he waves a hand at the bones of the kitchen. “You and this house are doing him the world of good, Artie. I don’t think I’ve seen him looking better.”

The words warm me, but before I can ask another question, there’s the sound of footsteps and Jed appears. He’s wearing his Zegna checked navy suit, and he’s knotting an amber-coloured silk tie at his throat. But my mind immediately sends me an image of him naked and arching into my hand.

My cheeks turn crimson, and I struggle to find words. Luckily, Eric greets him and asks him a question about the boiler that he’d never bothered to direct at me, probably because I’d be useless. Interior design is nice. The nitty gritty of a house, not so much.

Jed’s a little pale and his voice is hoarse. He looks up and I bite my lips as he catches me staring at him. He examines my face, and he seems to get a shade whiter. My stomach sinks.

“God, I feel fucking awful,” he says. “What was in those drinks, Artie?”

“I think the problem was quantity not quality. Also, the fact that we mixed them.” My voice sounds squeaky, but Eric and Jed don’t seem to notice.

“Never mix the grape and the grain,” Eric says knowledgeably.

“Never mind grape or grain. I’m pretty sure my mother used battery acid as a main ingredient.”

The two men laugh, and I relax a little. Then Jed looks at his watch and curses. “Shit, we’ve got the monthly meeting. Are you ready, Artie?”

I nod, and then hand him his coat and grab my own. “I’ll be in the car,” I say.

Eric brandishes something that looks like an instruction manual at Jed, and I escape outside. The air is cold with an icy bite that catches at my throat, and I lean against Jed’s dark blue Audi, huddling into my coat.

Carla, my neighbour, comes out of her house armed with a pair of secateurs. They appear rather sharp, and I hope she’s notharbouring ill feelings about the secret-room mishap, but she waves and smiles at me before starting towards the low fence separating our front drives. She’s an older woman with a sleek grey bob, and even when ferociously deadheading plants, she’s imposingly elegant. I don’t know her well, but she’s lived here as long as I can remember. Her husband was in the diplomatic service, so they were away a lot when I was growing up.

“Cold this morning,” she calls. “Summer’s definitely over.”

I nod. “How are you doing?”

“Oh fine. I must say we’re watching your renovation with interest.”

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