Page 78 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

I’d forgotten how adorable a flustered Caspian could be. “To be honest, I was probably going to lie here, feeling bad about upsetting Ellery, and watchingThe Last Jedi.”

I’ll admit that last bit was shameless. And I wouldn’t even have gone there if I’d thought there was the smallest chance Ellery would come back and find us together. I desperately wanted Caspian to stay. But not if the price was Ellery.

“You mean,” asked Caspian with a kind of furtive eagerness, “the latestStar Wars?”

In another world, I’d have taken him to the cinema to see it. Did billionaires even go to cinemas? Most likely they had private movie theatres. But I’d have insisted on going, and he would have indulged me, and I would have held his hand and watched his face instead of the film, and there in that soft darkness, we could have been any other couple.

I nodded. “You could join me? Keep an eye on me to make sure I’m resting.”

“Well”—his voice had gone very soft—“probably you shouldn’t be on your own right now. You could have adverse reactions.”

I had severely adverse reactions to being without Caspian, but I kept the thought to myself. “I could. I’m sure people get fucked up by cocaine twelve hours after they’ve taken it all the time. Should I get my laptop?”

“I…yes. All right.” And he let out a breath like he had after his cigarette.

The last time we’d watchedStar Wars, it had been in the lap of luxury at One Hyde Park, for which I’m sure our grungy sofa and my fourteen-inch screen were a pretty poor substitute. Yet Caspian looked as rapt as ever as the yellow text began its scroll. And I bedded down next to him, with my feet as near as I dared to inveigle them.

After the almighty fuck-up I’d made of last night, to say nothing of those depleted dopamine stores Caspian had mentioned, it didn’t seem right that joy was uncurling inside me like a hedgehog in spring. Although as joy went, it was kind of fickle—as if I owed Ellery a misery debt. And maybe I did. The guilt was still inside me, a witch’s finger, poking me in the ribs, reminding me what a shithead I’d been to someone I loved. But someone else I loved was with me right now, and the truth was, Caspian made me happy. So very, very happy.

It felt the same, you see. Being with him. Like everything that had come between us was nothing but shreds of old dreams, and this—him and me together—was what was real. He shifted on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, his hand drifting down to rest on top of my ankle. His fingers curled, holding me through the duvet, and I knew then, half in bliss, half in anguish, that I was as much his, as utterly his, as I had ever been.

Star Warswashed over me gently. I’d seen it before and apparently drugs beat the hell out of your body, so I let myself float, anchored by Caspian’s touch and the glimpses I occasionally stole of his profile. Because, yeah, greedy as ever when it came to him, and I’d missed him. Missed the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw. The hollows of his throat. The tiny mole at his brow. The stern set of his mouth, and its secret capacity for smiles. I’d missedmakinghim smile. Making him unravel. Missed his kindness and his cruelty both. His outrageously competitive streak. His unexpected shyness.

I’d read somewhere thatThe Last Jediwas the longestStar Warsmovie that had ever been released. Honestly, I wished it had been longer. A lot longer. But eventually Luke Skywalker and Kylo Ren had faced off on the blood-coloured soil of Crait and the credits had done their thing, and Caspian and I were alone again in the silence.

I still remembered what he’d said to me afterThe Force Awakens. “I wish my father could have seen that. But I’m so glad I got to watch it with you.” I think that was the moment I realised I’d fallen in love with him. How could I not have—with such a ridiculous, complicated, tender-hearted man?

“So,” I asked, hoping once again to share hisStar Warswonder, “how did you find it?”

He turned to me, frowning, his eyes dark. “I don’t think I cared for it very much.”

“What?” My mouth dropped open and hung there, gormlessly. I just hadn’t seen that coming. “Why? And if you say it had too many women in it or whatever, I swear to God I’ll—”

“Of course I don’t care that there were women in it. What do you take me for?”

“I…I don’t know. It’s something people on the Internet aren’t happy about.”

One of his eyebrows flicked impatiently upwards. “Star Warsis an adventure story about good and evil. I fail to see how the number of female characters is a pertinent metric against which to judge its success in that regard.”

“Then what didn’t you like about it? I mean, the pacing was a bit choppy but it seemed pretty adventure story-ey to me?”

“I didn’t like that they turned Luke Skywalker into a failure and a coward.”

I blinked at the passion in his voice. “I…don’t think he was any of those things, was he?”

“He spent three films trying to overthrow the Empire and rebuild the Jedi order. When we meet him here, he is living alone in a cave having accomplished neither.”

“Caspian”—I gave him a somewhat bewildered look—“are you, like,crosswith Luke Skywalker because he didn’t change the entire galaxy by himself?”

“If that was his original intent, he should not have stopped until he achieved it.”

“You do realise,” I pointed out, “that you’re holding an imaginary space wizard to an impossible standard?”

He shrugged. “I just didn’t enjoy seeing a character we have been led to admire reduced to a broken ruin, his honour and heroism twisted into fear and selfishness.”

Oh.Oh.“I didn’t see it that way at all. I guess, for me, heroism isn’t about being perfect or untested. It’s about knowing what it is to fail and suffer and make mistakes, and still doing the right thing when it counts.”

“But”—Caspian’s foot was twitching—“he’d wasted so much time. And let down so many people.”

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