Page 160 of The Unlikely Pair
“She…” My voice chokes, but I power through. “She deserved better than being a cliché.”
“You thought I was like him,” Harry says softly.
“Yes. I did.”
“But I’m not like him,” he says with a hint of doubt in his voice, like he’s seeking reassurance from me.
“You’re nothing like him,” I confirm. “You are a much better man than your father.”
Harry studies my face intently, and then his expression softens. He picks up our intertwined hands and places a gentle kiss on my skin.
As we kiss properly, I realize I don’t just love him. I love him past what love should be. It shouldn’t be this craving, this complete and utter desire to be consumed by someone and to consume them in return.
It’s dangerous.
I know exactly how dangerous it is. Yet, I can’t work out how to turn off my feelings.
When I slowly wake the next morning, for a few moments, I’m at peace. Harry’s arms are around me and he’s gently snuffling in my ear.
But when I open my eyes, I realize it’s all wrong. It’s brighter, the light is coming from the wrong window, and the sheets are smooth rather than scratchy.
We’re not in a cabin in Finland. We’re in my flat in London.
And yet, somehow, Harry and I have found our way back to each other again.
I pull away from him gently, not wanting to wake him. Harry always sleeps with a slightly troubled expression, as if his dreams perplex him and he needs to figure them out.
He knows the truth about our parents.
He still came to me. And I still let him.
Harry opens his eyes and sees me. We just stare at each other for a few moments before his face creases into a hesitant smile.
“I gotta say, I didn’t miss your snoring,” I say.
“I didn’t miss your morning breath,” he counters.
He leans forward to close the gap between us, aiming for my lips, but I pull back.
“I thought I had morning breath?” I arch an eyebrow.
“It turns out I’m a sucker for punishment.” He brushes his lips lightly over mine.
“Well, you did join the Conservative Party,” I retort.
He laughs and then kisses me properly, thoroughly, with no teasing, pretenses, or artifice.
We are Toby and Harry, this kiss seems to say.This is us. We are back together.
Being with me will ruin Harry’s career. There is absolutely no doubt about that. Even if I gave up politics to be with him, I have no doubt the circling wolves in the Conservative Party would use the fact he was with an ex-Labour politician, a man at that, to take him down. He would lose the leadership, plummet down the ranks in his party to be a backbencher with no clout.
So what can happen now?
The reality of the absolute impossibility of our situation rises inside me, clogging my throat.
“Shall we get some breakfast?” I ask.
In some ways, it’s weird having Harry in my London flat. But in another, it’s so natural to be in the kitchen with him, cooking toast while he makes us a pot of tea. He’s in my borrowed dressing gown, his hair untamed, a faint mark on his collarbone where my lips lingered last night.
