Page 83 of The Unlikely Pair
“The same goes for you,” I reply.
“What, there’s only one part of me you’re interested in seeing stiff?” Toby asks with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “No. I need to know how you’re feeling. You can’t try to evade everything with humor. You need to be honest.”
Toby’s smirk fades and he shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck before he meets my gaze.
“Harry Matheson and Toby Webley, the unfiltered, unfettered versions. It’s going to be an interesting experience,” he says.
“It’s definitely going to be something,” I agree.
Toby continues to stare at me, and I grow…discomfited having those eyes on me because I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know how our conversations are affecting his view of me, whether he’s reassessing his opinion as he gets to know who I really am.
It was fine to cope with Toby’s disgust and animosity when he was simply an opposition MP who only saw my facade. But if he continues to dislike me, even when we’re intimate with each other, when he’s getting to know me as a real person…
“It’s going to be morning soon. You should try to get some rest,” I say, turning my face away from his scrutiny.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Toby
Things To Do Today:
Find food
Stay alive
Harry
Harry’s watching me when I wake up.
There’s something evaluating in Harry’s gaze, like I’m a complex problem he’s trying to solve. I guess I understand it. He’s trying to figure me out, just like I’m trying to figure him out.
Now that Harry’s opened up about his boarding school experience, he suddenly makes more sense to me.
I mean, I knew, in theory, about the atrocities that happened in some English boarding schools, but listening to Harry describe his experiences in a flat, emotionless voice shook me. I couldn’t help imagining him as a vulnerable child with no parents to protect him, at the mercy of a sadistic headmaster, along with cruel teachers and older students.
I might have been raised without the material possessions Harry took for granted, but at least I always had my mother’s love as my one constant.
I never thought I’d have sympathy for Harry Matheson, but I definitely do now. And I understand him so much more. Which must help our survival chances out here.
“Good morning,” Harry says.
“Morning,” I reply.
We eye each other cautiously.
