Page 57 of The Rest is History
‘Okay, then.’ I gather up the remnants of my dignity and turn away from him. I’m sure it took a lot for him to proposition me like that. To acknowledge what happened between us. But it took a lot for me to say that too.
To stand up for myself.
To turn down hisveryappealing proposition.
To see that look on his face and yet stand firm.
To ask for what I’m worth, and to hold out for what I think we could be. For real life, and not just a convenient weekly fantasy.
‘The main character is so hot,’ Zara says, ‘and so morally ambiguous. I feel like the dodgier their morals are, the hotter they are. Is that fucked up?’
She and I are tucking into our stir-fries in the staffroom while engaging in a thoroughly enjoyable conversation about the dark Mafia romance she’s reading.
‘As long as you only feel like that on the page and not in real life, it’s not fucked up at all,’ I say.
‘That’s what I told myself.’
I shovel up some rice. ‘Do we think the hot PE teacher is morally ambiguous?’
‘I suspect the extent of Pete Gibbs’ moral ambiguity is ghosting women after he’s shagged them senseless.’
‘And has he had the opportunity to do either to you yet?’
She wiggles her eyebrows at me. ‘Not yet. And there will be no ghosting, because the guy is falling. I can tell.’
‘I do admire your confidence,’ I tell her.
A movement catches my eye, and I look up to see Charlie. He’s hesitating by our table, tray in hand.
‘Can I sit with you?’
‘Of course,’ I blurt out. Charlie has never once sat with us at lunch.
Zara and I watch as he puts his tray down and sits.
CHARLIE
‘If you sit with us, you have to contribute to our conversation,’ Zara tells me.
I unfold my paper napkin and spread it on my lap like this isn’t a big deal and I eat lunch with my department every day. Elodie’s words have circled round my head all morning. She thinks she’s a novelty to me. Aplaything. She thinks I was using her on Saturday to act out some sort of fantasy.
I was, of course.
Just not the one she thinks.
Elodie is the fantasy.
She’s everything I’ve dreamed of, and no matter how complex my personal situation is, there’s only one thing I care about right now.
Showing up for her. Engaging. Making it clear as day that she’s the object of my desires, not some long-dead queen.
‘What are we discussing?’
‘Morally grey characters in dark Mafia romance.’
‘I see.’
‘Got any thoughts on the genre?’ Zara asks.
