Page 98 of The Rest is History
‘It’s definitely unfortunate,’ I concede, ‘but he’s very good-looking. And, you know, powerful. That’s always a turn-on.’
‘Uh, newsflash, babe. A headteacher doesn’t exactly have Mafia-boss levels of power.’ She sighs. ‘He’s not even legally allowed to put people over his knee and spank them anymore.’
I laugh. ‘Pupils, maybe, but I’m pretty sure he can do what he likes to you in the privacy of your bedroom.’
She wriggles. ‘Why is that not a completely horrifying thought? Weird.’
I press my lips together to keep myself quiet and leave her to what may be the smallest kernel of revelation.
After I’ve dismissed my class, my beautiful man wanders into my classroom. He looks pale and tired, and he keeps pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe I knackered him out last night with too much sex?
‘You ready to go?’ He looks at me through hooded eyes, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
‘Yep.’ I grab my bag and lead the way out of the classroom, enjoying the light touch of his hand on the small of my back.
He’s quiet on the short walk to the river. The school backs onto the Thames, but, aside from the rowing club exit, fences block direct access for safety reasons. Once we’re out of the gates and walking along the leafy tow-path, he takes my hand and we walk in silence. Charlie finds an empty bench looking out onto the river, and we sit.
‘I need to talk to you, sweetheart.’
He rests his elbows on his knees and sinks his head into his hands. His tone and stance immediately put me on edge. I slide a hand over his back, savouring the firm curves of his shoulder muscles under crisp cotton.
‘What is it?’
He sighs, bends, and plucks a blade of long grass from under the bench, flaking off the tiny ears with his fingers.
‘Charlie. What’s going on?’
He swivels his head to look up at me. ‘I don’t know how to say this, really. But I want to tell you that you’ve made me happier than I ever thought possible, and you mean more to me than anyone has ever meant.’ His blue eyes are fixed squarely on mine. ‘Including my ex-wife.’
I draw in a breath.
He just used the past tense.
Didn’t he?
I sense a great bigbutswinging over my head like an axe.
I frown. ‘Okay.’
‘El.’ He pulls himself up with what feels like effort and grips my hand. ‘I can’t do this anymore, sweetheart. Can’t keep leading you on when I know there’s no future for us.’
Leading me on?
Leading me the fuckon?
So help me God, I’m going to punch this guy.
I’m lightheaded with adrenalin. Rage. Fear. Horror. Confusion.
‘What the fuck are you talking about, Charlie?’ I ask, my voice low and shaky.
He’s still gripping my hand.
My head is reeling.
Did we or did we not have the most intense connection last night in bed?
Did he or did he not just introduce me to his entire fuckingfamily?
