Page 47 of Art of Love
“Why? He’s a great guy.” She nodded.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be glad you think so.”
She pouted and rested her hand on her hip, drawing my attention to the sharp definition between the curve where her tiny waist tapered into her hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” I sounded like I was mad at her, but I wasn’t.
“Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Look, love, don’t expect me to like that bloody wanker, especially if your boyfriend is dumb enough to take the piss out of me. It’s only cos you’re here why I didn’t let him have it.”
To my surprise, she started to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” I didn’t know what was funny, but she was laughing, and the damn sound reached inside me just like it did the other day, except today felt more lighthearted. She seemed more at ease, and it scared me to think it was because of that fool.
“You.”
“Me? What me? I didn’t say anything funny. And I was being serious. Do I look like the kind of bloke you’d want to mess with?”
She started laughing again. Laughing so much her cheeks tickled pink.
“God, why are you laughing? If you think me beating your poor Stephan to a bloody pulp is funny, then I don’t think you like him that much either.”
“First, Stephan is not my boyfriend. Second, I didn’t understand half of what you just said, but I gather you’re annoyed. You’re all Queen’s English when you’re in a business setting, and you sound like Anthony Hopkins, but then you go all Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins when you’re mad or pissed off.”
“I don’t sound like Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins. His accent was atrocious.” I started to laugh now.
“Michael Caine then,” she offered, still giggling.
“No.” I shook my head. “Fantastic actor, but I don’t sound like him.”
“Ewan McGregor.”
“Bloody hell, woman, he’s Scottish.”
“I’m trying to think of an English actor with a cockney accent.”
“So, you thought of a Scottish person? The accent’s very different, love.”
“The Weasleys?” She beamed like she hit the nail with the hammer.
“Who?” I inclined my head to the side. “I don’t know them.”
“From Harry Potter.”
“No, I don’t watch things like that.” I shook my head, but the look she gave me was like I’d insulted her.
“What do you mean? Haven’t you seen the films or read the books?”
“No, I only read when it’s relevant. I like post romantic poetry and romanticism because it ties in with art. But that’s all.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t seen Harry Potter.”
“Believe it. So, anyway, aside from establishing that I’m not going to like Stephan anytime this century, what are you planning to do around here? Not a lot to do specifically.” I glanced outside at the river. Maybe she was going for a walk.
“I thought you might have guessed that I meant I was going to hang with you for a while.”
Oh.
