Page 12 of Commitment Issues
Chapter Five
Freddie
“You — what? Youactuallywant me to go to France with you? I mean, why? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. It’s ill-thought out, and there are so many potential pitfalls it’s beyond belief. I’m annoyed James thinks I don’t have the balls to face my former fiancé. I don’t know what he believes I’ll do — collapse into a broken-hearted, blubbering wreck, or strip myself of every vestige of both pride and good sense and beg Gavin to come back to me. There’s no chance of any of those playing out. Gavin’s moved on. He’s with somebody else, and I wish him well — with somebody who isn’t me. But…”
But… the one little word that’s about to explain his blinding about-turn.
Elliot jams his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and looks down, the gesture somehow making a small dent in his urbane and polished exterior. When he lifts his head, the faint smile ghosting his lips is both unsure and shadowed with self-doubt. The creases at the outer corner of his eyes suddenly seem a little more ingrained, the dark smudges beneath his eyes a little more bruise-like. There’s a pallor beneath his light olive skin. He doesn’t just look tired, but exhausted and, like me, I know he both needs and craves hot sun on his skin.
“The truth is, I don’t want to go on my own. James, the meddling little sod, is absolutely right. I know I’m turning everything upside down, but—”
“Excuse me, are you leaving?”
The question, from a harried-looking couple holding heaped-up trays, hints at impatience.
“Yes, we are. Come on,” Elliot says, looking at me, “let’s get out of here.”
Outside, I follow him to Soho Square, just a couple of turnings away with its tiny patch of green, where we make for a vacant bench.
“No doubt you’re as surprised by my change of mind as I am.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say as I stare at him. He’s smiling, his composure back in place. “But totally floored or gobsmacked are the other choices.”
“But it’s why you came to the café, isn’t it? You’d already made up your mind to go, otherwise you wouldn’t have been there.”
“That’s true. Or kind of.” I bite down on my lower lip as I look down at my knotted-together hands. “I needed to know what you were like before I agreed.”
“Of course you did. And do I tick your boxes?”
I nod, not daring to speak.
Does he tick my boxes? Talk about a loaded question. He ticks every box, pushes every button, and fulfils every requirement when it comes to men. And that means I should be backing off, saying thank you but no thank you, and getting away as fast as I can. But I’m not doing any of that because what’s on offer here isn’t what Paul had offered. This isn’t all those empty promises that crumbled to dust and blew away in the wind. No, this is a job. A one-off assignment, clear cut and time limited. Elliot has his reasons and I have mine and afterwards we say goodbye, shake hands and go our separate ways.
“Will you come? No hard feelings if you say no, I promise you.”
“Why me?” I blurt out.
Now that he’s seen me, talked to me, he must realise that he could take somebody who’s so much more suitable. Why doesn’t he see that, when I do?
“What I mean is, you must be able to find somebody better suited, somebody more refined and who’ll fit in more. Somebody more like the kind of man you’re used to…” My words limp to a stop. He’s studying me, his eyes narrowed slightly. It feels like he’s looking into the core of who I am, and a shiver passes through me.
“You’re right, I’m confident I could findsomebody better suited, ormore refined, andwho’ll fit in more,” he says, quoting my words back at me. “But I’m tired of being around men who are smooth and refined. Men like Gavin, as smooth and refined as oil.” A tiny muscle twitches in his jaw.
“So I’m the opposite to ol’ Gav. I’ll be your slightly rough around the edges pretty young thing. The cat amongst the pigeons. Which is what the whole thing boils down to, really, isn’t it?”
Elliot shrugs. “Yes, I suppose so, if you want to put it like that.” He laughs suddenly, his eyes brightening. “Gav.” He rolls the name around as though tasting it. “Christ, he’s going to hate being called that.”
“I’ve already made a mental note to call him exactly that. All the time.”
“So, you’re agreeing to come with me?”
“Yes.” The word slips from my tongue as smooth as soft butter on warm toast. “I just hope I don’t let you down. I can’t guarantee a polished performance, so there’s every chance I could get this wrong.”
In other words, I might just cock this up big time, and land us both in the shit. If he wants a get out of jail free card, this is it.
He doesn’t.
