Elliot, Song of the Soulmate (Love Austen 5)

“I can make do without a couch.”

“The guy in there is in film editing and there’s not much for him to edit yet. He seemed like a talker. He also kept tapping his alligator shoes on the floor.”

“That’d be Philip.”

“You hate constant tapping.”

“I can wear earphones—”

“Just stay there.” Wentworth closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t want people questioning why you left. We’re adults. We’ll be fine sharing the room.”

Elliot respected Wentworth’s plea. He didn’t know what it was like to have people constantly gossiping about him, but he could imagine it was draining. “You’re right. We’re adults. How do we want to organise this?”

“Do you hold your meetings in here?”

“Just the ones off the clock. I use the space here for paperwork mostly. I’m on set most mornings. Here around lunch for the afternoon.”

“I can work with that.”

The following quiet prickled with tension and Elliot was aware his breathing had changed—Wentworth’s had too. Elliot resumed his seat and the wheels clicked and rolled. Wentworth glanced at him. The lines around his eyes were heavy, as if looking at Elliot tired him.

“You barely remember our time from high school, then?”

Elliot stiffened, confused, and agitation sparked back to life.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to talk to Louisa about us. I’m sorry if that lie hurt.”

“Hurt?” He laughed hollowly. “Of course not.”

Elliot frowned. Wentworth looked away, fixing his hard eyes on the desk. “Nothing hurts anymore.”

Nothing . . . who was this tortured soul? What had happened to make him so bitter? Or was this all Elliot’s making? “If we need to talk—”

Wentworth cut in swiftly. “If you’re thinking of bringing up the past, you’d be wise not to.”

“Wentworth, I’m a counsellor and you brought it up—”

“No. Just don’t. I don’t need therapy, and the last fuckin’ person I’d ever get it from if I needed it is you.”

Elliot let the sting wash over him. It was okay. Wentworth wasn’t ready to acknowledge their past. To be honest, Elliot wasn’t either. The day had held surprises for them both, and the overwhelming nature of . . . well, they just needed time.

“If you change your mind—”

“I have a rule for us. As I recall, you were always very fond of rules.”

Elliot noted the way Wentworth refused to look at him. “What kind of rule?”

Wentworth’s smile held no humour. “To discourage distorted expectations.”

“Why does that sound familiar?”

“No, your line is: Why do you have a feeling you won’t love this?”

Just . . . breathe. “Why do I have a feeling I won’t love this?”

“Rules are meant to be respected, not loved.”

Elliot swallowed. Wentworth remembered everything. Every goddamn word they’d traded. “What rule do you want me to follow, Wentworth?” I remember too.

Wentworth’s gaze flickered, surprised for a moment, before darkening again. “I want us to tolerate each other moment to moment.”

Tolerate. Hellos, goodbyes, and politely traded words kept to a minimum. Like they’d never been important to one another.

“And not to talk of the past more than a week gone.”

“I really think at some point we ought—”

“Promise me.”

Elliot stood and crossed the floor. The heat of Wentworth radiated toward him. He halted two feet away, lifted his chin and held those determined eyes. “Whatever makes you happy, Wentworth.”

He’d never thought he’d be so grateful to have Beth Clay show up at his door. The last hours of the afternoon he’d been suffering in painful awkwardness, alongside a moody Wentworth setting up his desk and diving into work. Not one glance at Elliot.

“Beth, yes! Absolutely we can chat. Uh, better take it somewhere else though, I don’t want to disturb my officemate.”

Elliot almost jumped at Wentworth’s voice. “You’re not disturbing me. You can talk if you like.”

“I’m sure Beth would prefer privacy, so—”

“Oh, let me in,” Beth said, storming past him, glancing toward Wentworth who had his back turned, concentrating on his laptop, earphones hanging around his neck. “I don’t care who overhears.”

She tucked an invisible strand into her immaculate hair. “Who’s this then?”

Elliot quashed a groan. She knew very well who this was. She’d no doubt seen him earlier and she’d come here not for Elliot’s help, but to check Wentworth out.

“Beth, why don’t you take a seat and tell me what’s on your mind?”

“What’s on my—oh, right.” She perched on the edge of the couch, as she had earlier. Like the thing repulsed her. “So like, sorry if I offended you earlier.”

She didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, she was still staring at Wentworth, like she was willing him to turn around.

“Are you, Beth? I’d hope you’d look at me while saying that.”

She glanced at him, irritated. “Sorry I said you know nothing about relationships because you’ve barely had any.”

Was it his imagination, or had Wentworth stopped tapping his laptop keys?

“Romantic ones, I mean. Ginny from accounting told me you dated her for a whooping two months, and that might have been the longest you’ve ever had.”