Denied (One Night 2)

‘You okay?’ he asks, no signs of exertion showing.

I, however, have misplaced the adrenalin that was fuelling me. Maybe my conscience has registered Miller’s resurrection and wants to relieve me of the pressure to hold things together. I don’t know, but exhaustion is taking hold and my emotions are screaming for release. But not here. I can’t lose it here. I nod, keeping up my pace so I don’t hinder our escape. Showing mild concern on his perfect face, he throws the bag up to his shoulder as we near the fire exit and releases my hand, his body charging at full speed into the door. It crashes open loudly, and the daylight beyond attacks my eyes, making me wince.

‘Take my hand, Olivia,’ he demands urgently.

I seize it, allowing him to pull me down the fire escape and onto the side street. A car horn blares immediately, and I spot William’s driver holding the back door open. We dodge cars, trucks and taxis, most honking their horn in annoyance, as we weave through the busy London traffic, charging to William’s car.

‘In.’ He gives a curt nod to the driver and takes over his hold of the door as he barks his order at me and throws the bag in. I waste no time, flinging myself onto the back seat, Miller following behind. The driver is up front before I know it and screeching off down the road, his madcap driving skills alarming me. He’s an expert, dipping and weaving through the traffic with ease and coolness.

And then the enormity of what has just happened hits me like the wickedest of tornados and I cry. I bury my face in my palms and break down, so many thoughts whirling through my poor, overwrought mind – some reasonable, like I need to call Nan. What about Nan? And some unreasonable thoughts like where did this man learn to drive so capably? And does William need these types of driving skills?

‘My gorgeous girl.’ His strong palm wraps around my nape and tugs me over to him, pulling me onto his lap and securing me in his arms so my soggy cheek is buried in his chest. I cry relentlessly, jerking in his hold, unable and unwilling to even try and avert it any longer. The last half-hour has taken everything out of me. ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers. ‘Please don’t cry.’

My fists clutch the material of his T-shirt at his pecs until my hands ache and I’ve cried rivers of confused, gut-twisting tears. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere,’ he answers, wrestling me from his chest to find my eyes. ‘Someplace where we can lose ourselves in each other with no interruptions or interference.’

I can barely see him through the pools of tears blurring my vision, but I can feel him and hear him. It’s good enough. ‘Nan.’

‘She’ll be taken care of. You don’t need to worry yourself with that.’

‘By William?’ I blurt, thinking all kinds of shit will hit the fan if William rocks up to Nan’s. Jesus, she’ll go mental!

‘She’ll be taken care of,’ he repeats, short and sharp.

‘But I’ll miss her.’

Reaching up, he slides his fingers into my hair, cupping the back of my head. ‘It’s not for long, I promise. Just long enough to let the dust settle.’

‘How long will that be? And what if they don’t let the dust settle? Will William be involved? Does he know them? Who are they?’ I pause to draw breath, wanting to spit out all of these questions before my tired mind shuts down and I forget them. ‘They won’t hurt Nan, will they?’ I gasp as something slams into my racing mind. ‘Gregory!’

‘Shhhh,’ he soothes, like I haven’t just abandoned my best friend in Miller’s apartment when God only knows who are on their way up. ‘He’s with Anderson. Trust me, he’ll be fine. And so will your grandmother.’

Relief swamps me. I do trust him, but he hasn’t answered any of my questions. ‘Talk to me,’ I plead, not having to elaborate on that gentle demand. His lovely blue eyes are trying desperately to reassure me, to eliminate my unease. It’s working in a strange sense.

He nods and pulls me back into his embrace. ‘Until there is no breath left in my lungs, Olivia Taylor.’

Heathrow is chaotic. My mind races, my heart pounds, my eyes dart all the way to the departure gate. While I fidgeted through check-in and security, Miller looked completely composed, holding me close, probably in an attempt to conceal my shakes. I haven’t paid much attention to what’s happened since we were dropped off at Terminal 5. I don’t know where we’re going or for how long. I called Nan, armed with a story of a surprise trip from Miller, only to have William answer the call. My heart stopped in my chest, and then restarted when Nan came on the line, cool as a cucumber. I didn’t understand, still don’t, but she told me persistently how much she loved me before making me promise I’d call when we arrived wherever we are going.

And all of that brings us to now.

I’m standing at the gate, gazing up at the monitor, open-mouthed. ‘New York?’ I breathe, resisting the urge to rub at my eyes, just in case I’m seeing things.

Miller doesn’t humour my awe, instead gently guiding me to the lady who’ll let us pass once she’s checked our passports and boarding passes . . . again. I stiffen. Again. But she smiles and ushers us on.

‘You would make a terrible crook, Olivia,’ Miller says seriously.

I allow my muscles to relax as he leads me down the tunnel towards the plane. ‘I don’t want to be a crook.’

He smiles down at me, his eyes twinkling. All signs of the terrified creature have disappeared, restoring my finicky, refined Miller to his former glory. And he really is glorious. I sigh on a long, sated exhale and rest my head on his arm, looking up to see an overly happy stewardess smiling brightly at us. I could growl in exasperation when she asks for our passports and boarding passes. You would think I’d be used to it after the millions of other times they have been requested since we arrived at Heathrow. But no. I’m beginning to tremble again as she flicks through before glancing at each of us to check we match the photograph. I force a nervous smile, convinced she’s going to scream fake and then call for security. But she doesn’t.