Liar Liar

‘Would you like to live your life within these walls?’

‘What?’ Her word bubbles with laughter, like vintage champagne. ‘Sure. Who wouldn’t?’

I take the next few stairs seemingly in one, taking her hands in mine. She doesn’t need to know this is the house my mother grew up in, or how my father sold it from under her when their marriage turned sour. She doesn’t need to know my connection to it, which really isn’t much of a connection at all now that I’ve found her.

‘This house is yours. Please let me finish.’ The words fall from my mouth, my fingers tightening on hers to make her still. ‘It’s yours because you love it. And because I love you. You said once that your childhood lacked the permanency of a home, but that it never lacked love. Fill this house with love, ma Rose. Make it a happy home.’

‘Remy, please be serious. I can’t take a house from you.’

‘You cannot refuse me. If you cut me out of your life tomorrow, I’d still want to give you this gift. Because I can. Because you deserve it. Because of all you’ve done for me.’ And because, contrary to my words, I believe this is the home where our story will truly begin.

‘I don’t know what to say. Except you’re crazy. Just because I’m wearing the shoes you bought me’—don’t look down, don’t—‘it doesn’t mean I’m going to accept a house.’

‘The shoes come from a different place. Everything in those bags did.’ I incline my head. Sometimes, the truth only comes with a little difficulty. ‘They came from the place of, I’ll admit, wanting to annoy you. But more than that, each item wrapped in tissue and ribbon, every single thing, I harboured thoughts of seeing you in. The dresses, of course. The shoes, the underwear, the watch. I hoped I see you in those the most.’

‘Do you have a thing for wrists I don’t know about?’

My cock twitches; the sweetest of percussion. ‘I have a thing for your wrists.’ Along with my answer, I rub my thumb over those dainty contours. Who knew this part of the body could be so erotic? This part of her body. ‘But in truth, I hoped to see you in the watch and nothing else.’

‘Same with the shoes?’ she says, her words sieved through a soft chuckle.

‘What can I say?’

‘Nothing. Best to say nothing at all.’

I allow her hands to fall as I step away. ‘Go. Take a tour of your new home.’

‘Stop that.’ But she’s still smiling as I step down one stair. ‘You’re not going to come with me?’

‘Non. I can’t be in the same place as those wrists and a bed.’

‘Really?’ Her smile is small and wry but threatens to blossom.

Bringing my fingertips to my lips, I kiss them then utter, ‘Irrésistible.’

‘You’re ridiculous.’

I am ridiculous; ridiculously in love with her.

There’s a bottle of champagne on ice waiting in the kitchen, our glasses replaced with new. This is the magic that happens when you treat staff well. I pop the cork and pour out two glasses, not exactly savouring mine as I try to drown the unfamiliar unrest running through me, though not because I expect she’ll refuse me because I know she will, just like she fights me for everything. She’s worth the fight. Worth the work. So why am I restive? Because every molecule of my being wants to go to her.

Eventually, I hear her heels in the hallway.

‘Well, she’s a stunner,’ she says, leaning half in and half out of the kitchen, her hand wrapped around the doorframe.

‘She’s a she?’ I ask, taking her glass to her.

‘Yep.’ She takes it from my hand, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe instead. ‘Definitely. You should buy her, but for you.’

‘She’s already mine.’ Rose watches me from over the rim of her glass, almost as though she’s examining the meaning behind my words. She does well to. ‘And I’m gifting her to you.’

Another decorous sip, and she twists, placing the glass on the countertop. I watch almost in slow motion as she steps into the room, into me, her arms feeding around my neck. The height of her heels make her taller than usual, her soulful eyes turning liquid gold as I take her hips in my hands.

‘I’m not doing this because you want to buy me a house—’

‘There’s no want to about it. It’s happening.’

Undeterred, she carries on. ‘I’m doing this because I’ve had the best evening and because no one has ever said such perfect things to me.’

‘I’m not the first man to say he loves you. As long as I’m the last, I’m fine with that.’

‘You’re certainly the first to want to buy me a house. And Remy? I’m not saying it back.’

‘You’re not saying you’ll buy me a house?’ I ask, being deliberately obtuse, making her shake her head in a long-suffering fashion.