The harsh clatter of the door crashing within the frame prompts Nan to scuttle from the kitchen in alarm. ‘Livy, whatever’s the matter?’ She glances down at her old watch. ‘It’s not even midday.’

I don’t bother trying to compose myself – I’m still too wound up – so I utilise my only other option, which is fine because it’s part true. ‘Del sent me home.’

‘Are you ill?’ Her steps increase in pace as she wipes her hands on the tea towel, until she’s standing before me feeling my forehead. ‘You have a temperature.’

Yes, I have. I’m burning with blinding rage. Sagging against the front door, I let my grandmother fuss over me, grateful for the sight of her friendly face, even if it’s etched in worry right now. ‘I’m okay.’

‘Pa!’ she scoffs. ‘Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining!’ She brushes some damp tendrils from my face. ‘The faster you learn that I’m not doolally-tap the better.’ Her old sapphire eyes drill holes into my pathetic form. ‘I’ll make tea.’ She’s off up the hallway. ‘Come.’

‘Because tea makes everything in the world right,’ I mutter, pushing myself off the door and following her.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ I land in a chair and retrieve my phone from my satchel when it chimes.

‘A call?’ Nan asks, flicking the kettle on.

‘A text.’

She turns, genuine curiosity my way. ‘How do you know the difference?’

‘Well, because a call . . .’ I halt mid-sentence as I unlock my shiny new device. ‘Are you ever going to have a mobile phone?’

She laughs and returns to tea-making duties. ‘I’d rather get a back massage by Edward Scissorhands! Why at my age would I need one of those silly things?’

‘Then it doesn’t matter what sound signals a text, call, or e-mail, does it?’

‘E-mail?’ she screeches. ‘You can send e-mails?’

‘Yes. And you can use the Internet, do your shopping, and delve into social media.’

‘What’s social media?’

I laugh, flopping back in my chair. ‘You won’t live long enough for me to explain, Nan.’

‘Oh.’ She shows complete indifference as she pours boiling water into the teapot, and then milk into a tiny jug. ‘There will be little point for people to leave their homes if technology continues at this rate. Texts and e-mails. Whatever happened to having a face to face conversation with someone, hmmm? Or even a nice chat on the phone. Don’t ever send me a text.’

‘I can’t – you don’t have a mobile.’

‘An e-mail, then. Never send me an e-mail.’

I smirk. ‘You don’t have an e-mail account, so I can’t send you an e-mail either.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’

I titter to myself and direct my eyes to the screen of my phone as Nan brings the tea to the table and pours, loading mine with sugar.

‘Need fattening up,’ she grumbles, but I ignore her because William’s name is glowing at me, telling me he’s sent me a message – one I know I won’t want to read. It doesn’t stop me from pushing the Open button, though.

This can’t end well.

My teeth grit and I delete the message, damning myself for reading it.

‘I haven’t seen Gregory in a while.’ Nan’s statement is laced with forced nonchalance. She knows he and I aren’t speaking. I can’t bring myself to call him, not after his rant. He was furious and undeniably serious in his threat.

‘He’s been busy.’ I toss my phone in my bag and swipe up my cup of tea, blowing the steam from the surface while I watch Nan stir hers slowly.

‘He’s never been too busy before.’

No valid reason for Gregory’s absence is dawning on me. She knows Miller and Gregory don’t see eye to eye. It would be easier to tell her that he’s slapped conditions on our friendship, but I just can’t be bothered. ‘I’m going to lie down.’ I scoop my satchel up and stand, giving my grandmother’s pouting face a peck. She hates it when I keep things from her, but with my spunky nan being the only person on the planet, other than Miller and me, encouraging our reunion, I’ve concluded that everything should be on a need-to-know basis. And she doesn’t need to know.

I drag myself upstairs and collapse to my arse on the familiar, messy sheets of my bed as I rummage through my satchel and pull out a paper bag. Flicking through the boxes, I find the pack and open it, popping out the pill before placing it on my tongue and closing my mouth. I just sit there, the tiny tablet feeling like lead. Closing my eyes, I eventually swallow it down and chuck the boxes in the top drawer of my bedside table. Then I fall to my back. There’s no darkness to be found, even if I were to pull the curtains across, so I yank a pillow close and roll into it, nuzzling my face deep and clenching my eyes shut. I’m only a fraction through the day and all of the elation I felt on waking this morning has been killed stone-cold dead.

Chapter Fifteen

Fireworks implode, a soft crackling rousing me from a peaceful slumber. It’s dusk and I’m safe. He’s here. I smile and shift in his hold until I’m lost in beautiful, soft blue eyes. My hands disappear beneath his suit jacket, around his back, and I pull myself closer until his warm breath is coating my cheeks. Circling our noses, he shifts his palm to the back of my thigh, tugging it up to his hip. ‘I was worried about you,’ he whispers. ‘What happened?’

‘I threw up on a pair of grannies.’

His eyes sparkle mischievously. ‘I heard.’

‘Then William showed up.’ I’m not surprised when the sparkle dulls and Miller stiffens in my hold.

‘What did he want?’

‘To irritate me,’ I mutter, snuggling into his chest, my cheek resting over his heart. It’s beating a strong steady thrum and the sound settles me completely. ‘Tell me you’ll never abandon me.’

‘I promise.’ He doesn’t falter, like he’s had a warning that I’d make this request, like he knows why William is hounding me.

It’s enough, because Miller Hart doesn’t make promises that he can’t keep. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me, Olivia. Never thank me. Come here, let me see you.’ He wrestles me from the sanctuary of his body and props himself up against my headboard, arranging me on his lap just so. I can feel his erection wedged between our bodies, long and hard, but by the look on Miller’s face, I’m on my own in the lust department. I frown and take a sneaky grind as he clasps my hands and entwines our fingers. Then he cocks a knowing eyebrow at me. ‘Why do you work at the bistro?’

His odd question halts my tempting tactics in their tracks. ‘To earn money.’ That’s not strictly true. I have a bank account bursting at the seams with cash.

‘I have plenty of money. You slaving away in a London café isn’t necessary.’

I bite my bottom lip, worrying it back and forth as I comprehend what he’s saying. His Adam’s apple is bobbing in his throat from his constant swallows. He’s nervous of my reaction, and he should be. ‘I don’t need any man’s money,’ I state quite calmly, even though his hint has zapped my serenity of a few moments ago.