“Yes. You have.”
He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. The playful gesture was a strange contrast to the sincerity of the words but I treasured both. Believed in both. Mustered a slightly wavery grin. “Well, I must be doing something right since you like me. But, when it comes to everything else, I don’t have a clue.”
“You told me you were interested in journalism.”
“I am. Except all I’ve done so far is write a few articles.”
“Have you been able to place them?”
A couple of emails had come in during my Kinlochbervie heartbreak exile, except I hadn’t really been in any state to appreciate them. “Yes. I mean, mainly online and stuff.”
“That’s wonderful.” Oh God, he sounded all proud of me. “And seems to directly contradict your assertion that you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I just feel like I’m fucking up another amazing opportunity. You take care of everything and what do I have to show for myself? A satirical review of expensive mineral water brands.”
“It’s a perfectly reasonable start.”
“But I had weeks. I could have learned Mandarin or written the Great American Novel.”
“Do you want to learn Mandarin or write the Great American novel.”
“Um, not exactly.”
That made him laugh, his breath ruffling my hair. And I guess I was being a bit silly.
“I wrote something I thought might work for Milieu,” I admitted. “But I haven’t submitted it yet.”
“Milieu?”
“Caspiaaaaan.” I thunked my forehead against him. “It’s a high-society lifestyle magazine. You’re regularly in it.”
“I pay very little attention to what other people say about me. Besides, I have lawyers who manage these things on my behalf.”
I pouted, wounded for Milieu. “It’s not a gossip rag. We’re not talking Twelve Shocking Things About Caspian Hart (You Won’t Believe Number 7) type material.”
“I see.” Except clearly he didn’t.
“Milieu’s like…this quintessentially British thing, y’know? It’s been around since seventeen-o-something. And somehow manages to be glamorous and ridiculous at the same time. I find that combination incredibly charming.”
His hand slid between us, his fingers tugging lightly at one of my nipple rings. “I definitely see the appeal.”
“I’m not glamorous.” I paused. “Wait. Are you saying I’m ridiculous?”
“I’m saying I find your combination of qualities unique and intriguing. And you don’t have to explain what you like to me. It’s enough that you like it.”
“Milieu’s probably the closest you can get nowadays to being in an Evelyn Waugh novel. Only without all the war, Catholicism, alcoholism, mental collapse, and dead children. And, anyway, I grew up reading it. I’d absolutely love to be part of it.”
“Then why haven’t you sent in your article?”
“Well…” I squirmed.
He poked me. Caspian Hart actually poked me.
Which I would have found hilarious if I hadn’t been in the middle of a major moop attack. “What if they say no?”
“Then you’ll find something else.”
“I thought you were only supposed to have one dream.”
