by Lily Morton
“You might as well be a unicorn to me,” he says.
“What?”
He puts his drink down. “Ask me when I packed up the booze.” He pauses. “Ask me when I packed up the random men.”
I swallow hard, panicking. “No.”
“You must know when,” he says loudly. “Come on, Felix, think. It was June the eighteenth at a barbeque.”
I look at him in consternation. “But that was… That was the day Carl and I finished.”
He sits back in his chair, his face harsh with an emotion that looks like disappointment. “You remember him finishing it that well?”
“Not for that reason,” I scoff.
Max’s shoulders become less rigid.
“He threw a hotdog in my face, Max,” I explain. “It’s not something I’d forget. Especially as I got mustard in my eye. That stuff stings.”
I do remember it. Not because of Carl, but because Max had brought some bloke with him. A thin redhead who had hung on his arm and laughed at everything he said. It had been like nails down a blackboard, and I’d almost welcomed Carl’s final temper tantrum which had come when he accused me of only watching Max all day.
He watches me, his dark, clever eyes busy. “I remember,” he says. “And when he finished it, I went home and poured all my booze away and deleted the Grindr app.”
“Why did you do that?” I ask in a small voice.
“I had to stop because I realised one thing that day.”
“What?”
“That I wasn’t getting you back by drowning myself in booze and men.”
“Oh my God, Max.” I push my hands through my hair and hang them on the back of my neck. “You can’t say things like that.”
“I haven’t been able to before, but I have to now.”
“Why? Because I’m your prisoner,” I burst out. My heart is pounding heavily, and I’m almost lightheaded with the desire to go to him, to let him sweep me back into his world.
And that’s the tragedy of us. The sex was incendiary, but it was never anything else to Max. I’m abruptly furious with him for making me think otherwise for even a second.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I say in a warning voice.
For once he doesn’t force the issue. He watches me with sharp eyes, and maybe he reads the exhaustion that suddenly weighs me down because he inclines his head and says gently, “As you wish.”
I grimace. “And now you’re Princess Bride-ing me. It’s not fair. I can’t concentrate around you, Max. I have never been able to. You make my head dizzy. You always have.” I bite my lip and feel my cheeks burning. Never in a million years had I meant to confess that.
He scrutinizes me and something that looks suspiciously like happiness settles on his face.
“Ugh!” I groan. “Why do you look so happy?”
“Never mind,” he says carelessly. “Let’s get some sleep.”
I eye him. “I need to get undressed.” His eyes kindle, and I shake my head. “Turn around,” I instruct him. “And don’t peep.”
“I’m not fourteen. I don’t peep,” he says in a disgusted voice. I make a spinning gesture with my fingers, and he obeys with a huff.
“Tell me when you’re done,” he says. There’s a long pause. “But tell me immediately and not when you’ve been in bed for a few hours.”
I laugh because he knows me so well. I quickly strip off my suit, pulling on pyjama shorts and a T-shirt and opening the cubicle to get my toothbrush.
“You can look now,” I say with a mouthful of toothpaste.
He turns and directs a heated glance at my body. I shake my head. “I feel like a piece of steak being eyed up by a dog,” I say, turning to spit out the toothpaste.
“You’d be fillet, my darling.”
“Don’t call me that,” I start to say, but the words die away when I see him taking his clothes off. Unlike me, he shows no modesty at all stripping casually until he’s down to his skin. I swallow hard. His sleek tanned skin.
“Alright?” he asks, pulling on a pair of pyjama shorts very slowly.
“Fine,” I say quickly. “Why?”
“You’ve got a bit of something there,” he says, pointing at my chin.
I raise my fingers. “What is it? Toothpaste?”
He winks. “No, it’s drool.”
I shake my head as he laughs. “Twat,” I say with great feeling.
We climb into our bunks, and I smile at his huffing and muttering. “Are you comfortable down there?” I shout.
“Felix, I’m about a foot underneath you. Not two miles away. There’s no need to shout.”
“This is epic,” I say in a happy tone that’s designed to aggravate. “Shall we tell stories in the dark?”
“Of course,” he says darkly. “Mine will be about this naughty boy called Felix who got spanked in a train carriage.”
“How very public school of him,” I say cheerily, and he snorts.
“Well, if sex is off the table, we should get some sleep.”
“That’s it?” I say in a tone of astonishment. “Those are the only two things you can think of to do in bunk beds? Sleep or fuck. What happened to tickling and pillow fights and boyish pranks?”
“Goodnight, Felix,” he says in a tone of doom, and I laugh.
It takes me a while to fall asleep, as my thoughts keep me busy, so it feels like I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes when something wakes me.
I raise my head off the pillow and listen intently. For a second, there’s nothing, and then it comes again. A stifled whimper and a moan.
“Max?” I whisper.
There’s no response apart from a low, pained groan. I clutch the sheets, listening intently. The noise comes again, lonely and tortured. I scramble out of bed and down the wooden ladder before I even realise it.
I lean over him cautiously. His face is illuminated by the dim light in the carriage. Sweat sheens his forehead, and he grimaces.
“No,” he says. “Don’t.”
I’m immediately reminded of the time he’d been dreaming fitfully and had called Ivo’s name. I step back, but at that moment he shouts, “Felix, no,” and goes rigid. I hover, wondering what to do. He calls out “Felix” again, his voice entreating.
“I’m here, Max,” I say immediately.
He opens his eyes cautiously. “Felix?”
I come close now he’s awake and set a hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, as if in pain.
“Bad dream?” I ask, far too much tenderness in my voice.
His only response is to wind his arm around me and rest his head against my shoulder like a child. I’m filled with an awful softness and hug him close. I may even kiss his head, but I’ll deny it to my death.
“It’s okay,” I say gently.
“It was horrible,” he says in a muffled voice.
“What was it?” I scooch up on the bed next to him, and he makes a protesting sound.
“I was back in that cell in Afghanistan with Ivo.” When I stiffen, he exclaims, “It’s cold, darling. Get in. Get in.”
I obey his urging, although I can’t help the rigidity of my body. Great. Now I’ve got to hear all about Ivo. However, he’s toasty warm, and I only realise how cold I am when he folds me under the blankets and wraps his arm around me.
“Is this okay?” There’s something small in his voice that I can’t bear.
Cursing myself, I turn in his arm, feeling the cast rough on my skin. “What was the dream? Was it Ivo again? I remember …” I falter, and his arm tightens for an instant. “I remember you having that dream on the boat once.” I give a careless laugh. “The funny thing is you kept saying Ivo, and I thought it was a place. Not a…” I hesitate for a second. “Not a person. Your person.”
“Shit,” he says and shakes his head when I go to move. “Don’t go,” he pleads. “Please stay.”
His body is slick with sweat. “Hey,” I say, stroking his hair back. “It’s alright. You’re here, and
you’re alright, and Ivo is alright too.”
“It wasn’t Ivo,” he says, snuggling into me and resting his head on my shoulder. The tremors in his body are slowly leaving. “It was you.”
“What?” I say, and it’s far too loud.
He nods, burying his nose in my shoulder and inhaling deeply as if taking my scent in. “It was you, and they had you, and I knew they were going to hurt you, and I couldn’t stop it, and I heard you cry out, and I felt—”
“Shush,” I croon, feeling his muscles stiffen and pulling him closer. “Shush, Max. It’s all okay. I’m here. You’re here.”
“Yes,” he says in a desperate tone. “But it’s not real.”
There’s too much of a question in his voice. The nightmare has spun cobwebs over him and he’s still half asleep.
“It’s real,” I say firmly. “Pinch me if you don’t believe me.”
“I always believe you,” he says, his voice hoarse and slurring with returning sleep. “You always tell me the truth.”
“Not always,” I say softly. He doesn’t know that I still have feelings for him. He doesn’t know that I still want him. Even now I want him, feeling him against me and remembering just how good we are together. I have to wonder how long I can hold him off and even if I still want to.
His body is growing heavy with sleep, and I tighten my arms, pushing my troublesome thoughts away.
“Go to sleep,” I command.
“You won’t leave?”
Eventually, I will, but I stupidly say, “Not tonight.”
Tension gradually leaves his body. He falls asleep between one breath and the next like an exhausted child. I don’t loosen my hold, determined to keep his bad dreams away with the force of my will. I stare into the darkness, listening to the clatter of the train on the tracks and feeling our bodies sway gently. Sleep takes a long while to come.
Chapter Sixteen
Max
We stand on the platform at Venice’s train station as the Orient Express pulls away from us, taking the remaining passengers off to further adventures. Felix stares after it, and I indulge myself by watching him. The expressions crossing his vivid face are fascinating. Today they combine awe, excitement, and that wry amusement that’s never far away. What isn’t there is a shred of pity, which I’ve been looking for since we woke up this morning.
I’d been hideously embarrassed to find that I’d woken him with nightmares. Too many years of therapy have seen most of them off, but being with Felix seems to have stirred up old fears. The emotions weaving through the dream had been yearning and distress, and it makes sense he would inspire those feelings in me.
When I woke up this morning, my first thought was that the aftermath was a dream too. I’ve had too many mornings reaching for a lover who wouldn’t ever be there again. But then I’d moved and found him lying almost on top of me, his arms wound around me, and his head tucked under my chin. His wavy hair had been in my face, and I could feel his breath on my neck. It had felt so gut-wrenchingly good. Back in the day, I always resisted staying the night and thought I was smart. Now, I recognise what an idiot I was.
I lay as still as a mouse this morning, savouring every second. In the old days, if he was naked and near me, I’d have rolled him over and fucked him, so sure was I of my welcome. In those days, he’d have laughed and moaned and sighed. Now, I just lay sedately and relished the scent of him and the feel of his skin against mine, the soft pouches of his balls snuggled on my leg.
Finally, he’d blinked sleepily awake and I’d watched as comprehension flooded his face. Then he smiled and asked when breakfast was served. I’d stumbled out an apology, and he’d cavalierly waved it off, insisting that I take him to breakfast.
Afterwards, he’d dragged me to a carriage where they had every board game imaginable, and as the countryside passed by us we ate lunch and drank expresso martinis, while he thrashed me at backgammon. Hardly surprising as I barely took my eyes off him for long enough to concentrate on the game.
Now, standing on the platform in Venice, I fill my senses with the picture he makes, the winter sun catching the mahogany strands in his hair and making them glitter like hidden gold. I drink it in like a breath of air, but school my expression before his eyes can turn sharp, and he gets the look of a man preparing to bolt.
“Well?” he asks, his voice clear and melodious. “What’s next, Ringmaster Travers?”
He startles a laugh out of me. “I like that. Maybe I should have business cards and a top hat.”
“As long as it’s not a whip, I’m fine with that.”
“Not my thing.”
“Have you tried it?”
“No. I’m just not comfortable with being restrained in any way.”
He shoots me a suddenly tender look. He fully understands my statement and its reasons, but as usual with Felix, he doesn’t pry. He never did. I’d simply told him more and more every time we were together, like I’d drunk an enchantment potion in fairyland.
“How about you?” I ask and immediately feel sick. I don’t want to know, I think savagely. Don’t tell me about your other lovers.
He laughs. “I know others like it and all power to them, but it’s not for me either. I had a bloke once who wanted me to pretend I was a schoolboy and spank my bottom. I pointed out that if he’d spanked my bum when I was a schoolboy he’d have been up on a charge, which put a slight dampener on the evening. He kept trying, but finally lost interest when I asked him to write his name on my pencil case and said I wanted to go for a smoke behind the bike sheds.”
My relieved laughter catches and holds on the air. “Come on,” I say lightly. “Let’s grab a taxi.”
We come out of the station, and he stops dead. “Jesus, is that our taxi?”
I nod, steering him over to the water taxi waiting for us, its wood gleaming in the winter sunshine and the flags on it snapping on the breeze. “No cars are allowed in Venice, so we’ll take the boat to the hotel.” I take his hand, helping him onto the boat as the driver deals with our bags.
When Felix disengages and goes to stand by the side, I immediately miss the warmth of his hand. I’m slightly mollified when he glances over his shoulder and calls, “Come and look at this, Max.”
The water taxi sets off, and a stiff breeze whips the air. Venice in the winter is beautiful but very cold, the sea winds blowing in off the Adriatic and seeming to get into every nook and cranny. He nestles slightly closer, pulling his jacket around his thin body, and I throw my arm over his shoulder.
“For warmth,” I say. “One friend to another.”
He nods, his expression slightly wary, but I stay close and relish the feel of him.
Venice is one of my favourite cities, and has views that I will never tire of. No grim industrial estates and boarded up shops here, like you see when entering so many other big cities. Instead, we slip into Venice on water that sparkles coldly, our boat jostling for space with the other crafts skimming the water and kicking up spumes of white foam.
The buildings and elegant old palazzos crowd over us, nestling together in their sepia tones, as if remembering, in their faded grandeur, the times when Venice was a centre for music and art, and Casanova was still climbing in and out of ladies’ bedrooms.
Felix’s eyes are everywhere, his face keen and eager. I wish he understood that, although I’ve spent the money for this trip, he’s the one giving me the best gift. Sharing in his excitement, I get to experience one of my favourite cities anew.
I lean into him, pointing here and there at interesting buildings, blessing my ability to retain the most random of facts, because they have always interested Felix.
And, slowly, the wariness that had been evident on the platform recedes, and he leans into me, grabbing my arm as he points things out, showing no signs of caution. I almost resent it when we pull up to the hotel, but Felix’s expression is worth everything.
“Are we staying here?” he hisses.
“We are.” I smi
le. “I always stay here.”
“Do you get a second mortgage every time?”
I laugh. “I told you before, I don’t stint on life experiences,” I say. “There have been too many times when I was convinced I wasn’t coming home. I won’t waste my time trying to be cheap when I’ve got the money.”
And I like to spoil you, I think. I want to spoil you for the rest of your life, take you all over the globe and show you the hidden paths and byways of the world that I know so well. With Felix at my side, my knowledge of the world wouldn’t die away in loneliness, but flourish by being shared. I think of a little old cafe in Saudi Arabia that I remember where they serve the best luquaimats. The little fried dumplings would satisfy his sweet tooth, and the taste of honey would linger on his tongue when I kiss—
My thoughts come to a screeching stop.
Kissing him? I’d be safer kissing a tiger at the moment. Felix would gut me if I tried anything, but that knowledge only makes me more determined. I want him back, and this is my last chance. If I don’t succeed this time, he will find someone else, and I will be alone for the rest of my life because no one can replace Felix.
I’m able to shake the thoughts away only when Giulia, the owner of the hotel, comes out, talking volubly in her warm voice. I smile as she throws her arms around me.
“Max,” she says when she lets me go. “So good to see you.”
“You sound surprised.”
She pinches my cheek. “I am a bit. The last time you were here, I thought you might drink yourself to death. Or fall in the canal and take a shortcut there.” She looks at my cast. “And I see you might have a head start on this trip too.”
Felix laughs, and she looks at him with her warm, bright eyes, the sun playing on her dark hair. “And who have you brought me, Max?”
I reach out and drag Felix against me, unable to stop the claiming gesture. “This is Felix,” I say proudly.
“Felix?” she says loudly. “This is Felix?” She looks startled, and well she should, because I have spent many hours talking her ear off about my lost love. I narrow my eyes pleadingly at her, and she recovers herself quickly. “What a lovely name,” she cries. “You don’t meet many Felixes.”
