Page 79 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

There’s a beat of silence while we look at each other, and something sweet and vulnerable dances in her eyes, then Lee looks away. ‘Anyway, I think that’s enough excitement for one night,’ she says. I can almost see her reeling all her emotions back in until her smooth mask is in place. ‘I’m going to head to bed.’

‘Sure.’ I try to keep my voice even. ‘Sleep well.’

She makes it to her bedroom door before she turns back. ‘Nico…’ she pauses, fixes me with those blue eyes, her expression serious. ‘I really do think there’s a way you can be Phoebe’s dad, and still be you. Just think about it. Please.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Nico

The next morning I wake up sprawled uncomfortably on the too-small sofa with a drumline playing in my head and Taco licking my face.

‘Okay, okay,’ I mumble, getting to my feet so that I can put some food down and let him outside. Despite the fact I only had a few glasses of wine last night, I’m still feeling a certain tenderness in body and spirit. Getting older sucks.

The corner of my laptop sticks out from under the sofa where I shoved it before I eventually fell asleep last night and I eye it warily for a moment.

Last night after my conversation with Lee I opened up the pictures from our night in Vegas, and as the screen comes to life now they pop up in front of me.

They’re some of the last photos that I properly took the time to edit, and seeing them now is strange. First of all, there are some great shots in there, and I remember how buzzed I was about them at the time. Frankie Martelli and his friends have the most incredible faces, their personalities sing through every image, and the way I’ve worked on the pictures really makes the most of the moody setting, emphasising a curl of cigar smoke through the diffused light here, a vibrant pop of deep red there.

I click through the photographs until I get to the one I’m looking for.

It’s of Lee.

She’s sitting at the poker table, an enormous stack of chips in front of her. Her fingers are pressed over a fan of cards, still face down. No one knows yet that it’s a winning hand.

Her face is turned towards one of the other players, and she’s grinning at something they said, her eyes half shut, the dimples in her cheeks on display. Her hair is falling out of the long, mermaid-y braid she had it in; the top two buttons of her white silk shirt are unbuttoned, revealing the hollow at the base of her throat.

There’s something about this picture, something magic. It’s Lee. She’s luminous. Strands of gold thread through her hair, her skin is all pearls and moondust. She’s not just sitting in the light. She is the light.

I draw in a shuddering breath. Look at her. Is it any wonder I married this woman? I probably dragged her down the aisle. She never stood a chance.

There was this moment last night where she had one of those stupid flashcards taped to her head, and she was laughing at some story Tara told, and the light from the candles I’d teased her about flickered over her face. I heard the camera shutter go off in my head. I wanted that picture so badly, my hands shook. I wanted to catch her in that instant and keep her for ever.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with all these feelings.

Suddenly, the bedroom door opens and Lee tiptoes out. She’s wearing bright pink cotton pyjamas, covered in photographs of cats. Her hair hasn’t been brushed, and she startles at the sight of me.

I slam the laptop shut, looking guilty as hell.

‘Sorry,’ her eyes widen, ‘I thought you’d still be asleep. I was going to creep past for a glass of water.’ She winces. ‘Maybe some ibuprofen.’

I dread to think what she imagines I was doing… Still it might be better than the reality, which is mooning over a photograph of her face.

‘Yeah, it’s no Vegas hangover,’ I manage, getting to my feet, ‘but half a bottle of wine is a pretty heavy night for me these days.’

‘Me too,’ Lee agrees. After a second’s hesitation, she crosses to the kitchen and pours two glasses of water from the jug in the fridge, before extracting matching his and hers doses of painkillers from the First Aid box.

I’m about to call Taco back inside, but clearly he’s heard his beloved’s voice because he comes barrelling past me like a bullet. I open my mouth but instead of jumping all over Lee as I expect him to, he sits and gently leans against her leg.

‘He knows I’m feeling delicate this morning, don’t you, my sweet boy?’ Lee asks, scratching him behind his ears while he whimpers in delight.

‘Before you got here it used to take me fifteen solid minutes of swearing and threats to get him back inside.’

Phoebe’s door opens then and she comes in, wearing her black cat hoodie. ‘Oh, good, you’re both up,’ she says and climbs up onto one of the kitchen stools, last night’s bad dream forgotten. I guess I should be happy that they don’t seem to linger in her mind, but each one takes a week or two off my life.

I grab my glass of water and swallow my pills before turning to her. ‘Let me guess. You’re starving and you want something disgustingly unhealthy for breakfast.’

Sensing weakness, she blinks at me. ‘There’s half a tub of Miss Rita’s peanut butter ice cream left in the freezer.’ Her eyes widen further. ‘And peanuts are legumes, Dad.’