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If I didn’t want what?The thought that she might be regretting what we just did has a panicked dread spreading through me like wildfire.
I walk over to her, and her legs widen on the stool to let me in close. I place both my hands on her face gently, tilting her head up to look at me.
“You never have to say sorry to me, alright? I wanted that.” I lean down and kiss her. “Believe me, I wanted that. I want you.”
She nods, pulling her face away as a tear wells up in the corner of her eye.
Fuck.
“Lila, look at me.” My hands drop softly to her shoulders.
She raises her eyes back up to me, blinking back tears, and fuck if the sadness in her eyes doesn’t break my heart.
“Tell me something. Do you want me?”
Her eyes grow wide as her jaw drops open slightly. She seems stunned at first, but then smiles.
“Of course I want you,” she says.
My heart does a fucking flip in my chest as a flutter fills my stomach. Those words shouldn’t feel so good, but they do.
“Good. I want you, alright? So don’t ever apologise to me, for anything. Got it?”
She nods and I kiss her, my mouth pressing firmly against hers.
***
Back in the lounge, we sit in silence for several moments, sipping our drinks as I wonder how long we’ll have to wait. Silence surrounds us like a fog, the images from earlier making themselves ever more present in my mind as the minutes tick by.
Her words from earlier circle my head, and a heightened worry that she may have been recognised solidifies in my brain, a protective instinct coming to the forefront. Would she be safe?
I don’t know how the conversation with the police will go, but I sincerely hope she stays the night after it’s done.
I grab the remote, flicking the TV on in an attempt to have something else to focus on other than the deafening silence.
I flick through the channels, lingering for a minute or two on the news to see if there’s any mention of it, but there’s only the never-ending talk of politics.
Almost an hour has passed when the sound of a car pulling up outside makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. Lila shifts in her seat, pulling herself off me as she sits up.
A car door slams, followed by another one, and a moment later, there’s a loud knock on the door. I glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. Ten minutes to midnight.
I squeeze her leg gently and we exchange a sombre look. Without another word, I switch off the TV and go to the door.
Two officers stand before me, one of them pulling out a notepad from under his arm. The second officer holds out a badge.
“Good evening,” the first says. “I’m SIO John Torres with Greater Manchester Police. This is DS Blackwood. Apologies for disturbing you so late. Are you Marcus Andersson?”
“I am.”
“May we come in?”
“Yes, of course.” I step aside to allow them to enter, locking the door behind them.
I lead them into the living room, where Lila stands up from the couch.
“Evening, miss,” DS Blackwood says with a polite nod. “Sorry to disturb you so late in the evening.”
Lila nods, her lips pressed into a thin line as I stand beside her, taking her hand.