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‘Just tell me what it is about him.’ Gregory pulls me to a stop, and I open and close my mouth, trying to figure out how to word it. It’s all clear as daylight in my mind, but trying to voice it to an outsider stumps me. I don’t need to justify myself to anyone, yet the profound need to make Gregory understand why I’m still here is suddenly very important to me.

‘Everything.’ I shake my head, wishing I could come up with something better.

‘The fact that he’s an escort?’

‘No!’

‘Money?’

‘Don’t be stupid. You know I have a bank account full of cash.’

‘He’s intense.’

‘Very, but it has nothing to do with that. He wouldn’t be Miller if he didn’t have issues. Every part of that man is a result of his life so far. He was orphaned, Gregory. His grandparents dumped him in a questionable children’s home and forced his young mother back to Ireland, leaving him behind because of the shame he’d bring on the family.’

‘Doesn’t mean he can behave like a total twat,’ he mutters, scuffing his boots on the concrete beneath his feet. ‘Everyone has problems.’

‘Problems?’ I fume indignantly. ‘Being orphaned, becoming homeless, having OCD, and resorting to prostitution to survive isn’t a problem, Greg. It’s a f**king tragedy!’

My friend’s eyes widen, making me frown. ‘Homeless?’

‘Yes, he was homeless.’

‘He has OCD?’

‘Not confirmed, but it’s pretty obvious.’

‘Prostitution?’ he shouts in delayed reaction.

I realise my error immediately. Escort. Gregory didn’t need to know that Miller had been a regular prostitute. ‘Yes.’ I raise my chin, daring him to pass comment, thinking what he’d say should I add drug addict to the list.

My ploy fails on every level. ‘It gets better!’ he laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh. ‘And I’m pretty sure he’s psychotic, too, so you really do have your very own head case.’

‘He. Is. Not. A. Head. Case.’ I punctuate each word on a hiss, my blood beginning to boil. ‘You don’t see him when we’re alone. No one does, except me. Yes, he can be uptight, and so f**king what if he likes things a certain way? He isn’t killing anyone!’

‘He probably has.’

I recoil in disgust, words collecting and sticking to my tongue, my brain not quite sure which expletives to hurl at Gregory first. ‘Fuck off!’ It settles on a good all-rounder, and once I’ve lobbed it in his face, I turn back towards Miller’s apartment block, my angry feet pounding the pavement harshly.

‘Ah, Livy, come on!’

‘Piss off.’ I don’t look back. There’s likely to be explosions if I do. But then I think of something and swing around. ‘Where did you get Miller’s card?’

He shrugs. ‘That black-haired bird who was at Ice’s opening night. Hot as f**k!’

Cassie.

I feel my hackles rise and the pressure in my head mount. The bitch! I steam off, worrying about my mounting fury. I want to hit something. Hard.

‘Oh!’ My yelp is high-pitched as I’m captured and tossed up so I’m lying across his arms. He changes direction and strides off down the road, back in the direction of the coffee house, ignoring my incredulous look.

‘Sass,’ he says simply. ‘I’m kind of glad you’ve hung on to it.’

My body lets up on the tension stored and I relax in his arms. ‘I love him, Gregory.’

‘I can see that,’ he admits begrudgingly. ‘And does he love you?’

‘Yes,’ I answer, because I know for certain that he does. He just doesn’t say it so straightforwardly. But that’s his way.

‘Does he make you happy?’

‘More than you’ll ever know, but I’d be so much happier if people just left us alone.’ I feel him deflate beneath my suspended body on a sigh.

He stops and places me on my feet, then takes a solid grip of my petite shoulders. ‘Baby girl, I get a bad vibe. He’s so . . .’ He pauses, his hand reaching to his forehead and rubbing in a clear sign of worry.

‘So what?’

His lips purse and he drops both hands to his side where they hang lifelessly. ‘Dark.’

I nod, taking a deep breath. ‘I know every dark thing there is to know about him. I’m making it all light again. I’m helping him and whether you agree and accept it or not, he has helped me, too. He’s my someone, Gregory. I’ll never give him up.’

‘Wow.’ My friend exhales, his cheeks puffing. ‘Those are some strong words, Olivia.’

I shrug. ‘That’s how it is. Don’t you see? He isn’t holding me captive or forcing me into anything. I’m there willingly and because I’m supposed to be. I hope you find your someone someday, and I hope you feel as consumed by them as I do Miller. He’s special.’ I mentally wince at my own words, tossing that thought far, far away.

Peace seems to settle over me under the evident realisation in Gregory’s expression. I’m not sure if he understands, and maybe he never will, but acceptance would be a good starting point. I don’t expect them to be bosom buddies. I don’t think Miller could be bosom buddies with anyone; he’s not a people person. He doesn’t mix well with anyone, least of all interferers. But the least they can do is be civil. For me, they should find the strength to do that.

‘I’ll try,’ Gregory whispers, almost reluctantly, but it still makes my heart dance with happiness. ‘If he’s willing to try, then I’m game.’