Page 41 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

FELIX

Max is very quiet on our way back to the hotel, sitting close to me in the water taxi and watching me intently. He seems hesitant and worried, and I say little, opting on the side of discretion.

When we walk into the hotel, Giulia is sitting behind the counter. She smiles at us. “A parcel came for you, Max,” she says. “It’s been taken to your room.”

He murmurs his thanks and tugs me to the lift. Once we’re in the tiny cubicle and he’s pressed the button for our floor, I sneak a look at him. He seems far away.

“You alright?” I ask.

He glances up from his study of his shoes. “I’m fine,” he says cautiously. “The more important question is, how are you?”

“Why is that more important?” I say, bewildered. “Don’t you count?”

His eyes are dark and confusing. “You’re more important to me than anyone,” he says, the words stiff and almost formal .

“Since when?”

“Since the day I walked into the biography section of Waterstones and saw you there,” he says steadily.

“Bollocks,” I say without any real heat. “I was just a shag.”

The door opens on our floor, but he puts out a hand to stop me leaving. “You were never just a shag,” he says quietly. “I just wouldn’t allow myself to recognise the fact.”

“Allow?” I’m struck by his use of the word. “What do you mean?”

“If I had sobered up and admitted what you were coming to mean to me, it would have scared me shitless.”

“Why?”

“Because it made me question everything.” The words seem to tumble out of him now.

Ungraceful and rushed and filled with so much emotion and so unlike him.

“If I felt something for you, then what did that mean about my feelings for Ivo? The one thing I prided myself on was my loyalty. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept me going. If I had switched my affections so quickly, what did that say about me?”

“You never showed any signs,” I say.

“Felix, I was a bloody mess,” he says in a despairing voice.

“A fucking godawful mess that summer. I was reeling at giving up a job that was my life and trying to make a life outside of it. I never expected to live through my correspondent days. It came as quite a surprise to find myself on the other side. I hadn’t got over that when I met you, and I was struggling with what I now know is PTSD.

I just couldn’t show you any of that shit. ”

“Why?” I ask, pained.

“Because you were so young and so bright, you hurt my eyes. And I told myself that I’d have you for a bit, but it didn’t mean anything to me.

I could do that and still be loyal. Then one day I woke up at the wedding of the man I thought I loved.

” I flinch, and he reaches out and cups my face.

“The man I thought I loved,” he says steadily.

“Only to find that the man I’d really fallen in love with had gone because I was a blind and stupid idiot and he’d taken all the sunshine with him. ”

“You were in love with me?” I whisper, my head reeling. I feel dizzy, like the lift rose too quickly.

“Were?” he asks. “Felix?— ”

“Excuse me, but are you going up or down?” A dapper old man with a cultured accent stands by the lift. He raises one eyebrow.

I laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. “Some days, it’s hard to know.’

Max murmurs his apologies and draws me out of the lift, his hand in mine. I follow him, and once we’re inside our room, I’m not sure what to say, “Max…” I begin.

“Let’s not talk anymore,” he says quickly. “Let’s just have a nice last night in Venice. We can talk tomorrow.”

I’m pretty sure I don’t hide my relief. I need to think about everything he’s just said. “Are you sure?”

He smiles sadly. “You’re about to start putting barriers up, so I’m pretty positive.”

“I’m not—” I start to say and then sag. “Maybe,” I admit.

He draws me to him and cups his hand around the back of my head. His fingers stroke through my messy waves as he kisses my forehead. The tenderness in his gesture makes tears prick in my eyes.

“It’s only natural,” he says quietly. “I hurt you, Felix. I took the love that you offered so freely and bravely, and I flung it back, not knowing how precious it was and how you gave it to so few people. And that’s on me. But now you can’t trust me to give it again.”

“I want to,” I admit, desperation in my tone.

He pulls back, smiling at me. There’s no trace of turbulence now—just a serene sort of resignation. “I know, and maybe you’ll never be able to again.” He breathes in. “Enough of this,” he says huskily. “I’ve got a present for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, you. Is there anyone else in the room?”

“There’s barely enough room for you and your sense of humour,” I say tartly.

He grins, relief lighting his features. I’ve never met a man so enamoured of sarcasm.

It’s odd, but sort of wonderful, because I have never pretended to be anything other than who I am with him.

I think that’s why it hurt so much when he didn’t want my love, because he truly saw me.

If he didn’t want the real me, then maybe I was lacking in some way.

Now I know that it was him who was lacking, and the thought lifts a weight from my shoulders that I never knew I carried .

I look up and meet his gaze. He’s regarding me with an understanding that feels deep and significant somehow. “Yes,” he says simply. “Now you see.” He reaches over and grabs a brown paper parcel from the ornate side table. “This is for you.”

“Is it lube?” I ask cautiously. “Or sex toys.”

He laughs. “You’re so very easy to buy for, Felix, you little hedonist.” I grin, and his face lights up with eagerness. “Go on, open it,” he says, looking suddenly like the small boy he was once.

I tear open the wrapping and open the parcel to find layers of bubble wrap.

It falls away, and I draw in a sharp breath that almost hurts my throat.

“ Max ,” I say. “Oh my God.” My voice is clogged with sudden tears because in my hands is the Rupert annual.

The one I remember telling him about at the book signing.

The one with my favourite story in it. The one my father took from me and gave to some other child he liked better.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

I laugh and drag a hand clumsily over my eyes. “Max, why are you so fucking wonderful?” I bemoan.

He laughs, gathering me close and kissing my wet eyes. “I can’t help it. It’s my curse in life,” he says solemnly.

I snort a laugh, and he hugs me tight. I want to protest that he’s crushing me, but his grip is perfect in the way that Max is perfect just for me. “It’s too much,” I mutter. “But it’s so fucking brilliant . Thank you.”

He smiles. “That’s okay.”

I shake my head. “No, it isn't. You listen to me. You really listen.”

“I always will,” he says steadily. He hugs me again. “I was going to whisk us off for a very elaborate dinner, but how about we get into our PJs, order room service, and you read that story for me?”

“You want me to read a Rupert the Bear story to you?”

He nods solemnly. “Definitely. Can’t think of anything better.”

And the crazy thing is that he means it.

As we lie in bed, his head resting on my shoulder, our legs entwined, and my voice reading the silly and lovely little story, I can feel the happiness radiating from him.

He falls asleep holding me, and I lie for a while, thoughts teeming and churning in in my head as I listen to the water splashing outside.

And although some of my thoughts include doubts, I still don’t loosen my grip on him.

The flight home is quiet. Max stares out of the window, his expression solemn and withdrawn.

In the old days, I’d have been desperate for his attention and despairing that I wasn’t getting it.

Now I just realise he’s in a quiet mood.

He gets them when he has a lot on his mind.

They’re probably a respite from his exuberant personality.

Nevertheless, he holds my hand, and when the flight lands at Heathrow, his grip tightens painfully, and I make a sound of protest.

“Sorry,” he says, giving me a quick kiss on my temple and letting go of my hand.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Perfectly fine.” He smiles.

We leave the plane and get through customs quickly. Maybe too quick, because our moment of parting suddenly arrives, and I’m not ready for it. And just like that, I know my decision.

“Max,” I say, stopping dead in the middle of the airport.

A man curses and swerves around me. “Watch where you’re going, you bloody idiot,” he mutters.

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” Max says sharply. “And don’t speak to him like that, you massive bell end.”

“Max,” I say, tugging on his coat. “Leave the twat alone.”

He huffs before looking down at me. Something in my face must alarm him, because he grabs my arm and ignominiously hauls me behind a kiosk. “Felix?” he asks.

I laugh. “I give in, Max.”

“You give in what?”

“I give in. Let’s get back together.”

I fully expect a cry of delight and maybe a snog. Instead, a complicated expression crosses his face, and he pushes his hand through his hair in an agitated fashion.

“Max? ”

“I can’t believe that I’m going to say this, but I want you to take a few days to think about it, Felix.”

“What? Why?” I ask, flabbergasted.

“Because you’re still not sure. You’ve been in the mindset of me being a cunt for two and a half years. It’s hard to change that.”

“To be honest, there are days that I do still think that.”

He huffs a laugh. “I don’t want to railroad you into loving me. I want your wholehearted participation.”

“But you always push everything . It’s what you do.”

“I don’t want to do that with you anymore.”

The relief I feel tells me that he’s right. “What do you want?” I ask.