Page 16 of Darling

He visibly cringes. “God, I’m sorry.”

I give him a pointed look, then I smile. “I’m kidding.”

He laughs, but it’s a little grim. “Does it have a name?” he asks after a moment, something sharp coming into hisexpression.

“I don’t know how well-known they are in England, but have you heard of HHM?” He shakes his head. “They’re pretty huge here, especially in the Midwest, though they’ve centres all over the country. They homeschool kids to be these little mindless followers of the message. HHM means His Humble Messengers. So entirely lame. Anyway, my parents joined just when my sister was born, and they’re still there, delivering the message or whatever… I mean, I assume they are. My sister left when she was seventeen, and that’s when I started to question shit, too. And also when I began to realise I was… well… not exactlylike other boys.”

His eyes turn sad. “You have no contact with your parents now?”

I look down and shake my head. “My dad and I were never all that close. But my mom… well, I miss her, and no, we haven’t spoken since I left. People who leave aren’t considered part of the family anymore, and Jeremiah has probably convinced them I’m the literal spawn of Satan or whatever, so, yeah, that’s that.”

Christian sits very still, watching me intently. It’s hard to look directly at his stare, so I brush a hand through my hair and swipe up the last California roll.

“That must have been incredibly hard for you,” he says at last. “To leave everything you knew behind, to have no contact with your parents. I’m so terribly sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m okay,” I say dumbly.

He nods, then says, very sincerely, “Yes, I can see that.”

It’s meant as a compliment, but I don’t know, it makes a wave of sadness come over me. After a few moments of heavy silence, I ask, a little playfully, “So, do you think I’m damaged goods or something now?”

Christian softly says, “That... actually could not be farther from where my mind is at the moment.”

I give him a small half smile. “Really?”

“I think,” he says, “that you might just be one of the most magnificent creatures I’ve ever met.”

The full-body shiver is intense. “Creature? That a compliment where you’re from?”

He laughs a little as he lifts his glass to sip at his wine. “It can be. It was.”

“Alright then.”

We tidy away the plates, refill our glasses, and carry them to the couch, where I sit with my legs crossed, facing him. He’s sitting at an angle, his long legs stretched out, dark blue fabric tight over his thighs, and the thick bulge of his uncut cock distractingly visible. My mouth waters. I sip my wine.

“So do you work for the government or…” I ask. “‘Politics’ is pretty vague, you gotta give me something else.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Yeah. I gave you my cult, you give me yours.”

He laughs that warm, honeyed laugh I’m starting to really,reallylike. He thinks about it. “No, I don’t work for the American government.”

“English government then?”

“British, sweetheart. There is no English government.”

“Oh, okay, noted.” I nod. “So that’s who you work for then? The British government?” When he says nothing, I say, “I could just Google you right now, you know. Now that I have your full name, I could just Google you. I won’t. But I could.”

Some flicker of something, concern I think, passes over his eyes, but then it’s gone. “Yes. I work for the British government—notas a spy,” he adds before I can make the joke again. He studies me a long moment, takes a deep breath, and says: “I’mthe UK Ambassador to the United States.”

My mouth falls open a little. “I’m fucking the UK Ambassador to the United States?! Holy shit. That definitely sounds like somethingUS Weeklywould want to know.”

“Asher…” he says seriously.

“Sorry, joke. I’d never do that.” I look him dead in the eye. “You know I’d never do that, right?”

He searches my face for a minute. “I think so, yes.”