Page 53 of Darling
He blinks at me, smiling. “Right. Um, okay. I’m just gonna go for a quick walk outside, then we can order when I’m back?”
“Sounds good.”
I watch him stumble a little dazedly around the suite for a moment as he pulls on a pair of cargo trousers and a ballcap, then his trainers, before he disappears out the door. I pull up my laptop to review the NDA again.
??
He orders what he calls a ‘bottom-friendly’ salad bowl and drinks water, a lot of it, while I have a red snapper rice dish, which is spicier than I anticipated. He talks over what to expect tomorrow—we’d decided that his co-star would come here—and what I should do if I need to leave at any point. Which he says he absolutely won’t be offended by.
“I shouldn’t think I’ll need to leave,” I tell him as I set down my fork and pick up my napkin. “I’m looking forward to it.” And I am. I don’t expect my feelings about watching him get fucked to change between now and then. Asher studies me as though hesuspects I might be lying.
“Have you ever done anything like this before?” he asks. “I mean, not with cameras and for this purpose, but like, have you watched before. Is that something you did with your wife?”
It hits like an insult, and my voice is sharp when I say: “No, never.”
The idea of Stella and me doing something like I’m planning on doing tomorrow… of herknowing… of her...
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “It’s none of my business what you do, or did with your wife. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I stare at him, his pretty, open face. There’s nothing mean or cruel or accusatory in it. Just the apology, and the barest hint of curiosity.
“No, I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just don’t tend to talk about her… very much.”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed.”
I blink. “Youwantme to talk about my wife?”
He sets down his fork. “I mean, sure, if you want to. It’s just… on the ride here, you told me about everyone else: your parents, your son, your friends back in England, the people you work with. You mentioned your schoolteacher once, too. But not a word about your wife.”
I stare at him.
“You had your whole life with her mapped out,” he says gently.
I nod. Unable to speak past the growing ball of emotion in my throat. Asher waits, patient and quiet.
“I still expect her to call to ask about dinner, to tell me to get Leo from practice. I still hope that when a door opens, she’s going to walk into the room. It’s… pathetic.”
He frowns at this, looking almost angry with me. “It’s notpatheticthat you miss her, Christian.”
“It’s been almost six years, Asher. She’s not going to walk into any room, she’s not coming bloody back.”
“No,” Asher says soberly. “She isn’t. But not talking about her, about what you had with her? That’s how you really lose her.”
I scrutinise him. This gorgeous, otherworldly boy who speaks with a wisdom far beyond my own. It makes me lash out, defensive.
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes flicker with surprise. “What do you mean?”
“With me. A man twice your age who can’t love you, can’t even fuck you, who can barely say his dead wife’s name because he misses her so much. It makes no bloody sense. What are you getting out of this, exactly?”
He’s hurt, I can see that, and he doesn’t try to hide it, either. Many would. But not Asher.
“Well, you’re here with me, actually,” he says in a measured tone. “You didn’t need to come, you could have stayed home in your fucking… palace, but you got in my car and let me drive you through two fucking states, so maybe I should be asking you that question?”
Chastened, and very much seen, I look down. “Maybe you should.”
“I don’t need to. I know why you’re here: because you’re sad and lonely, and you want to be with someone so fucking badly that even though the fact I’m half your age and get fucked for a living doesn’t bother you. I’ve made it so fucking easy for you, made myself so readily available.” A small, sharp little laugh that sounds like pain. “You don’t even have to work at it, I’m just here, so fucking desperate for affection that I’ll take whatever the hell you’re willing to give me.” His cheeks are flushed, anger bright in his sharp blue eyes, his breathing quick with emotion.A moment later, he stands, leaves the table, and then leaves the room. He doesn’t slam the door when he goes, but closes it gently behind him, abandoning me there with the guilt and self-loathing I’ve come to recognise extremely well.