Page 18 of Love, Academically

Adumbrate (noun) ad·um·brate

To foreshadow vaguely

To suggest, disclose, or partially outline

Rhys

There was a nice pub about thirty minutes from the university and then only about ten minutes back to Lila’s house, so that worked. But he was tense and a bit frustrated. How could she not have asked him to help her? Surely, surely, he had proved himself capable of helping?

She could have asked him.

She should have asked her friends for help, and they should have helped her, regardless of whether they had a baby or not.

It was his own shortcomings that he was mostly angry about.

The simple fact was that he should have checked on her.

Not via email, but in person. He had been so wrapped up in his own stuff that he wouldn’t let himself think about her, and when the thought of walking down the corridor, leaning on the doorframe to her office and checking on her in person popped into his head, he quickly dismissed it.

He didn’t think about her at all. Not one bit.

Except when he was sitting in her office, surrounded by her vanilla glittery-ness.

Then he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop watching her throat bob in a swallow, the crease of her forehead as she tried to do something on her computer.

After the seminar, he couldn’t concentrate on his work, so he’d resorted to staring out of the window, hoping for divine inspiration.

Instead, he’d had an interruption from the distraction herself.

Now she was sitting next to him, in his car, leaving her sweet cookie smell all over his soft leather.

What was happening to him? He had never been so distracted before.

“Rhys?”

Lila jerked him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, what? I was lost in thought.”

“You’ve missed the turning. We are going to the Grape & Olive, aren’t we?”

“Shit,” he said under his breath.

“It’s okay, no rush.”

Rhys turned the car at the next roundabout and pulled into the pub car park, rushing to the passenger side to open the door for her. Because that’s what you were supposed to do, right?

“Who knew you were such a gentleman?” She grinned, heading over to the entrance of the pub, only limping slightly. Rhys jammed his hands into his pockets. She’d already made it quite clear that she neither needed nor wanted his help.

They were guided to a table and handed an over-sized card menu.

“Would you like any drinks?” the waitress asked.

God yes.

“I’ll have a pint please. Lila?”

“Um, Aperol Spritz please,” she said with a smile.

“I’ll give you some time,” the waitress said, and left to sort their drinks.

Aperol Spritz? What even was that? Her pastel purple nails skimmed lightly over the menu and he couldn’t stop looking at the big sparkly yellow ring on her right hand.

“What are you going to have?” Lila asked.

“Um.” What he always had. “Probably hunter’s chicken.”

“Rhys.” Lila sighed and folded her hands on the table in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all frowny and you’ve barely said two words since we left work.” Her head tilted, and something flashed in her eyes. Concern? For him? His stomach tightened just a little bit. It was nice having Lila be concerned for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just tell me what’s going on,” she said, leaning further over the table towards him.

Her hair fell over her shoulder, pink lips parting as she watched him, imploring him with those cloudless sky-blue eyes to say something. Anything. But he couldn’t, words wouldn’t form because he was just staring at her. He couldn’t free himself from her eyes, which pinned him.

What did she want to know? About this warm coil in the base of his stomach?

About how he couldn’t concentrate because of the sugary glitter that seemed to exude from her?

How he, Rhys Aubrey-Dallimore, who had been at the top of the corporate ladder, the hard-nosed businessman, couldn’t stop thinking about how soft her unicorn blanket was?

What was this?

“Rhys?”

Her voice was a wisp of wind, a dusting of snowflakes.

“Here you are.” The waitress plonked his pint in front of him.

Thank fuck.

He took a long, long gulp and nodded his thanks at the waitress. She’d be getting a good tip.

“Did you Google me? Google the Dallimores?”

His voice was too hoarse. The family. That’s what they were here for. The family, the story, the fake girlfriend. Yes.

“No? Was I supposed to?” She bit her bottom lip.

“You’re not a student, Lila. I don’t give you extra reading,” he snapped, shaking his head.

Her face hardened, and her eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry.” He leaned his elbow on the table and covered his mouth. This was not going well. He was too tense and this was all too much.

“Look, I get telling me whatever you want to tell me isn’t easy for you, but that isn’t my fault. Don’t take it out on me,” Lila said, leaning back in her chair. “If you don’t want me to be your pretend girlfriend, then that’s fine. I don’t have to come.”

Rhys frowned. He’d only vaguely considered that possibility.

He quickly shook his head. Explaining to Elin (and worse, his mother) that he was no longer bringing someone was a circle of hell best left unvisited.

It was certainly much, much worse than having to tell Lila about his dysfunctional family.

Besides, Lila would distract them from his all too apparent failings, and perhaps it would be nice to have someone on his side.

If indeed she was on his side, if he could let her be on his side.

“My family run businesses. They’re rich.” He took a breath, looking around furtively.

“All right,” Lila said slowly, a crease marring her forehead. She spread her hands like a ‘so what’ gesture. She obviously didn’t get it.

“My father and uncles are Croesus-rich, and my sister and cousins aren’t far behind,” he said, holding her eyes, watching for a reaction. “Croesus was—”

“I know who Croesus was, thank you Rhys.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You told me that they work for the family business, but you don’t?”

“That’s right.” Rhys nodded. “I did work for the family business. I started part-time on a building site at sixteen to ‘experience everything’, as my father said.”

Lila’s eyes skittered across his shoulders and she pressed her lips together.

“I worked holidays and weekends in all the different departments and divisions. Filing. Doing the post. Answering the phone. Customer service. You name it, I did it. We all did.”

She held up a finger in question. “When you say ‘you all’, you mean your sister and your cousins?”

“Yeah, all of us. It’s to find out what your strengths are. Then you’re expected to go and build a division or a business around what most interests you. Except,” his shoulders slumped forward, “nothing interested me.”

“Oh.” Lila tilted her head to the side, a sympathetic smile tilting her lips.

This was harder than he thought, laying himself out naked and vulnerable for her to see. He swallowed and continued.

“After my undergraduate degree, I worked full time at Dallimores for a few years, skipping from one department to another. I hated it,” Rhys said with a dry half laugh.

“There was absolutely nothing I enjoyed about corporate business. So, I decided to do my Masters part-time whilst I was working. I liked history, so thought, why not?”

Lila watched him avidly.

“I can’t explain it. It felt like home. It felt… right. The smell of the library, the Latin, the thrill of understanding people from so long ago. That’s when I realised I didn’t want to be at Dallimores, I didn’t want to be a Dallimore.” He shrugged. “So I left.”

“That’s why you were ‘late’ to academia.”

“Yes. My father was not happy about it. Academia, that is. ‘What a waste of time’, ‘I’m cutting you off’, ‘you’ll never be a success’, ‘what’s wrong with the family business?

’, ‘you’re wasting your life’, ‘I’ve given you everything’.

” Rhys looked at the table, those words still causing a dull ache in his chest after all this time.

“He gave me five years to make a success of myself.”

Lila’s eyes darkened as if she was personally affronted.

She reached over and laid her hand on his arm. He couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t risk the rawness of his throat betraying his emotions, but nodded in what he hoped she took as thanks for her comfort. He had never ever said those things out loud before.

The softness he knew would be in her eyes would ruin him.

“What does ‘success’ look like?” Lila’s voice was smooth and warm.

Rhys swallowed the pain in his throat.

“The Fellowship. That’s what we agreed on. I was cocky and arrogant. I didn’t fully understand how academia worked.”

“Oh Rhys,” she said, squeezing his arm.

“We didn’t speak for three years, not even birthdays or Christmas. It’s only recently, probably because of my mother, that things have been less… well, we’ve talked once or twice,” Rhys finished.

He took another long gulp of his pint, Lila’s hand falling away from his arm.

“I see,” she said quietly.

“It’s not just work.” Rhys twisted his mouth into a semblance of a smile. “If you’re there as my girlfriend, I can show that I’m successful in my private life as well. With someone who doesn’t just want the Dallimore name and money.”

“Surely, you can get a girlfriend, Rhys. You’re an attractive guy,” Lila said and a pink flush crept up her neck. “Even if you are a bit prickly.”

He jerked his eyes to hers.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His smile this time was less a semblance, more a real one. Lila Cartwright thought he was attractive, she’d just said so, and now she was blushing.

He took another drink, bolder now.