Page 29 of Love, Academically

“Probably, let’s find out,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist and guiding her to the bar.

“You’re not bad at this, you know,” she said.

“At what?” He glanced at her as he manoeuvred them through the crowd to the bar.

“At being a boyfriend,” she said, wincing. This was one of the times where she wished she thought before spouting nonsense.

“You’re enjoying me being your boyfriend,” he said with a coy look at her. Statement, not question.

“That’s not what I said. But it is… a nice evening.”

Lila leaned against the bar and did not, whatsoever, look at Rhys. But she did spot his grin out of the corner of her eye.

“You are,” he accused. “You’re enjoying me being your boyfriend.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Rhys,” she said, accepting a non-alcoholic sparkling wine from the bar staff.

But he was still waiting for a reply, his smile tucked just under the surface.

“Okay, fine,” she said, with an eye roll. “I’m having a good time.”

Rhys took a small step closer and grazed his fingers over her bare shoulder. She willed herself not to react, or throw herself at him. Either one.

“Surprisingly, I am also having a good time,” he said, voice low.

“Oh, well thanks. That’s a compliment I’ll pop in my memory book,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said quickly. “I meant I was surprised because I didn’t think I would have a good time here, with my family. Not about enjoying my time with you.”

“I know what you meant, Rhys,” she said. “I was teasing.”

The intensity in his gaze struck her, and he shook his head slightly, his shoulders sagging.

“I thought I was getting better at reading you. I’m not, though, am I?”

“Oh Rhys, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she said, putting a hand on his sleeve. “I was only joking.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat.

“I think you do a pretty good job actually. You’re doing a good job at being a very…” What was the word she was looking for? “…attentive boyfriend. And I am having a good time.”

“Are you sure? I know you’re only here because of our deal, but I do want you to have a good time and if you want to leave, you can,” he said solemnly.

Her heart throbbed for him because he was so earnest, so delightfully focused on her. Probably because if he focused on her, then he wouldn’t have to focus on his family.

“Rhys, I wouldn’t leave you here,” she said, her voice a little unsteady. The hazel of his eyes flared brightly and he angled himself closer towards her.

She wouldn’t. He’d made the massive, life-changing decision to leave his family business and his father never let him forget it.

“I hate this stuff,” he whispered. “All the flowers, the mingling, the stupid networking. Look.” He nodded over her shoulder at Elin, with James holding her handbag close behind, talking with a group of older men, turning her shoulder so his cousin Madoc couldn’t get into the Circle of Trust.

“I just don’t get it.” His eyebrows raised in question.

“Who would want to spend their time cultivating other people to get ahead in a dull and dreary business? All that politicking, manipulating, trying to work out what people want and how to exploit that for your own means.” Rhys shook his head.

“It’s much easier to discern motivation when all bits of the puzzle are there in front of you.

It’s why I like history. I can see it all.

You can track motivation, see what changes someone’s personality.

Understand why people changed their minds about things.

It’s all there, it’s all documented. You’ve just got to look hard enough. ”

Rhys’s eyes wandered over the crowds.

“You’ve got time to work it all out, no pressure to make snap decisions on what someone wants. Helps that the Angevin period is a bit Game of Thrones-y.”

Rhys’s mouth twisted into a wry smile and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. That was a lot of admitting that he’d just done, a lot of introspection that he didn’t have to share with her, but he had.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

“At work? Or now?”

“At work. Do you regret leaving Dallimores?”

“No. I don’t regret it one little bit,” he said, eyes not leaving hers. “I’m feeling the pressure now. I have to get that Fellowship, otherwise I’ll have to go back.”

“Why?” Lila asked. “You’re a grown-up. You’re self-sufficient. Even if you don’t get the Fellowship, why do you have to give up everything you’ve worked for?”

Rhys gritted his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” she hurried to say. “I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just you seem truly terrified of having to do all this again.”

“I am.”

“So, don’t,” she whispered.

This poor man, weighed down by the expectations of his high-flying, ridiculously wealthy family.

Scorned for wanting his life to go in a direction different to the one already mapped out for him.

Ridiculed for wanting to do something that he loved.

Even if she didn’t understand his love for dusty old medieval kings, Lila could see the hot passion in his eyes when he told her of John’s military disasters, or William Marshal’s cross-channel land holdings, or the beauty of Henry II’s Orford Castle (circular on the inside, hexagonal on the outside. Apparently).

Rhys was a dictionary torn down the middle, with a rosemary and garlic focaccia of interesting adjectives on one side, and the supermarket wholemeal sliced bread of boring conjunctions on the other.

Lila wound her arms around his neck and slowly pulled him into a tight hug. Solid arms slid around her waist and he inhaled deeply against her neck. Okay, that was enough, because if she didn’t let him go now, then she never would, because this hug was everything.

It was warm and secure, but as his nose slid down her neck, she felt a coil heat in her belly. There was no denying her attraction to Rhys, with his delicious eyes and broad shoulders that she fit so snugly into.

But this was just the deal. She was his ‘girlfriend’ and this was what girlfriends and boyfriends did. Although that fuzzy little bumblebee buzzing at the back of her mind said that Rhys couldn’t possibly be that good an actor.

Hang on. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was a real relationship. A messy, difficult, highly-strung man who put way too much stress on himself was not something she needed in her life.