Page 155 of Pretty Mess

“Of course,” I say glumly.

“Why do you sound like that about my money?” There’s no offence in his voice, just honest curiosity.

I shrug. “Because there’s already a big gap between us, and the money makes it even wider.”

I gasp as he pulls me to an abrupt stop. “You’re right, but not for the reason you think. I’m not better than you. You’re better than me.”

“What?”

“You’re kind, clever, and open to life in a way I never have been. My money did put a gulf between us, but that gulf widened because of my rules, regulations, and insistence on reducing sex to something else I could buy in life and move on from.”

“And what made you choose to be that way?” I bite my lip. “I’m so sorry. You always said no personal questions and?—”

“I think we’re a little beyond that now, don’t you?” That stops me dead, and he chuckles. “Goodness, I think I’ve rendered you speechless. No, don’t talk. Just let me savour this moment because it won’t come again for another millennium.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He laughs again but then sobers. He seems nervous and it makes my heart beat heavily.

“I want to tell you things, but I don’t want you to look at me when I do it,” he says in a low voice.

I nod, my mouth dry. “Let’s walk then, Mac.”

He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, there’s only determination. He crooks his arm, and I slide mine into his and then we start to walk again.

“Have I mentioned my parents before?”

“You mentioned them briefly a couple of times,” I say softly, not wanting to break this moment, which feels as fragile as a bubble in the wind.

“They married against both of their family’s wishes and as an adult, I can completely understand the parental caution. They were far too alike. They loved arguments and each other, but they were completely feckless, which meant it was a rather tempestuous family life. Neither of them could keep a job to save their lives, but they did have a singular talent for collectingrich friends who they could leech off. We moved from one place to another, pausing only long enough for them to completely outstay their welcome and then cross that friend off their list. God knows what would have happened when they reached the end of that list. Perhaps fortunately for them, it never got to that.”

He falls silent, and I squeeze his arm, my nerves ratcheting. I almost don’t want him to tell me what’s coming next.

He comes to a stop, staring out to sea. A seagull is bobbing on the waves, giving a lonely-sounding cry, and Mac watches it intently. I stand at his side, all my attention on him.

“My father died when I was nine.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathe, forgetting my silence in the desire to comfort the pain in his voice.

He hugs me to him, and I blink as he kisses my hair. It’s a brisk embrace, and before I can relish it, he’s again staring out at that lonely seagull. “Thank you.” He sighs. “He died of a heart attack. It was completely unexpected. There had been no sign of any problems. Or maybe there were, and they ignored them. That would make perfect sense if you knew them. Nothing could stand in the way of a good time. Anyway, he died, and then it was just the two of us. My mother and me.”

There’s something disturbing in his voice, and I press closer. I don’t know whether he needs comfort, so I’ll just do what comes naturally, which is to stand close and feel him near. Instead of rebuffing me, he hugs me tight into his side.

“I don’t think I can adequately describe what life was like after his death.” He shakes his head. “I can’t remember a lot. I saw a psychiatrist once a few years ago, and he thought I was repressing things.”

“You saw the psychiatrist only once?”

He looks at me, and incredibly, his mouth ticks up. “Why would I want to remember things if I’d gone to all the effort of deliberately forgetting them?”

“No idea. You’re obviously the professional with your degree in psychiatry,” I say tartly, and he chuckles.

After a moment, he faces forward and licks his lips. “I can tell you what I do remember, which is that my mother became almost unhinged in her grief. She was a stranger to me. She shouted a lot and screamed even more, and my life became her and her never-ending parties and the endless procession of men with whom she tried to bury her pain. It never worked. Money must have become even tighter without my father, because sponging off friends became much more transactional when it was a rich male friend and a beautiful widow.” He grimaces. “Even then, she couldn’t keep them. I became used to their big smiles when greeting and copious relief when leaving.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be.”

“Yes, there is. I wish I’d known you then. You could have stayed with us, and Tyler would have looked after us.”