Daydreamer

Lucy

“Tell me a story, Shakespeare,” Felix muttered into my neck. It was the early hours of the morning, after round three. The second time had been slower, with a pulsing intensity that brought tears to my eyes it was so beautiful. In fact, one tear did fall after I finally came. I had hoped that Felix wouldn’t notice, but the man seemed to be aware of everything when it came to me. He looked up just at the right time and brushed the tear away with his lips as it tracked into my hair, then kissed me deeply, still connected to me, and I didn’t think I’d ever been so happy. We’d passed out after that.

The third time had been this morning in the shower – Felix’s suggestion after he rolled us both off the bed. I was sceptical about the logistics of shower sex, but Felix disabused me of that notion pretty quickly as he lifted me with ease under the warm spray, held me up against the side of the shower and showed me how easy it was with sufficient strength and motivation.

Now we’d collapsed back in bed again. Felix had pulled off our towels and his head was lying on my chest, his large arm slung over my tummy as I stroked his hair. It was Saturday, and I knew he usually worked Saturday morning, but he’d shown no sign of going to the office yet and I didn’t want to break the bubble of bliss we were currently in.

“What?” I said softly.

“A story,” he repeated. “You know, like you did when we were kids.”

I took a short breath in and let it out slowly. My throat felt tight, and I had to clear it before I could get any words out. “You remember that, do you?” I said, trying to make my voice light, but it was an effort with the amount I was feeling.

“Of course I do. I loved your stories.”

I swallowed and blinked rapidly to push back stupid tears. I knew that Felix had no idea about my writing, and I knew that was partly my fault for not just bloody telling him. But it still stung that he’d never asked Mikey about me, never wondered about it. What did he think I’d been doing for the last nine years? Did he think I just sponged off Mum back in Little Buckingham? No wonder he felt he had to give me a job.

What made it worse was how much of a sad case I felt given how avidly I had followed Felix’s every move. I’d grilled Mike after every time he met up with Felix in London, wanting to know all the details of Felix’s career – whether he was happy, whether he had met someone? Granted, I had an advantage in following Felix’s progress. When he wasn’t featured in financial papers, he was often splashed across the tabloids and magazines out and about with various extremely glamorous, often famous women. It would be a little harder to find out what I was up to in Little Buckingham I was sure. But not impossible. Mikey or Mum would have told him if he’d bothered to ask.

So my pride was just a bit hurt. That was why I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that my stories weren’t just childish inventions anymore. They were a career. But then I owed some of that career to Felix, didn’t I? The boy who was always prepared to listen to anything my weird brain had dreamed up. The boy who never found my ramblings boring, who encouraged me to keep going. Tell me another story, Shakespeare. Felix had no idea how many times I’d conjured his voice over the years to help motivate my writing. But this man who’d inspired me, who’d given me the courage to go for it – he didn’t even know what I’d achieved. One of the tears made it out, trickling down into my hair. I wiped it away before Felix could notice and cleared my throat.

“Okay, so there’s a fae King called Taurus,” I started when I was sure my voice wouldn’t betray any of the emotion I was feeling. “He’s the leader of the Western Territory and the only one of the fae ever to claim back the city of Mendes from the Shadowlands. But he’s become obsessed with the prophecy of The Girl. The one to lead the fae out of darkness. The one whose light will flow into every corner of all the territories.”

I talked for nearly an hour, recounting the plot line to my first book. Had Felix wanted, he could have heard this story years ago. There was an audiobook version after all, with better narrators than little old me.

“Why have you stopped?” Felix said in a grumpy voice, giving me a squeeze. I smiled as I ran my hands through his hair and kissed his forehead.

“You need to feed me,” I told him, not able to tell him that I simply couldn’t go on recounting this story. It felt weirdly like lying, which I guess I was kind of doing by omission. But in my defence, Felix hadn’t actually asked me directly at any point about anything specific. I used to talk about being an author as a child. Did he just assume I’d given up on my dreams?

I pushed the annoyance and resentment down. I didn’t want to waste this time with Felix. Who knew how much longer I had with him? I wasn’t under any illusion that I’d be enough to hold Felix’s interest. If he didn’t stay with all those other glamourzons there was little hope for me. But I was absolutely resolved to savour every fantastic moment with him now. I wasn’t missing a thing – not his warmth, not his smile, not his sense of humour, not his gentle teasing, not his incredible, unnaturally warm body. It was all mine… for now.

My stomach chose that moment to let out a low grumble. Felix pushed up and flipped fully on top of me, caging me in with his arms, his hands planted in the pillow on either side of my head. He leaned down to kiss me once and smiled his glamorous, white smile, complete with dimple, making my breath catch in my throat at just how handsome he was. His stubble was thicker this morning, his hair deliciously tousled from where I’d had my hands through it, his tanned skin a stark contrast to my lily-white complexion. He looked good enough to eat. He groaned and let out a low laugh.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” he muttered. “Or we’ll never leave this bed, and you need to eat.” He kissed me again and rested his forehead on mine for a moment before jumping out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans from the back of a chair. I shuffled out from under the duvet, feeling exposed now that we weren’t actively shagging or lying naked together under the sheets. I became a little frantic as I searched for my underwear, breathing a huge sigh of relief when I managed to find my knickers and nearly fell over in my haste to pull them on. Felix stopped me as I was about to go back to grab the next item of clothing I could see. I no longer cared about the order; I’d wear my bra over my jumper dress if I could just get them on in a matter of seconds. He took my hand in his as I reached for my thermals and pulled me back upright and against him, encircling me again with his warmth.

“Hey,” he said softly into the top of my head. “You okay, love?”

I buried my face into his chest and swallowed my embarrassment. “Y–yes, I just…” I let out a small laugh. “I just feel a bit weird now. I mean the other women you’ve been with… I…”

“What about them?”

“Felix, I’ve seen the pictures. I’m not exactly in the same league. You can’t really blame me for being a little self-conscious.”

Felix pulled away slightly so that he could look at me. When I kept my gaze firmly on his chest, he used both his hands on either side of my jaw to lift my face to his.”

“Lucy, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life,” he said. My eyes went wide, and my mouth dropped open.

“Y–you can’t mean that. I⁠—”

“Listen, I should be the insecure one,” he told me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Davey Turnbull’s a hard act follow. At least I’m not recounting my previous dates’ full names.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I know full well that you are not in the least intimidated by a farmer’s lad from Lower Winton.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who brought him up just as we were about to⁠—”

I slapped his chest but did smile. “Don’t say it!”

He kissed me again and then held me against him, my body melting into his. Then he shuffled me over to his chest of drawers, pulled out a shirt and slipped it over my head. It came down to my knees, and I had to roll the sleeves up a few times to find my hands.

“Forget about clothes for a moment,” he said. “I want you to potter around the house in just my shirt.” He went back to the drawers and pulled out a pair of thick socks. “Wear these, and I’ll crank the heat right up to thirty degrees. I have underfloor heating.”

“I’ll look ridiculous,” I mumbled.

“Trust me, you’ll look gorgeous.”

“Fine,” I snapped, taking the socks and pulling them on. “But only if you keep your shirt off.”

He laughed again. “You’ve got a deal.”