Trust (London Love #5)

I laughed. “You’re full of shit. You expect me to believe that? You’re only saying that so you can guilt trip me into agreeing to your madness.”

“What madness?”

“Even Dad is on about how we could pay less rent living with you than we pay for this shithole. And we’d be in a central location.”

He lit up. Grinned and grabbed my face. Smashed his lips on mine.

“Secure parking. Your dad agrees. It’s a good option.”

“Fuck you.”

“Reubs. Honestly.”

“Gray.” I sighed.

“Come with me tomorrow. I’m meeting with Michelle again, you know. Scary agency lady.”

“Brr.”

“She’s nice.”

“They all are. Until they fuck you over.”

He rolled his eyes. Handed me a cup of tea.

“I’ll draw up contracts for us, Stewart and I talked about it. A ten-year plan. No bloody stupid clauses. Just a rent agreement, which would mean I pay for my bills. You pay for your bills. We have set—”

“Stop,” I said firmly. “Too much.”

“Okay.” He took a sip of his tea. “One day at a time, yeah? And anyway…” He grabbed his rucksack, rummaged around inside. Held out a bunch of keys. “I picked up these from Agnes, had to get an Uber since the drivers…well. No more drivers for now. Agnes had all the locks changed this morning. The movers are getting my stuff in tomorrow after lunch, and then there’s a cleaning and styling service coming in. We could…if you wanted to…we could sleep there tomorrow night.”

“Stop!” I shouted. “Just…let me breathe for a second.”

“Okay.”

He took his tea to the table and sat, while I hyperventilated.

“You always do this. Too much, too fast, too soon.”

“There are no rules here,” he argued.

“Oh, yes there are.”

“Look, Reubs. We can’t keep sleeping here. My back is killing me, and you can’t even stand up most mornings, complaining your arm is numb. But go on. You’re the expert problem solver.”

Rude, maybe, but he made me laugh. He was so bloody dry.

“Gray,”

“I love you. Remember that.”

“It’s only been fucking weeks, Gray!”

“One year, seven months, three weeks and two days. I checked. Since I was drunk at the BAFTAs.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me. And we have a house. That’s another thing I asked my solicitor about today.”