Wish You Weren't Here (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter Twenty Five

"Do you ever start overthinking your place in the universe and freak yourself out?" Lewis asks me. It's slightly later that same night, and we've moved to a comfortable oversized chaise longue at one corner of the pool. It's just big enough to share, and we're wrapped in each others arms, staring up at the night sky together.

I giggle at his question. "All the time, actually."

I watch as the stars seem to multiply before my eyes. I've always found that odd, the way the sky can seem like a blank, black canvas at first, but the more you look, the more you see. I guess, in a way, Lewis has always been my sky . . . His good points are unfolding in front of me like a series of constellations now that I've finally chosen to look hard enough.

"We're so tiny; so insignificant," I add, gently wafting an insect away with a half-hearted swat. It dawns on me that we are possibly also a tempting banquet for mosquitos right now, yet I can't seem to care.

"In the grand scheme of things, maybe," he agrees, stroking my arm gently. "But in life, we're usually big and significant to at least one other person." His voice lowers to a murmur, and it's almost like he's talking to himself. "Sometimes, we don't even realise how much."

"Do you mean me?" I blurt out, immediately regretting my words. Check out the ego on Rafferty!

"Nah, I was talking about my mum," he claps back, although laughter hums under his retort. His hand moves down to the side of my waist, palming it and squeezing lightly, reassuringly. "Of course I mean you. You have no idea the way you've affected me all these years."

"Yeah?" My own voice is barely a whisper now; hoarse and foreign in my own head. Every bit of honesty he allows me, each truth he gives out, seems to bring me closer to him. And it's weird and crazy and kind of beautiful all at once because this is Lewis Sheridan, and just a few days ago, I thought I wanted nothing to do with him. But it seems that suddenly, he's pretty much all I can think about. He's been as significant a figure to me all along as I've been to him - I simply refused to connect those vital dots until now.

"Every time we had a group night out, I could barely look away from you," he confirms. "You must know that - you caught me out so many times." He sounds sad now. "And every night you left without me, usually after we'd had some sort of stupid argument, and more often than not without even saying goodbye . . . It kind of broke me a little bit more each time. The fact we're here, like this, right now?" A self-deprecating chuckle huffs out of his mouth. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up to discover this was all a sick dream, and you still hate me."

Wow. It seems he really has been patiently waiting for me to wise up all along.

"I thought we agreed that we never hated one another," I admonish him teasingly.

"I thought you did, though. For a long time. Until about three days ago, actually."

"So what made you reconsider?" I tilt my head towards his questioningly, although I'm at too awkward an angle to see his face.

"I'm not sure exactly," he admits. "The kiss, maybe? Or perhaps when I saw the photos of it? Although I felt like we had a bit of a . . . moment before that, during that awkward dinner in Koutouloufari."

"Until I shut it all down," I groan, and he briefly hugs me in tighter, breath warm on my hair.

"Honestly, I can't really blame you. Neither of us really made it easy for each other over the years." His hands creep down towards my thighs as he deftly manoeuvres me onto my back. I barely realise what he's done until I'm hemmed in below him on the chair. "But we can make up for it." His smile is wicked, and I realise that Honesty Hour is over, at least for now.

I think I'm okay with that, though.

A finger slips carefully into my bikini bottoms, and I hiss out a sigh of anticipation as it makes contact with the place I need it most. "Why are you so . . . generous?" I whisper against his lips as he starts moving it in slow teasing circles.

His responding laugh is lazy and might be one of the sexiest things I've ever heard. Especially accompanied by the words following it: "Because I've been dreaming for a long time about all the ways I want to make you fall apart, Rubik's Cube." His dark eyes sparkle naughtily, and my world goes hazy as he slips down my body and adds his mouth to the equation.

Once again, I really hope there's no CCTV here. Because I certainly didn't have "poolside oral" scheduled in amongst all the other activities on our itinerary. I also wouldn't have expected to be able to tick "al fresco orgasm" off my Dirty Holiday bingo card. But here I am, whimpering and squirming as he fully applies himself to solving his favourite puzzle.

"I've had dreams about this, too," he tells me breathlessly, several minutes later as I return the favour (it was about time, right?), running my tongue along his hard length before I take him between my lips. I peer up at him from under my lashes, and he's grinning like he just won the Euromillions rollover. "The reality is actually far better!"

Afterwards, we retire to the bedroom and curl up together under the covers. Sharing short snippets of our histories with each other - tales of first kisses and embarrassing moments, childhood dreams, and grown-up fears. He already seems to know a good amount of my stories, proving once again how much attention he's always paid to me. "I always asked questions about you," he tells me when I ask about this. "I was determined to get to know you better; even if you didn't seem to want to know me. If you weren't going to tell me, I just found sneaky ways to make Lauren spill instead."

Shame overcomes me once more. "I'm sorry I didn't try harder," I confess, pressing a gentle kiss against his neck.

"It's okay. You're trying now. We both are. That's the important thing." He takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. "We should probably get some sleep," he mutters. "We're up early to go to Matala tomorrow." That sentence cracks somewhere in the middle; it seems to pain him to say it.

"Have you been before?" I pry, remembering that he said he'd been to Crete often. He just nods. "Is it nice?" From what I've briefly read of it, Matala is a colourful resort on the south of the island, with a bohemian vibe. It's probably the place I've been most eager to visit.

"Yeah." His voice suddenly seems clouded with sadness again. "It's the best."

"Are you okay?" I ask tentatively, confused by his apparent shift in mood.

He's silent for a few moments, as if my question is really difficult. As if he's on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and is trying to decide if he needs to use the Phone a Friend lifeline. "I'm not sure yet," he says eventually. "I . . . I guess I'll find out tomorrow."

And with that somewhat confusing reply echoing in my head, he drops a kiss on my lips and bids me good night.