Page 92 of The Grand Duel

An hour later, and Charles is dragging my mattress to lie atop the frame. “How’s that?”

I drop onto the bed, my smile filling my face. “You’re an angel.”

I close my eyes, sinking into the duvet.

Perfect.

“How long have you been sleeping on that floor?” I can feel his eyes on me.

“Hmm,” I say, not opening my eyes. “Too long.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m more than capable of putting together a bit of furniture, Charles. And it’s not like you showed any signs of such skills during our riveting conversations when we first met.” I open my eyes and find him watching me, his hands lodged deep in his pockets. “I am extremely grateful for this, by the way.”

“I’ll have you know those riveting conversations between us were the most exciting parts of my day.”

I nod, liking that he has a sense of humour. “Because you’d just give me so much.”

I chuckle, but he doesn’t join me, and so I let it die on my lips.

That was a joke, wasn’t it?

He bends to pick up the tools and then begins straightening out my room.

I reluctantly get up to help him.

“Are you looking forward to Italy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Is there a particular reason why?”

He stands to his full height with my tool kit in his hands, readying to pass it to me. When his head lifts, and he finds me right there, a foot away, he blanches.

I watch as he takes his time with my face, a torment on his own that I don’t understand until his hand lifts up past my temple towards my hair. I wait, only he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t allow it.

His jaw goes rigid, and he lowers his hand. “I’d better get going.”

He turns and walks from my room.

I sigh at the lost promise of his touch and follow him. “I ordered you food.”

He stops at the door, and I can’t help but think he’s fighting himself to leave. To stay.

He turns, gaze falling heavy on my face again. “I should get back.”

I search his blue eyes, not wanting him to leave yet. It’s been nice having him here. The flat feels so empty and quiet sometimes.

“Of course. I bought pizza, so take half.”

I go to my kitchenette and quickly pull the pizza apart down the middle, putting it onto a plate. I hand the box with the other half to Charles. “Here.”

He takes it from me, refusing eye contact and pinning his stare to the box. “Thank you.”

Did I say something before in the bedroom?

Because I don’t think I did. I think he felt it too. Whatever it was that made my heart skip a beat, I think he felt it.