Page 17 of Painted Truths

I’ll give it time; after all, not every possible relationship feels like an instant connection, and going on past experience, that can only be a good thing. I’ve had a handful of almost-boyfriends since finding my feet. Several random kisses and cuddles.

Still, I’d never felt that instantaneous affinity for another soul like I’d had with Henry. Even though I’ve tried my utmost, everyone else comes up lacking when I subconsciously make comparisons.

But I will continue to be happy to try at least.

Or at least that’s what I try to tell myself at a moment like this when emptiness is bearing down on me, and I feel a visceral need for that intimacy, that sense of belonging that I felt so long ago, even if it was all just one-sided naivety on my part.

My mobile rings, breaking through the silence that had been enveloping me in its embrace like an old friend. Glancing at it where it’s been charging on my bedside locker, I can see it’s Alex calling. Panic flutters through my stomach as I quickly pick it up and slide the green icon across to answer the call.

Before letting him get a word in, I cry, “I’m so sorry I’m late! I’ll be there in twenty if you have time to hold on for my stupid ass!”

He chuckles knowingly on the other end of the line. I can almost see the curve of his lopsided grin as he says, “I’m outside your door because, sweet girl, if I don’t know you and your habits at this stage, it’s all been for nothing.” He snorts at his own joke, putting a large smile on my face with his easy-going nature. “Come on and let me in before your coffee gets cold.”

I’m sliding along the wooden hall floor in my stockinged feet before he has even finished speaking, almost crashing to my ass in my haste. I throw open the door, bursting with delight just as he’s slipping his phone back into the laptop bag hanging over his shoulder, resting lightly on his hip.

He’s leaning against the doorway with that grin I love so much and have missed even more. Two coffees are stacked on top of each other and held in front of him in offering. I can’t help the answering grin that breaks across my face in genuine delight.

I stand to the side and theatrically flourish my hands before putting on my poshest voice.

“I bid you good morrow. Please, kind sir, enter my humble abode.”

It’s an ongoing joke between us. Despite looking and sounding as normal as my other friends, Alex comes from money. A lot of money. Not that you’d know it. He’s as down to earth as they come.

When I first met a teenage Alex and his Mum, Lauren, who looked more like a slightly older sister than a mother figure, at St. Fintan’s, I’d been somewhat taken aback by his Mum’s overly exaggerated accent. But, over the years, he’s confided in me that it’s entirely forced. After that, hoity-toity accents became a running joke between us, always guaranteed to make him chuckle.

“You’re a classic idiot, Liv. Here! Take this before it gets cold. I’ve already added the sweeteners that you like. All five of them.” He grimaces a little green at the gills.

Linking my fingers together, I rest my chin on them while batting my eyes rapidly. “You know, you can never be too sweet!”

Reaching forward and taking the reusable cup out of his outstretched hand, as he laughs at my silliness, I peer down the hallway cautiously before making my way into the living area with no sign of the girls. I don’t want to imagine how our conversation would go if I’d brought him into that hot mess.

My best friend takes a seat on the sofa while I perch on the arm on the far end.

“It’s so, so good to see you! Are you working today?”

He’s dressed in a dark grey three-piece suit over a light blue shirt with a dark blue skinny tie. His naturally highlighted brown hair is styled back off his face, and it’s longer than the last time I saw him on video chat, but it suits his handsome face.

His physique seems to have filled out too while he’s been away, and in general, he looks so much more confident than the Alex who flew to New York a scant six months ago to work his way up the corporate ladder at his late father’s company, DeMarco Holdings.

“Yes, unfortunately. I wouldn’t be dressed like this otherwise, but the office dress code fucking sucks. So, needs must and all that shit.” Rolling his eyes, he sets his coffee on the table in front of us before turning to me with wide, amber eyes and a quick smile that comes to him as naturally as breathing.

“Speaking of work, how’s the job hunting going, sweet girl? Surely, you’ve been snapped up already.”

Of course, this is one of the first questions out of my friend’s mouth. He’s always taking care of me, another of the many things I appreciate so very much about him.

“Nope. Not a single call. Yet! I’m remaining optimistic. Father T. always says—”

Finishing the much-used phrase, he cuts me off, “‘What’s meant for you won’t pass you.’ Yeah, he loves that one, doesn’t he!”

We both burst out laughing at the many memories we have of an un-ageing Father T. reciting his favourite positive thinking phrases until Alex suddenly sobers beside me and levels me with his whiskey eyes.

“Well, I think I have something meant for you.”

My stomach immediately ties itself up in knots before I cautiously nod for him to continue, my apparent interest bringing that lopsided smile to his lips and instantly quelling some underlying unease.

“Well. You know that before going to the New York branch, I’d been given quite a bit more responsibility at DeMarco, right? And now that I’m back here full time, with that responsibility comes the added bonus of… a personal assistant.”

He stops, leaving me to digest his words for a second before verifying, “A PA. You know?” Frantically taking in my disbelieving face, he ploughs on. “Hear me out, sweet girl. I know it’s not what you want to do in the long run, but it would be a huge stepping stone to help you gain experience to get where you need to go. And obviously, when you want to move on, I’d give you the best recommendation letter ever –”