24. Anna

CHAPTER 24

ANNA

I am so tired. Last night, we fell asleep on the sofa watching What a Meal! and, because we were too awake to go to bed properly when we woke back up at like one a.m., stayed up until almost dawn fucking. No regrets.

Watching Joel on his knees while I was sat with my legs spread wide open was a sight that I am never going to forget.

It's one that I want to repeat many, many times.

But I'm not a teenager anymore and I lost the stamina for multiple all-nighters a long time ago.

I've left Joel in bed, dozing. He protested when I got up but rolled over back to sleep again before I'd even left the room. It's not that I wanted to get up, exactly, but I needed the bathroom urgently enough that I couldn't ignore it anymore, and on the way there, my stomach started growling so I guess even if my brain has lost all sense of time, my body knows when it wants lunch.

So, like a zombie, I'm opening cupboards and staring into them, waiting for some sort of divine inspiration to hit and tell me what I'm craving. We didn't have breakfast, so I want something substantial. An omelet, maybe?

It's easy, it's quick, it's not totally unhealthy. And I have no other ideas, so it's going to have to do.

I grab a bowl and plate from the cupboard and drift over to the fridge, and as I'm contemplating how many eggs I want to use, a pair of arms slide their way around my waist and Joel's lips land on my neck. I hum happily as he kisses me. "Hey."

"Morning. Or whatever."

"I think we're into whatever at this point."

" Whatever ," he echoes. "What's for lunch?"

I shake him off so I can grab three eggs and shut the fridge. "What makes you think you're getting any?"

"Boyfriend privileges?" As he says it, he looks levelly at me, his big eyes questioning what he just said. I can't pretend that him saying that didn't make my heart leap.

I put the eggs down inside the bowl. "We're at that stage already, are we?"

He shrugs. "We don't have to be. But if you want…?"

To be honest, I haven't really thought about it and being asked to think about it here and now is making me panic. What do I want? I know I want Joel and I know I like him so much that the idea of him leaving makes me want to break down and cry. I know I want someone to care for me as deeply and passionately as he has been. I know I want this week of bliss to continue so we can keep ignoring reality.

But do I really want a billionaire boyfriend?

Carefully, I talk through my thoughts. The last thing I want is to upset him. "I don't not want, but like… it hasn't even been a week. It's kind of fast to be committed, right? Like, don't think I don't want to be. I just…"

"You don't want me to break your heart," he supplies and I feel my stomach flip.

"Yeah," I say simply because that's exactly it. "I do really like you. But I can't do a relationship if it's not going to last."

I'm half expecting him to just shrug me off and go back to doing whatever it is he does. But this strange sincerity lights up behind his eyes and I can't look away, like I'm being sucked into a blue abyss and I'm not trying to fight.

"I really like you too, Anna. Every other relationship in my life has been transactional. But it's not like that with you. I don't know why, but I just know that if you were to walk away from me, it would break my heart too."

My mouth drops open at the confession. Since when did Joel become so sensitive and good with words?

I stammer for a moment before I can get my mouth to cooperate with my brain. "Okay," I say finally. "Okay. One more week."

"Huh?" He tilts his head in confusion.

"One more week, then I'll let you call me your girlfriend. If this is that serious, then another week won't hurt, right?"

He nods. "Yeah, I guess. But it will last."

His certainty makes me feel dizzy. I really, truly believe that he isn't about to give up on me, and it looks like that's a pretty new sensation to him too. I'm excited to see how much more he's going to grow. How we both will together. "I'm still not cooking for you, though."

"Not even to teach me?"

Even the big wet eyes won't sway me on this. "No! I'm not your mother. If you're serious about this, you're going to have to learn to fend for yourself, like at least a bit."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "I can't learn if I don't get taught…"

I scowl, but he does have a point. "Fine, you can watch. But don't touch anything."

"Yes, chef," he says, saluting. "Anyway, even if you let me loose in the kitchen, I can't be worse than Lincoln was last night. At least I can flirt."

"God yeah," I wince. There were a string of episodes of What a Meal! that were so painful to watch, I actually had to cover my eyes. Lincoln was the worst, though — he thought he was so smooth but he steamrolled over the poor girl he was trying to seduce. He didn't let her say a word, was rude when she did, and then served her the sloppiest, beigest-looking bowl of food I've ever seen. "I think I'd have been sick."

"Same. At least I burn food and don't do… that to it."

Laughing and shaking my head, I turn back to my omelet. As I crack the eggs and whisk them up, I start narrating what I'm doing. Joel watches me closely, his hands behind his back as if to prove a point that he's not going to interfere.

To his credit, he really is paying attention. If he had a notebook, I'm sure he'd be writing down everything I say like I'm a professor. In truth, I'm not that great at cooking, but I know enough to feed a few people a good meal. It's kind of cute that he's watching me. I don't feel scrutinized at all, just like he's trying to absorb everything I'm saying.

I hope this is the Joel I get to keep when we go back to normal. I think that's why I've demanded another week. I don't want to leap before I see that he means it. Not just the liking me — that's not in question anymore. It's the personality I want to keep. It's not that I need him to change radically. I wouldn't want to stop him being dumb, lovable Joel. But the kindness, the thoughtfulness, the openness — if he really can be like that, then I wouldn't want to change a thing.

"And, voilà!" I say as I flip the omelet out onto the plate. He applauds vigorously, like he's just watched a master craftsman at work. "Go on, this one's yours."

"You sure?" he asks but picks up the plate anyway.

"Yes, but breakfast is on you tomorrow."

"Deal," he says. He doesn't even wait to sit down before he starts eating, his mouth full as he tells me how good it is.

I smile as I turn back to the stove. My billionaire boyfriend. It's not an awful thing to imagine at all.