In the end, we shared both the Pot Noodle and the caviar. Of course, they didn’t go at all, but that was part of the fun.
And afterwards, she took my hand and led me upstairs again. There wasn’t anything particularly unusual about George’s bedroom, except maybe that it was slightly nicer than average, but I’d forgotten how intimate someone else’s living spaces could be.
Matthew’s apartments—including his own—had always been about display: wealth, power, beauty, and all that blah blah blah. But George’s home was just…George. Right down to the pile of velvet jackets flung over a chair back.
Her bed had a touch of the fairy tale about it—all silver leaf and swan-neck posts, with pale grey sheets and dusty purple covers. I’d always imagined that—at the point of being able to afford someth
