A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

The Last Twist

This is most likely the penultimate chapter. Buckle up, my darlings! <3

***

"What do you mean by 'just go?'" Billie asked, although she very much knew what he meant.

"W-we'll d-drive to London tonight, and then fly to Roma tomorrow morning." He gave her an unsure smile. "We can stay in my second flat, or rent a place."

Billie gave him a taken aback look. "What is this even going to look like?" she implored, although she had a very clear idea of what it would look like.

She'd be whisked away to the world of luxury and lasciviousness. And since there is no way in Tartarus she could afford a ticket to 'Roma' without irreparably damaging her student loan repayment fund, that would be very much in the spirit of Manon Lescaut. And he'd got two flats in Rome - while Billie had held back on replacing her phone with its cracked screen and ugly scratched corners for two years by now!

"W-we'll back at the first opportunity, I p-promise," Dair said and stretched his hands to her. He didn't touch her, though, and sighed. "I kn-now, cara, it's s-sudden. But I m-mentioned it to Y-yola earlier, while you napped. And she said they d-didn't need you in the shop, and you c-could take time off. Or if you just w-wanted to quit and then c-come back to Fleckney with me when there's m-more progress on the centre's development, you–"

He must have seen just how bad it was, in her face; because he stopped and almost winced away.

"I beg your pardon?!" Billie hissed. "You spoke to Yola? You spoke to my boss, and– what? Did you get me a permission slip to miss school? Or am I now hired to have a liaison with you, instead of liaisoning between Bondarenko and the county?!" 

Only pure rage could make Billie Harewicke to denominalise a noun in such an uncouth way.

Also, her 'bad' was so much worse than his! Shame on you, Sybil Harewicke.

His jaw set, he started moving away from her. All the plenitude of Billie's reading experience burst in her mind; and she understood that, rephrasing Jean Valjean, she 'beheld before her two paths, both equally not-so-straight.' She could let this preposterous conversation turn into an overblown unnecessary misunderstanding, according to all the genre requirements - looking at you, Ouida! - or she could act like a sane person and admit that she'd been out of line. Having an actual conversation with the man would be more productive than rudely insinuating that he was trying to turn her into a Marguerite Gautier.

Billie had her flaws; regular displays of the most profound lack of self-awareness included - but even she could see that she needed to stop, apologise, and do better. She grabbed his hand.

"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate! And unfair! And untrue!" she said hurriedly. She released her grip on him, giving him space to hear and process her apology. "Eric, I am sorry about what I said. But I can't afford just taking off to Rome when I feel like it!" The realisation dawned - that she did feel like it - but her previous statement stood. "Even if we forget about my work, I'd have to borrow money for a ticket and for board, and–"

"Amore," he softly interrupted her. "I'm d-dragging you to a different country, I'll p-pay for everything."

"We've spent one night together!" Billie blurted out, and he froze with his mouth half-open. "I loved it, but what do I know about sex?" Billie continued. "What if we aren't compatible? It could've been a fluke! We don't know much about each other! What if you can't stand the sound of my chewing after a week? What if I decide it's not for me and want to come back? I can't possibly ask you to pay for my return ticket if we break up."