It's Not You, It's Them. Portia MacIntoshЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Prologue

      When I met my boyfriend one year ago, I couldn’t believe my luck.

      You’re probably not going to believe me when I tell you this, but the way we met was like a fairy tale.

      I was covering an event for work: a big, fancy-dress ball hosted by a children’s charity. I’m not much of a comic-book nerd, but the second I saw Margot Robbie dressed as Harley Quinn in the Suicide Squad movie, I knew that was who I wanted to dress up as. I pulled my long, blonde hair into pigtails before temporarily spraying the ends blue on one side, pink on the other. I watched hours of make-up tutorials so that my face was just right and then I slipped on a tight-fitting T-shirt, some hot pants and some Converse and was ready to go. I grabbed my baseball bat, brandishing it at myself in the mirror as I got ready to leave the flat, just as my flatmate Gil walked by me.

      ‘You’re showing your arse at a children’s charity ball?’ he said, laughing.

      ‘There won’t actually be any children there,’ I replied casually, making a pouty face as I snapped a photo in the mirror. But as I headed to the ball, I did worry that maybe Gil was right. Funny really, considering what a hot mess he is for a forty-something man. That’s actors for you, though.

      Thankfully, when I arrived, there wasn’t a minor in sight – unless you count a guy I recognised from Game of Thrones who had, bizarrely, turned up dressed as a baby. The huge ballroom was packed with celebrities, journalists and people who worked for the charity… and then there was Mark. Mark Wright, head of PR for the charity, was the brain behind this fundraising ball, and very much the man of the hour. People were crowding around him – mostly women, I couldn’t help but notice – just to talk to him, get a quote from him, buy him a drink – or just anything, really, that would capture his attention for a few seconds.

      Amid the chaos, our eyes met across a crowded room – I know, that old one – but they did. My body not having quite the same proportions as Margot’s, I was just starting to feel self-conscious in my hot pants, awkwardly pulling at them – like that was going to make them any longer – when I spotted Mark, sitting at the bar, facing out into the room, people all around him, trying to get a piece of him. He was dressed as The Joker (Heath Ledger’s portrayal, not Jared Leto’s – but that’s not important) so I smiled at him. His reaction was to applaud me, tilting his head down a little and narrowing his eyes, perfectly replicating Heath’s sarcastic clap in The Dark Knight, before turning his attention back to his audience.

      Despite Mark’s temporarily messy green hair, that ghostly white face, black eyes and red, twisted smile, I could tell he was gorgeous. I don’t even think it was the usual characteristics that attracted me to him physically; it was the fact he had a smile on his face every time I looked at him (a real one, not the one painted on so he could tell everyone to ask him ‘how he got those scars’). He had kind eyes and, when he gave people his attention, I saw them light up – that’s Mark, though. With his good looks, charm and kind nature, he makes you feel like the most important person in the world when he talks to you.

      Twenty seconds of attention from him and I was smitten, so I spent the rest of the night subtly following this unconventional Prince Charming around the ball, just trying to find a way to get his attention, but feeling like an unworthy Cinderella and chickening out.

      Growing up around theatre folk, I’d always liked the idea of having a gay bestie. Someone I could have awesome girly nights with and who could give me amazing advice whenever I needed it. Instead, I wound up with Gil, the most alpha-male gay guy I have ever met – and he’s pretty shocking at advice, too. We were texting all night, and as he was getting progressively drunker, his advice was getting progressively worse. As I anxiously shovelled cake into my mouth I received a message from him saying he’d lost his keys and that he was going to climb the fire escape to get into our flat. When Gil drinks he loses control of his senses and his actions (and totally forgets his lack of athleticism) – one time he even lost half of his little finger, so I know that if he says he’s going to try and scale a building, he’s definitely going to do it. I pulled my shorts down one last time before deciding to call it a night – at just 11:45. What a lightweight.

      I made my way outside the hotel, booking my Uber as I took the stairs, before heading outside into the cool air to wait for my ride. As I stood there, I felt a hand touch my arse and, before I knew what I was doing, I spun around and struck my attacker with my baseball bat.

      ‘Hey, hey, calm down,’ Mark said reassuringly, his Yorkshire accent instantly soothing me. He took my bat from me and placed it on the wall next to us – I imagine just in case I tried to strike him again. ‘You just… you’ve got some frosting on your shorts.’

      ‘Sorry, I thought you were a pervert,’ I babbled.

      Mark laughed as he rubbed his arm.

      ‘I think you broke my arm,’ he teased.

      Convinced I’d blown my chance to seem cool in front of him, I gave up trying and let who I really was take over.

      ‘Are you kidding me? I think your arm broke my bat,’ I joked as I nodded towards his bicep.

      That first night when I met Mark, I took two things from his appearance: first of all, I knew he must have a great sense of humour, because rather than opting for the usual Joker costume of a green and purple suit, he decided on the female nurse outfit from The Dark Knight. The other thing I could tell was just how sexy his body was – yes, even in a dress.

      ‘I’m Mark,’ he told me, offering me a hand to shake. ‘I’ve seen you around all night. Do you work for us? Are you in a girl band?’ he joked.

      ‘I’m Roxie,’ I replied, shaking his hand. ‘I’m a journalist.’

      ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he teased.

      Typically, just as I’d finally got Mark’s full attention, my taxi pulled up.

      ‘Well, it was nice to meet you,’ I told him as I opened the car door.

      ‘You’re going?’ he asked, a look of genuine disappointment on his face. ‘It’s only five to twelve.’

      ‘I know, but I have to go,’ I told him, images of Gil lying on the pavement outside our flat with a couple of compound fractures invading my thoughts.

      ‘Does your Uber turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?’ he asked with a cheeky laugh.

      My God, I wanted to stay with him. Every second of my Uber home I wished I had, and then when I arrived home and found Gil fast asleep in bed, having found his keys in his pocket, I metaphorically kicked myself to sleep.

      The next day at work I was just sitting at my desk, thinking about what I could’ve said or done differently, when one of the receptionists came running up.

      ‘There’s a man in reception saying he wants a word with you,’ she informed me.

      ‘Whatever I’m supposed to have done, it wasn’t me,’ I lied instinctively as she literally dragged me to the reception. Mark was waiting for me there.

      ‘Hello,’ I said cautiously.

      ‘Hi,’ he replied coolly. ‘So I was at a party last night, and some girl assaulted me with this.’ He pulled my baseball bat out from behind his back. ‘I’ve spent all morning visiting the offices of every media outlet we invited, to see if I could find a girl who could give me a bruise with this bat as impressive as this one.’

      Mark rolled up the sleeve of his white polo shirt, flashing me his bruised bicep.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ I told him again.

      ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he replied. ‘Just have dinner with me tonight.’