That was true. But it didn’t seem fair to admit it. “Yeah, but…that’s temporary. It’s a wedding thing. Not an us thing.” God, I hoped it was a wedding thing, not an us thing. I levered myself back off the table. “Oliver, I’m not going to lie, I had a great time last night. But the reason I had a great time was because when I lived that kind of life before I was miserable and hating myself and trying to prove something to a world that could not conceivably have given less of a fuck.” I reached for his hand and he let me take it, the mediocre engagement ring I’d given him gleaming between us. “Basically, that’s the first time in a decade I’ve partied for…for fun. And I enjoyed it, and I maybe even needed it, but I also needed to be coming home to you. I mean, symbolically. Because obviously I went back to the flat and face-planted on my couch.”

Oliver’s fingers curled tightly around mine. “I don’t want to be taking anything away from you. Or turning you into someone you’re not supposed to be.”

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be,” I told him. “I don’t think anyone does. And being with you isn’t a compromise for me. It’s…it’s what I want. Otherwise I wouldn’t have fucking asked you to marry me.”

Oliver gave a little smile. “Yes, that was quite the gesture.”

“I know, right?” I risked smiling back. “Didn’t think I had it in me. I must really love you or something.”

“Yes. Yes, you must.” The blush was playing an encore on Oliver’s face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been quite silly tonight.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe you tried to get me to dump you at Quo Vadis less than a week before our wedding.”

“What can I say? Perhaps this place brings out my insecurities.”

“Last time we were here,” I reminded him, “I pretended I spoke French to impress you.”

“Last time we were here,” he replied, “I was entirely convinced you despised me.”

I gazed at him in an embarrassingly mushy way. “I’ve never despised you. And I never will.”

“Oh, Lucien”—it was Oliver’s driest voice—“you always say the most romantic things.”

“Hey, it could be worse. I could have called you a Moomin jigsaw again.”

At last, he laughed.

And, figuring I was onto a good thing, I decided to seal the deal romance-wise. “How about we share a lemon posset for dessert?”

“That would be wonderful,” replied Oliver, for once letting himself enjoy a thing uncomplicatedly. Or at least he did for about half a second. “Ah, except. I believe it’s made with cream?”