Julia half sat, half laid, on the Victorian chaise-longue. It was covered in green velvet and every time Julia sat on it, she experienced what it must be like for a tiny insect to sit on a giant leaf. As a general rule, he planted himself in the massive high-backed chair next to the fire, opposite. It made him look like he was sitting on a throne. The heat carried the muskiness of his aftershave on warm waves to her. It wrapped itself around her and she breathed it in. It altered her, left her unable to move from her seat. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.
‘You can’t seriously tell me you’ve never read it before.’ He laid the pristine copy of Wuthering Heights on the coffee table in front of them.
She sat up and held the book, the question pulling her out of her languid state. ‘I’m compl
