Ishmael glared back at him and that little smirk of his, like Kieran knew something he didn’t. This conversation was suddenly making his toes curl, and not in a good way.

“Is that what you’re after?” Ishmael accused him in a low, hissed tone, as if all Kieran’s habits of journalistic digging were presently being deployed to make Ishmael admit to something incredibly mortifying. “You want me to say that I’ve gone – soft in my old age, that I love him or think he’s my soulmate and that’s why –” he waved his hand aggressively, I turned him and I believe that everything will work out, happily ever after?

“That’s not what this is,” he protested hotly. (He did think Monty was as good his soulmate as anyone was ever going to be, but –)

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