Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)

by Phillips, Christina

  You don’t have to keep your hands to yourself. This weekend is like a holiday romance, where real-life rules don’t apply. I’m going to make the most of it.

  Besides, we’re already holding hands.

  Mackenzie Carter, all that sex last night turned your brain.

  Yes. Yes, it did.

  …

  Will

  This is fucking crazy.

  I felt like shit after the meeting, even though the news wasn’t unexpected—I’d been bracing myself for the last month. It’s still hard to take when the offer’s finally in black and white. The guys are almost as gutted as me, but it’s double-edged because this is also the best financial news we’ve had in years.

  If Mac wasn’t here this weekend, I’d be abseiling from the most challenging rock face right now. It would focus my frustration, and I’d be able to work through the setback. But the weirdest thing is how sharing the situation with her has kind of lessened the blow.

  Not taken it away altogether. But her support—I don’t know. Feels good.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” Do you want to go back to bed? Although I promised her a tour of the village and Oakland, if she wants a repeat performance of last night, I’m up for that.

  Jesus, stop thinking about last night.

  Like that’s going to happen. Except for that hour at the lodge this morning when my future shifted beneath my feet, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.

  Friends with benefits. I should’ve said no. But when she looks at me with those beautiful eyes, I don’t care about Lucas or her family, or how I’m betraying every bro rule in the book. I’ll take whatever they throw at me. And this time I won’t let the sex ruin the friendship.

  “Sure.”

  Hand in hand, we leave the bakery, and as we stroll along the high street, I grin at her.

  “What is it?” She gives me a mock frown.

  “This.” I swing our joined hands. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”

  “That makes two of us. You want to let go?”

  “Hell, no.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “I like it.”

  She laughs and bumps my arm. This time, there’s no question it’s deliberate, and the need is strong to get her back to the pod right now.

  Before I figure out how to frame the words so I don’t sound like a sex-crazed jerk, she suddenly stops. “Do you want to have a quick look in here?”

  We’re standing outside the art gallery. I always think of her whenever I walk by. I should’ve guessed she’d want to visit.

  “After you.” I push open the door of the fifteenth-century building and follow her inside. The whitewashed walls display local artists’ works, and she scrutinizes each one as if she’s analyzing every brush stroke.

  I know nothing of art except I either like something or I don’t. Not sure what else there is beyond that. But it’s oddly fascinating watching her reaction as she moves from piece to piece.

  “What’s your verdict?” I whisper in her ear. And since there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, I kiss her temple.

  She gives a little shiver, and I grin against her cheek. I love the way she reacts to my touch.

  “Very good. Not that I’m any kind of expert. Are they all local artists?”

  “No idea. And you are an expert. You know a lot more about all this stuff than I do.”

  “Huh. Not sure that’s saying much.”

  “Can’t you just take a compliment and say thanks, Will.”

  She gives a silent laugh and nudges me in the ribs. “If you give me one, I will.”

  Challenge accepted. The scent of her shampoo and the soft skin of her cheek against my face are all the encouragement I need. “Last night was the best time I’ve had in two years.”

  She snorts like I just told her a dirty joke. “Is that your best effort? Seriously?” She glances around the gallery, which is starting to fill up with tourists, before pulling me outside onto the street. “It’s not all about the sex.”

  “First thing this morning, that’s exactly what you said it was all about.” Talk about knocking me off my arse when she gave me the friends-with-benefits offer. I’d been half expecting her to tell me last night had been a massive mistake, like she did two years ago. Or say it was great, but something never to be repeated. Did I misunderstand?

  “Oh. Yes. That’s right.” She shakes her head. “Okay, then. Best sex in two years. Really? Have you been celibate?”

  “Jesus. It’s hard work giving you a compliment. I didn’t know I’d have to back it up with statistical analysis.”

  She laughs and briefly rests her head on my shoulder. Damn, that feels good. “Sorry. It’s my inner bitch. She does like getting her time in the sun. Shall we start again?”

  “It’s too late now, Mac.” I bite down on my grin as she groans.

  “Don’t be like that. I’ve had time to think about it now, and as compliments go, it wasn’t too bad. It must’ve been one of your moments. I’ll have to write it down.”

  “If that’s your best effort at a compliment, then forget it. The one you gave me in the pub the other night was better than that.”

  “Hey, I’m not a compliments kind of girl. You know that. Growing up with two brothers gave me a nice, healthy dose of cynicism.”

  Shit. I’d managed to push her family to the back of my mind, but her throwaway comment smashes through me like a brick. Lucas will fucking kill me if he finds out I’m sleeping with his sister. Like he would’ve two years ago if Mac hadn’t made it clear she didn’t want anyone to know what had happened.

  Does she still feel that way?

  “Speaking of your brothers…” I turn to face her at the end of the high street, and we wrap our arms around each other. “Do you want me to tell them about us?”

  “God, no.” The horror in her voice would be funny if my ego weren’t taking a hit. “You’re joking, right? Why would we tell anyone what we’re doing?”

  “I’m not suggesting I tell Lucas everything.” Not if I want to live. “But if you want to keep it on the down low, that’s fine by me.”

  She huffs out a breath. “It just seems a bit weird and pointless, telling anyone, seeing as we’re only going to be together for such a short time.”

  “Okay. I was only asking.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s not even that we’re going to be together-together, is it? We’re not dating.” A frown flashes over her face. “Are we?”

  Fucked if I know. This is nothing like when I was with my ex. “I don’t know what else we’d call it.”

  “Fake dating?”

  “That works for me.”

  “Until I go back to Uni?”

  “Why not?” The more I think about it, the more I like it.

  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to tell anyone. I mean, you know.”

  Yeah, I know all right. “I’ve got to warn you. My mates at Oakland have jumped to the conclusion we’re more than just good friends.”

  “Oh.” She scrunches up her nose in that cute way she has. “Okay. I suppose that was inevitable. But I mean back home. That would just be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

  “We’re going to date and have sex, and you’re not even going to tell Brooklyn?” Not that I’ve seen her in years, but as far as I know, she and Mac are still BFFs.

  She leans back against my arms, although she doesn’t relax her hold on me. “I’m talking about our families, Will.” Which answers that question. “And Duke and Margo, obviously. I mean, can you imagine the nonstop questions if they all found out? It’s not worth the hassle, seeing as this is just a temporary thing.”

  “You’ve made your point.” I’m not sure why her obsessive insistence that we keep this a big secret is starting to bug me. Her logic, after all, is sound. Hell, I agree with her. I mean, we’re adults, and I shouldn’t give a crap what her family might think, but I do. “We’ll keep this to ourselves. Okay?”

  Her smile is enough to make me forget
everything but the promise of what’s going to be the best time of my life.

  She gives me a lingering kiss. “Let’s go back to our pod.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mackenzie

  I don’t want to leave.

  It’s Sunday lunchtime, the car’s packed, and I’m giving Lucinda a hug goodbye.

  “It’s been lovely meeting you,” she says. “And if you can bring Harry with you the next time you visit, that’d be brilliant.”

  I laugh. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  She sighs. “Worth a shot. Hey, you.” She gives Will a hug. “Look after yourself. See you next month.”

  We get in the car, and as he drives out of Oakland, I heave a loud sigh. “You never did take me canoeing.”

  He shoots me a teasing grin. “Are you complaining?”

  Hell to the no. I’ve never had so much amazing sex in my life. It’s a miracle I can stand up straight. But since I’m sure he’s fully aware of just how fantastic he is in the sack, I’m not going to stroke his ego. Because I did more than enough of that every time we shagged. “I like canoeing. It’s what clinched the deal for me.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll make up for it the next time we visit.”

  A warm glow spreads through me. It’s like we’ve fallen back in time to when we used to get on so well with each other. Except, this time, there are added benefits.

  Friends with benefits.

  And there’s a deadline. My warm and fuzzies fizzle and die. This time next week I’ll be going back to Oxford, and our fuck-buddy arrangement will be over.

  There won’t be a next time because…well, there just won’t. That’s why I don’t want to leave yet. Because being here is a bubble in reality, where we can just fool around and pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.

  And the only reason I’m not looking forward to going back to real life, where we’ll have to stay under the radar, is because I haven’t got him out of my system yet.

  Sure, it is.

  I ignore the voice of sarcasm slithering through my head. Don’t respond to his unspoken question, either. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He’s perfectly aware of our expiration date.

  For once I listen to myself. “I had a great time. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Any time.”

  And there he goes again. Saying something that can be taken more than one way. All he means is “you’re welcome.”

  It’s not like this is the start of a big romance. Even if I did want things to be different, they can’t. I have to pick up my grades and make sure I don’t fail. And he’s made it clear he doesn’t want a girlfriend. Not just because of what his ex did to him, but because he’s still building his future.

  The way I’m building mine.

  We only have seven more nights before I return to Uni, and I’m damn sure I want to make the most of them.

  “What’re you doing tonight?” Great. Subtle as a sledgehammer. Then again, it’s not like he needs to freak that I’m a clingy girlfriend.

  “Thought I’d take you out for dinner.”

  My jittery nerves coalesce into a fountain of glee, right in the center of my chest. “Sounds good.”

  “Yeah. It’ll be like a date.”

  What about afterward? I’m not going to ask him. If he wants me to stay the night, he can ask me. “Should I bring my toothbrush?”

  Nice one, Mac. I might as well slap a sticker to my forehead with Desperado on it. Except we’ve already laid out the ground rules for this relationship between us. It’s going to be all about the sex, so why waste time playing dumb word games?

  He reaches across and takes my hand for a brief squeeze. “I’m counting on it.”

  It’s almost six when he drops me at home, and it’s hard not giving him a goodbye kiss. But Margo’s car is on the drive, and I don’t want her or Dad accidentally seeing us having a furtive snog. “See you in a couple of hours,” I tell him, and then stand there like a hopeless romantic while he drives off.

  I smother my smile and pull out my keys. As I reach the front door I frown and glance back at Margo’s car.

  That’s weird. They weren’t due back until Monday night. Panic clutches my chest and my fingers go numb. Did something happen to Dad?

  Don’t be ridiculous. Margo would’ve let me know if there’d been an accident or…something. It doesn’t stop the sick sensation swirling in the pit of my stomach as I go inside and drop my bag on the floor.

  Please let Dad be all right. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t. He doesn’t have any health issues.

  Neither did Mum.

  They’re in the kitchen, and relief rushes through me when Dad looks his usual, slightly rumpled, self. Told you there was nothing to worry about.

  “Hey.” I give him a hug and hold on to him for longer than usual. When I was little, I used to think he smelled of ancient leather-bound books and faraway places. And although it’s been years since I figured out it was just his cologne, it always triggers feelings of safety and comfort.

  He pats my back and kisses the top of my head, the way he always does. After a few moments, I pull back, belatedly remembering that Margo’s here as well.

  I wish she wasn’t.

  Not that I don’t love her, but I don’t see Dad that much anymore. And sometimes it’d be nice if it was just me and him. Until this summer, I hadn’t realized how often Margo’s around here.

  “Hello, Margo.” I give her a smile but don’t go over for my usual hug, since Dad’s holding my hand. A strange little pain worms through my heart. It’s been ages since he held my hand.

  Margo smiles back, but there’s an odd tension about it. Something has happened. Instinctively I glance at Dad, but he doesn’t look sick.

  Stop overreacting.

  I can’t help it.

  “I’m so sorry.” Margo takes a deep breath, as though she doesn’t know what to say, and real fear stabs through me. This woman has no problem metaphorically decapitating politicians on live TV. What can possibly be so terrible that she’s finding it this hard to tell me?

  I can only think of one thing.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  Don’t fall apart. Whatever he says, we’ll work it out.

  Some things can’t be worked out. The memory of Mum in that Paris hospital floods through me. I’m lightheaded, it’s hard to breathe, and my heartbeat’s erratic. It’s all in my mind. But logic doesn’t help, and I have the scary certainty that if Dad wasn’t holding me, I’d collapse onto the floor.

  “Sweetheart, we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.” Dad gazes at me, anxiety etched on his face, and a soundless scream of denial echoes around my head. I don’t want to know.

  “Mac.” Margo’s closer now, standing right beside us, but I don’t want her here. “There’s nothing wrong with your dad. He’s fine.”

  I tear my gaze from him and stare at her. There’s a strange expression on her face, but I’ve no time to try and figure it out. I turn back to Dad.

  “You’re not sick?”

  He blinks at me in that familiar, absent-minded way he has. “No.” He sounds bemused, not worried, and I let out a jagged breath. “I’m not sick, Mackenzie.”

  The adrenaline pumping through me goes into free fall, and I have the alarming urge to laugh. Like, hysterically laugh until I vomit. Instead, I press my free hand against Dad’s chest, and the steady beat of his heart helps center me.

  No one speaks. My ragged breathing slows. Clarity crawls through the black terror in my brain, pushing it back to the shadows. Dad’s not going to die.

  Self-consciously, I release my death grip on his hand. Well, that was embarrassing. Thank God I’m going out tonight so I have an excuse to escape upstairs to get ready. Not that I need an excuse, obviously.

  Except…

  My glance flashes between the two of them. Something still isn’t right. “Why are you back early? I thought you were away until tomorrow.”

  They excha
nge a look I don’t understand, silently communicating with each other. Since when have they ever done that? An uneasy shiver slides along my spine.

  “There was a breach in security,” Margo says.

  “Oh no. Was anything taken?”

  “Not that kind of breach. It was a photographer.”

  “That sucks.” Still not sure why that would cause them to cut short their break. “Did Duke shove their camera down their throat?” I’m guessing they were trying to get an undercover shot of Duke, but although he encourages publicity for his activism, he has a real love-hate relationship with the paparazzi.

  “It wasn’t Duke they got a shot of.” Margo avoids my eyes, which isn’t like her at all. Direct is her middle name. Obviously, some scandal is about to hit the fan, but I can’t even remember who else was going with her this weekend. And if the politician she was after was caught with his pants down, well, so what?

  Unless Margo was involved? Holy fuck, no way. She’s far too professional to do anything like that.

  “I should’ve talked to you before, sweetheart. But I could never find the right words.”

  My gaze slides back to my dad. Is that guilt dripping from him? What’s he trying to tell me?

  “Your dad and I were concerned that you might’ve seen the photo online.” Margo’s standing next to Dad. Not touching, but pretty damn close for two people who are just good friends. “That’s why we came back early. But it seems you haven’t.”

  What online photo?

  My hands shake as I grab my phone. I type in their names, and the screen fills with an image of two people locked in an embrace. My father and Margo. I blink, but the image doesn’t change.

  That’s my dad. My imagination scrabbles into dark, horrifying corners, and I slam down the hatches before I’m totally traumatized.

  “This isn’t the way I wanted you to find out.” Dad gives me a sad smile, and I literally can’t speak. He and Margo are together? How didn’t I know this? How long have they been more than just friends?

  “We didn’t want to hurt you,” Margo adds in a gentle voice, as though she expects me to fall apart or something. “We understand this is a huge shock.”