“Point taken. I’m sorry on behalf of my friend.”
I tried to smile. “Doesn’t count, but the effort gets an A plus.”
“My first ever,” he told me, making me laugh.
“You weren’t a good student?” I asked.
“Not even a bit. More interested in the extracurriculars, if you catch my drift,” he told me, wagging his brows.
“I’ll have nothing of yours that’s catching, thank you.”
“That was a burn if I’ve ever had one.”
“Does it? Burn, that is?” I gestured toward his nether regions with a toss of my head.
He laughed wholeheartedly.
“You’re brilliant,” he told me, then sobered. “Maybe a little too brilliant.”
“You always were fun to banter with, Oli,” I told him.
There was a moment of silence before he said, “That made Graham mental, you know.”
I looked at him, still feeling a little groggy from lack of sleep and the drugs. “What did? Our playful banter?”
“Yeah, that.”
“Good then,” I said, feeling a tiny bit of satisfaction from that knowledge.
Oli laughed. “I see you’ve moved past denial then.”
“Skipped right through denial and went straight for anger,” I told him.
“What’s after anger?” he asked.
I repeated the five stages of grief for him. “Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.”
“He said girls who playfully fought were shameful,” Oli added.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed harder than necessary. “He’s such a prick.”
Oli laughed along with me. “I know,” he agreed.
I wiped tears of laughter away. “Then why be his friend?”
“I’ve known him since we were kids, Penny. He’s loyal to me.”
“That you know of,” I told him.
“Say what you want about him, but the one thing Graham has going for him is his loyalty to his mates.”
“To a fault then.”
“Yes,” Oli agreed, “even to a fault.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “That’s so,” I paused, “faithful,” I dug at him.
He didn’t respond.
“Tell me something,” I prodded. “What do you wonder he thinks of your helping me now?”
Oliver wrapped his hands around his arms. “Not sure.”
I let that sit. “Do you remember the night Graham and I met?”
“Yes, I do. It was raining. We were at the W in Dallas. You were a cocktail waitress.”
“Wow, can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember because I wanted to try you on, but Graham called dibs.”
Oli expected me to laugh, but I couldn’t get past the shock of his admission. “You did?” I asked. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “You want to try every girl on, though.”
“I’m a bit more selective than that,” he explained. “Anyway, Graham never called dibs on a girl I was interested in, so I let him go for it.”
“I’m such gullible girl,” I told him.
“Graham is a better consequence compared to yours truly.”
“Not so sure about that. Look at the pain it’s caused.”
“But then you wouldn’t be here now,” Oli told me, as if that would have been a terrible thing. But it was. It really was.
“Exactly.”
Oli looked a little taken aback by what I’d said. “You and I would have remained friends regardless if Graham had taken me home with him or not,” I told him.
“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”
“By the end of your visit, I’d spent enough time with you all to warrant a regular phone call.”
Oli shrugged his shoulders and nodded in approval.
“You want to hear something funny?” I asked him.
“Go on then.”
“I hated Graham hanging out with you these past few months.”
He looked mock hurt. “Me?”
“Yes, I thought you were a bad influence,” I admitted.
“Ha!” Oli ribbed with a wink.
“I know.” I stared out the window. A light rain had begun to fall and it turned the pavement into reflections of the neon lights surrounding us. “What a fool I’ve been.”
“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind,” Oli beautifully recited.
“What’s that mean, Oliver?”
“That when one falls in love with another, you see them as you want to see them. All you can see is the good that attracted you in the first place. You are blind to their faults.”
“Color me winged Cupid painted blind, then.”
“Come on, Cupid,” he said, starting the car again. “Let’s get your meds.”
We went through the line and he paid for my medications. “Thank you for that,” I told him. “I can make a wire transfer to you if I can get to my computer.”
“Hush, think nothing of it.”
“Well, thank you.”
“I told you,” he said, pulling out of the “car park” as they call it. “Those thank yous will go straight to my head.”
I smiled a watery smile at him. “Thank you, Oli.”
He surprised me by blushing a little. “Penelope Beckett, I’ve asked you repeatedly to haud yer wheesht!”
“Okay, you got it,” I told him, giggling.
A few minutes later we pulled into an underground garage below a very old-looking building on Brewery Square. “Holy cannoli, Oli! Do you live here?”
“Yes, Penny, I live here.”
“Which floor?” I asked.
“All of them,” he answered as if he didn’t just gesture toward several million pounds’ worth of house.
I laughed. “Are you rich, Oli?”
“Not really. This is my family’s estate. I just technically care for it,” he explained.
“That’s kind of cool,” I said, thinking about my parents’ “estate” back home, a cookie cutter in the suburbs of Dallas.
“It’s nice not having to pay rent, so yeah, I guess you could say it’s cool.”
“Yes,” I mocked him in a bad English accent, “I suppose it is satisfactory, Lady Penelope. One lump or two, darling?”
“Come on, clever girl,” he said, after opening my door and lifting me from his car. He grunted.
“Hey!” I complained. “The casts add at least twenty pounds. Maybe thirty or forty. Possibly fifty,” I added when he had to lift me up a few steps to a metal door.
He laughed. “You weigh hardly anything, you daft girl. It’s just a bit awkward is all.”
We stepped through an old room with two fireplaces. It looked like a long mudroom to me, but it had dark wood plank flooring and dark stone walls. The tall, ancient-looking windows that lined one wall held the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. He set me down on a leather chesterfield sofa draped with some sort of white fur blanket.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said. “I’m only going for your things. I’ve got an extra room on the first floor here I think you’ll like.”
“Okay, Oli,” I said, studying my surroundings.
Against the wall perpendicular to the windows and near the metal door entrance was an incredibly large wood antique cabinet and worktable. On top of the desk rested all sorts of strange tools I wasn’t familiar with and scraps of the finest leather I’d ever seen strewn about. An old but comfortable-looking chair waited in front of the desk. It was so well worn it almost looked lonely for its regular owner. I wondered if that owner was Oli.
When Oli returned with my bag and my medicine, he locked the door behind him and faced me. Suddenly our usual playful banter felt too familiar to practice in that room, in what was Oliver Finn’s home. Banter was a cover for us. It was what we did because neither of us had any intention of ever becoming more than general acquaintances who only chatted up seriously twice a year.
H
ow are the kids, yeah? he would have asked in ten years.
Great, Oli, they’re great. Growing like weeds.
That’s brilliant, Penny. Give my love to Graham.
In all the scenarios I’d ever imagined, Graham and I were married. My whole body felt inexplicably heavy.
“I’m pretty tired, Oliver,” I told him.
He started and quickly moved forward, shuffling my stuff into a room that jutted off the one he’d sat me in. He came back and picked me up, finally showing me the mystery room he’d promised.
“Uh, this is beautiful,” I stated, but it was restrained.
The room was glorious. A nice big bed with antique frame and a fluffy, comfortable duvet over a plethora of overstuffed pillows. There was a crystal chandelier that hung from the ten-foot plaster ceiling. On the cream-painted brick walls hung original art I would have guessed were probably worth more than my life.
“Thank you,” he said, placing me on the bed.
I sank into the soft textures like a stone in the sea. I held back the sigh that rose to my throat. Never had I ever laid in such a comfortable bed.
“Uh, Oli?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“Could I bother you for a shower?” I asked, pulling out of my hair pieces of grass I’d gotten when I’d fallen.
“Right. A shower.”
He lifted me back up and brought me through what I decided to call the workshop room and into a spacious kitchen with a large island in the center, then into another bedroom attached to a small hall. The bedroom was lovely but not as nice as the one he’d picked out for me. The bathroom, however, was something I’d only ever seen on television.
“Wow!” I said, taking in the galley bathroom. At the end was a sunken, jetted tub. The modern look was so different from the age of the home, but somehow it fit.
The tub called my name, but for the sake of saving time, I opted for the open shower with the spout settled in the ceiling above the tub.
“Okay, how do we do this?” he asked.
My cheeks burned. “Uh, well, maybe just unbutton my blouse for me. They ripped the sleeve, so maybe you can just tear the rest off? I have a little cami underneath and I’ll just have to wrestle that off myself, I guess. Do that, then unzip my skirt. That’s easily removed, at least. I think I can get the rest.”
“Okay,” he said. I watched as his slender fingers undid the buttons of my blouse then tugged at the cut fabric at my shoulder and ripped off the rest of my shirt. When he laid the ruined garment aside, he unzipped my skirt.
He stood back, keeping his eyes on the tile floor. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he said as he backed out of the room.
I began to pull my camisole up when he darted back in. “Sorry! Sorry, forgot to show you a few things. Here’s a towel and a robe for you,” he said, pulling those out of a discreet linen closet I hadn’t really seen when I’d first walked in. “There’s shampoo and conditioner next to the tub, shower scrub, and all that. Uh, yeah, just shout if you need anything.”
I smiled and nodded as he he left the room. I struggled for at least ten minutes to get fully undressed and somehow hobbled to the shower and turned it on. I let the water warm up then sat beneath the spray for several minutes before attempting to wash my hair with one hand.
“This is going to get annoying,” I told no one.
I washed my body then let the clean water run through my casts fully, like the nurse said, to make sure I wasn’t leaving any suds. I turned the water off and let them drain well. I dried myself, awkwardly threw my wet hair into the towel, and wrapped the robe around my body.
I tried to lift myself out of the tub, but it wasn’t happening.
“Um, Oli!” I called out tentatively. “Oli!” I shouted.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“I can’t climb out of your tub.”
“I didn’t even think about that,” he said. “Can I come in?” he said from around the open wall.
“Yes, come in,” I told him, trying to cinch the robe a little tighter. It was hard with only hand.
Oli came in. “You look very fetching,” he teased.
“Yeah, yeah,” I told him. “Do me a solid?”
“What do you need?”
“Without exposing me, can you tie this robe tighter for me?”
He laughed and reached down to help me. “I’m usually loosening this belt, not tightening it.”
“Well, not this time, bucko.” He pulled the belt tighter for me.
“How’s that then?”
“Better,” I told him.
He lifted me up and carried me back to his guest room. He laid me across the bed again and reached for my bag for me. “What do you want to wear?” he asked.
He rummaged through my things, which thoroughly irritated me, but I couldn’t complain, not after his kindness.
“Just give me those,” I told him, pointing to a pair of plain black panties. I was mortified when he handed them over with a teasing smile. “Shut it,” I ordered.
“I never said a thing.”
“But you were thinking it!”
“What else?” he asked.
“Those,” I said, pointing to a pair of green pajama shorts I thought might be big enough for my leg cast to fit through. “And that,” I said, pointing to a white tank top.
He handed them both over. “Fair warning?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“I’m just warning you that this house is old and with that charm comes poor insulation. It gets rather chilly in here at night.”
I looked at the down comforter. “I think I’ll be okay,” I told him.
“Fine then. Call me when you’re dressed,” he said, leaving and shutting the door behind him.
I struggled for another twenty minutes with an act that should have only taken thirty seconds tops. I’d forgotten to ask for a sports bra, so I had to get one on my own, which was a feat, let me tell you.
When all was said and done, I’d worked up quite a sweat and didn’t have any fear of getting cold throughout the night.
“Okay, Oli!” I said. He came back in quickly.
I decided he must have been in his workshop. Whether he was waiting or working, though, I didn’t know.
“You rang, milady?”
“Yes, I’m ready to be tucked in.”
He laughed, reaching forward with a few pills and a glass of water. I took them, set the water aside, and let him put me in bed. He piled up a bunch of pillows and rested my leg cast on top. I almost moaned in relief. He pulled the covers over me, except around my broken leg, and it felt like such an intimate thing to do, I blushed.
“Good night, Penny & Joon.”
“Hardy har har. Good night, Oliver & Company.”
“Hardy har har,” he mocked.
He shut off the lights and closed the door behind him.
And that’s when the loneliness set in.
My good hand went to what was Graham’s side of the bed and I cried quietly into the mountain of Oliver’s pillows.
I made a mistake, I told myself. A mistake that is going to cost me something greater than I think I have.
“Damn you, Graham Glenn,” I whispered.
I woke early, too early. Like, the-morning-sun-had-yet-to-rise kind of early. I sighed and lifted my arm to test the weight.
“Oh my gato, this is a pain in the ass.”
I tried to lift my leg, but it trembled with the effort. Note to self: stay fit, so a pathetic attempt at lifting a simple lower leg cast won’t make you feel like a complete failure. Who was I kidding? Working out was for suckers. Not really, though. Diabetes is no joke. Those poor people don’t eat sugar!
I swung the leg over the edge of the bed and sucked in a quick breath when my thigh muscle couldn’t hold the brunt of the weight. I bit my bottom lip to keep from shouting in pain and waking Oliver. Nope, working out is definitely not for suckers.
Oli had laid my crutches against the wall near the bed, so I reached
for them. I took a deep breath as I grappled to right myself and stay upright. I was going to need to practice that move, I could tell. I hobbled over to my bag and searched for the blow-dryer and curling iron I had to buy when I got to the UK. Converter plugs didn’t work. Trust me. American blow-dryers required more electricity than English outlets were willing to give. I learned that the hard way when I blew out one of Graham’s sockets. That was the first time I’d ever been introduced to his passive-aggressive ways. It was a cold day in that house that day, let me tell ya.
I carefully balanced on my good leg and reached with my good hand for my hair. It was thick and I’d never actually had it dry overnight when I slept on it. So it was still damp, of course, and it gave me that humid-icky feeling. I threw the dryer and my curling iron with my bag of alligator clips onto the bed then reached for my laptop.
Sliding my foot with the broken leg across the floor, I stumbled back toward the bed and carefully laid my computer on the duvet before balancing the crutches against the wall as Oli had and sliding back into bed.
I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs at how frustrating the whole process was. What would have taken a minute usually took me at least five. I was moving at a snail’s pace and for someone who was impatient, it was like water torture.
I pried open my laptop and tried to log in to my blog but realized I didn’t know Oli’s Wi-Fi password. I ran a beauty blog back in the States that had gained popularity. I had more than three million subscribers on YouTube along with several social media accounts. It was nice because I was able to gain some monthly income from the advertising revenues I received. All in all, I made an average of about three thousand dollars a month. It wasn’t anything to write home about since my exorbitant school loans ate up about a third of that (did you know they expect you to pay that crap back?). I’d only been doing it for two years and it allowed me some independence in the United Kingdom. I didn’t really require a work visa and because I could prove that I could afford to support myself, I received a permanent visa fairly easily.
I thought back to the day that I’d received the visa and felt the ire of that morning come seeping back into my pores. Graham, shocked apparently, asked why I’d applied for the visa without discussing it with him first. I asked him what the big deal was if were going to be together forever. He told me I was a little high handed since we’d never talked about it. Another red flag I totally missed.
Penny in London Page 3
