Beautiful Secret

by Christina Lauren

  “Through school, at the very least.”

  “So a few years.”

  The words burned on the tip of my tongue. “Hopefully,” I said at last.

  “And tell me about San Diego. What was it like growing up there?”

  “Have you ever been to California?” I asked.

  “I’ve been to Los Angeles,” he said. “Perfect weather and palm trees. Lots of blond people.”

  “LA is not San Diego,” I said, shaking my head but feeling my chest warm just thinking about home. “LA is cement and cars and people. San Diego is green palms and blue sky and ocean everywhere. When I was younger, Crain and I would head over to a friend’s house just a few blocks from the beach. We’d load everything up in the baskets on the front of our bikes and just stay there, all day.”

  “What would you do?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said blissfully. “We’d just lie around in the sand all day, play volleyball or read or talk, listen to music. When we got hot we’d jump into the water, maybe take turns on someone’s paddleboard, when we got hungry we’d eat the lunch we packed. My mom would see us in the morning and then not until the sun went down.”

  “Sounds brilliant. I quite like the image of teenage Ruby,” he said, wrapping a finger around a piece of hair and tugging. “Hair bleached from the summer and freckles across your nose. Tan skin and tiny bikini.” He seemed to consider how this sounded for a moment before clearing his throat and adding, “We’re going to imagine I’m teenage Niall in this scenario, as well.”

  I laughed, pulling the sheet up around my body. “Carlsbad was an amazing place to grow up, you know? Before I left the States I was sharing this great apartment with two of my best friends. We could see the ocean from our dining room window,” I said, missing them so much in that moment it was like a physical ache. “Between our work schedules it felt like we hardly saw each other, but when we finally managed to all be there at the same time we’d make cappuccinos so we could stay up late and talk, sometimes watching the sun come up over the marina. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to leave . . . We’d all grown so busy we barely saw each other anymore.”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps, you knew something bigger was on its way. Waiting for you.”

  I looked at him for a long time when he said that, wondering if he meant school and work, or more. “You should go there someday. Lie on the beach, go to Disneyland, ride Space Mountain.”

  Niall scrunched up his nose in distaste, but I leaned in and kissed him anyway. “Disneyland?”

  “You didn’t think you’d like the concert, either. Remember? Sometimes it’s fun to just be silly.”

  He was quiet for a moment before nodding once and tilting his chin toward me for another kiss. “You’re right, I suppose,” he said against my mouth. “And what do you think of New York? Do you enjoy yourself?”

  “It’s big and loud, but . . . sort of exhilarating. I’ll never forget it,” I said, eyes still on the comforter.

  “Maybe you’ll come back.”

  I lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Maybe. Might not be the same without the company, though.”

  “Who would buy you hot dogs and tease you about mustard?”

  “Or grope me on the subway?”

  “Exactly. So school first and then you’ll what? Go back to San Diego?”

  We’d been so honest tonight and I didn’t want to give that up. “I’m not sure,” I said. “It depends on a lot of things.”

  “Such as?”

  School, finding a job, finding a flat. You. Me.

  “School,” I said. “A job that pays enough to live there.”

  “I’m fairly certain neither of those things will be a problem.”

  “I still have to actually get into Maggie’s program, you know.”

  “You will. Margaret Sheffield would be nutters to let someone like you go. You’re quite brilliant, Ruby.”

  “I’m distracted,” I corrected him.

  He smoothed a hand down my back and over the curve of my ass, to rest at my hip. “Ah, but we go home soon, yeah?”

  “I think we both know that New York isn’t the distraction,” I said honestly.

  “I think that may be true for the both of us,” he said, pressing his thumb into my skin.

  “What will happen when we get home?” I asked, voicing the question we’d both been avoiding. We were due to leave in two days. The tickets were bought. The email telling me to check in to my flight would be arriving in less than twenty-four hours. Everything had happened so fast, but would it continue? We wouldn’t take the physical side of our relationship any further until he knew he loved me, but what did that mean for the rest? Were we an actual couple? Would we tell anyone?

  He blinked up to my face, and I could tell he hadn’t been expecting that, for me to just come right out and ask. “We’ll plug along,” he said. “Things will of course be different at work, but outside of that, things can stay as they are.”

  His expression tightened into one that I’m sure mirrored my own. I wasn’t sure which of those sentences I hated more. We’ll plug along made it sound like we were barely surviving this, that we were something to be endured. Things will be different at work. Of course they would, how could they not? And things can stay the way they are. I was greedy. I didn’t want things to stay the way they were, I wanted more. I wanted all of him.

  Nearly three days later we stepped onto the curb at Heathrow, bags rolling to a stop behind us. The sky was a dingy gray, the air cool and smelling of damp stone and exhaust, but it felt like home. Niall had held my hand throughout most of the flight, growing more confident in how he allowed himself to touch me, and even now stood close enough that the side of his body was in constant contact with mine.

  He’d suggested we head to his flat, but we were both exhausted, and, realistically, we wouldn’t get any sleep if we were together. We’d each been gone for weeks, would have people to catch up with, a stack of mail to sort through, and, after nine hours of traveling, there was nothing I wanted more than a shower and my own bed. Especially given that Tony had requested I come into the office the next day to debrief him and because, he “hasn’t seen my lovely face in a month.”

  Niall and I definitely should have talked more, at least discussed some kind of game plan for work, but instead we leaned heavily into one another, both of us trying to enjoy just a few more minutes. He kept my hand tucked between both of his as the view outside the windows shifted from the M4 to surface streets, and by the time the taxi stopped in front of my building, it was all I could do to kiss him goodbye—albeit a bit enthusiastically, considering we were in the back of a cab—and stumble with my bags through my front door.

  Rain pounded on the street outside my apartment that night, tracking over the windows like leaded glass. It felt right somehow that it would rain our first night back in London, a welcome return to normalcy of sorts.

  I was in bed, fresh from the shower and wrapped in my favorite pajamas, when my phone buzzed from the bedside table.

  Miss seeing your face on the pillow next to me, it said, and something sparked, hot in my chest. He was doing it—he was trying—just like he’d said.

  Miss hearing those cute little sounds you make while you sleep, I typed back, already smiling at what I knew his response would be.

  I am far too masculine to ever be considered ‘cute,’ Ms. Miller. I laughed out loud at that, and my heart took off.

  I may need to see you fully undressed again soon, just to be sure.

  There was nothing for a full minute, and then the little bubble appeared, indicating he was typing a message. I can’t wait to see you, this bed is far too big for one person.

  My fingers shook on the keyboard as I entered a reply, my cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling. He really was doing this. We were doing this.

  I can’t wait to see you, too.

  Tomorrow then. Sleep well, darling.

  If a heart could burst from happiness, mine was well
on its way.

  I finally fell asleep to the sound of the rain, with a smile on my face and my phone tucked under my pillow. The voice in my head was silent.

  FOURTEEN

  Niall

  It’s fascinating how quickly the human mind incorporates new habits. Even though we were back in London, even though she’d never shared this bed with me, waking up without Ruby was odd.

  I pulled my phone from my laptop bag and texted her. Did you sleep?

  Her reply: Barely. I may need someone to stand behind me and move my arms and mouth for me at work.

  I’ll see you at the office, my beautiful puppet. I finished breakfast, read the paper, dressed, and left. It could be any other day . . . except it wasn’t. My life felt about seven thousand times bigger.

  Ruby was in her small shared space when I arrived. I usually got in before eight but doubted I had ever once beat her to the office. This morning, I’d tried, though. I wanted even just one moment alone with her, unguarded before reality descended. Unfortunately it was not to be. The offices already buzzed with Monday morning activity, and I could only manage a small smile, a wink, and a glimpse at her wet, pink lips.

  “Hey,” she mouthed to me.

  I stared at her for a beat longer, wanting nothing more than to walk in and give her a simple kiss on the mouth, but instead I nodded, walking to my office down the hall.

  Anthony’s familiar sharp, two-knock combination rapped at my office door and, as usual, he stepped in without waiting for an answer.

  “All right?” he asked in greeting, walking over to take a seat across my desk from me.

  I leaned back in my chair, giving him what I hoped was a relaxed smile. “Good.”

  He crossed an ankle over his knee and grinned at me. “I trust you had a nice trip?”

  Never before had I felt so much as though I were playing a game of chess. “I did.”

  Anthony watched me with scrutinizing eyes, fingers steepled beneath his chin. I blinked over to my computer monitor under the guise of checking my email. I hadn’t decided what I would tell my questionable colleague. On the one hand, I didn’t want to hide what was happening between me and Ruby, and if I knew her at all—which I sincerely felt I did—I knew she wouldn’t do a very good job playing aloof. On the other hand, I wanted what was private to remain private, and Tony had a way of making everything his new favorite joke.

  “Something is different,” he mused, pointing a finger at me. “You have a grin in your eyes just here.” He motioned to his own brow. “A twinkle. A little spot of sunshine over your head, I think.”

  “Do I?”

  “You get knobbed in a New York City titty bar?”

  His crudeness fell like a weight dropped in the room. “Honestly, Tony.”

  He hummed. “Bang a Rockette?”

  “Frigging hell.”

  He paused, giving me another once-over, then smiled. “Finally get a leg over on Ruby, then?”

  I swallowed, caught off guard, pretending to focus on something on my desk. “Ah, no. That . . . I, well, that is to say, I didn’t. No.”

  It was the truth, if we were being technical. I hadn’t technically had sex with her yet.

  Tony’s hands slapped down on my desk. “You old dog!”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. This was exactly the reaction I wanted to avoid. “No, Tony, it’s not—”

  “You banged the fringe off her, didn’t you? You had a go at my Ruby!”

  I pushed back slightly from my desk, feeling a thunderstorm build in my chest. “ ‘Your Ruby’?’ ”

  “So you did then,” he said, clapping his hands once, a violent crack that sliced through the room.

  I glanced at the door, hissing at him, “Keep your voice down, you git.”

  He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. Tony enjoyed ribbing as much as the next bloke, but there was an edge to his tone here. “Oh, watching you bumble around the office over this is going to make the wait for the next season of Game of Thrones much easier to take.”

  “Cut the shit.”

  His dark eyes went wide. “And look at the mouth on Niall! I dare say, she’s loosened you up, she has. Think I might step out and thank her.”

  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “Tony, don’t.”

  “Aw, come on then, tell me,” he said, settling back in the chair, his voice returning to slightly more sincere territory. “What happened?”

  I looked at him, feeling the glare slowly drain from my eyes.

  “I’m done taking the piss, Niall,” he assured me, smiling with genuine apology. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never in my life imagined—”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” I cut him off, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my desk. I needed to get back some semblance of control. I had to admit it would be helpful for Tony to be generally aware of what was going on between Ruby and me, but surely he didn’t need more information than that. “Turns out she had feelings for me before, and, well . . .” I couldn’t find a way to articulate where my head was concerning Ruby, settling only on “I enjoy her company.”

  Tony could clearly see the understatement in my words. “Ah, sure.”

  “I’d be grateful if you’d not mention it ’round.”

  He nodded, making a little X mark over his heart and giving me a conspiratorial wink.

  * * *

  Ruby was sitting in the small break room with her friend Pippa when I went in to grab my lunch from the refrigerator. Her eyes met mine and she quickly blinked away, but a bright flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

  “Ruby. Pippa,” I said in greeting.

  “Hi, Mr. Stella,” Pippa replied, brightly. Too brightly. Had Ruby been similarly interrogated?

  “Mr. Stella,” Ruby said, looking back up with a secret little smile. Her teeth bit down on the tip of her tongue and I sucked in a sharp breath, remembering the last kiss she gave me before we parted ways last night. Her mouth had tasted like the lemon candy she’d sucked on the drive from the airport. I cleared my throat and reached for the refrigerator door handle.

  “Adjusting to the time change?” I asked, looking over my shoulder to her.

  She smiled wider, shrugging. “Trying.”

  Pippa stared studiously at her plate of leftovers as Ruby’s gaze held mine.

  I felt the air draw from my lungs and struggled to inhale evenly. Back here, in everyday life, the reality of us—that there was an Us—made every part of me seem to ache with longing. With her so close all day long, would I be able to focus on any of the work in front of me? Would I be able to focus on anything?

  If I considered her features one at a time maybe she would overwhelm me less. Her eyes were too intense; they communicated to me that she was just as desperate to be alone as I was. Her tongue slipped out, dampened her lips. Her neck was long, smooth, and I imagined taking her to my place, kissing down the slope of that throat as I unbuttoned each of the tiny pearls lining the front of her—

  “Um . . . Mr. Stella?” she asked, eyes widening meaningfully as she tilted her head toward my hand . . . which was still wrapped around the handle to the refrigerator door I’d pulled open. Cold air filtered into the room, against my warm chest.

  “Ah,” I said, jerking into motion and bending to retrieve my salad. I reached for a fork from the drawer and hurried back to my office.

  As I suspected, I could barely focus, and knew I needed to find a way to calm my frayed thoughts. This uncertainty wasn’t like me; it was disorienting. I needed to know what our schedule would be: Would she stay over at night? How would we be able to take things slowly physically . . . or was it already too late for that? Did I even want to anymore? At this point, sex felt like a formality. Everything we’d done felt infinitely more intimate than that, but as soon as I had the thought I knew that being with Ruby in that way would mean more to me than a simple next step in our physical relationship.

  Did I want that? And when I did have sex with her,
would I be able to maintain any sort of cage around my heart, in the event I wasn’t what she needed me to be down the road?

  I’d assumed Portia was the love of my life, but from the first moment Ruby had stretched and kissed me with such bravery, I knew I’d been wrong.

  My phone buzzed on my desk, pulling me out of my obsessive analysis: Are we doing dinner at my place or yours tonight? And before you answer that, remember I have a roommate and a small bed and am the worst cook in the history of bad cooks. PS: stop thinking.

  Laughing, I replied, In that case, there is no other option but for you to come to my flat. I live alone, have a large bed, and am perhaps slightly more capable in the kitchen (only slightly; perhaps I will order takeaway).

  Just outside my office, I heard a short clip of a cartoonish voice yelling, “Bottom!” and then the same cartoon giggles. A knock landed on my door immediately after.

  “Come in,” I called.

  Ruby stepped inside, smiling down at her phone. “Okay.”

  My heart swelled at the sight of her again. “Okay?”

  She closed the door behind her. “Okay I’ll come over for dinner, since you insisted so vigorously.”

  Just then, I registered that the sound I’d heard outside my office was her text alert. “Was that . . .” I stopped, leaning back in my chair and smiling at her. “Did your text alert say, ‘Bottom’?”

  She shrugged, all trace of her blush gone now that we were alone in my office. “Specifically, it’s your text alert. It’s the minions. From Despicable Me? The movie?” She shook her head as she stepped inside. “We have got to get you out more. Anyway, it fits. You have the best ass this side of the Atlantic.”

  “ ‘This side of the Atlantic’? Does that mean when we were in New York you found an ass superior to mine?”

  She pursed her lips, pretending to think on it. “I didn’t have a chance to do a very extensive survey, but Max’s friend Will is pretty fit and—”

  I leaned forward, growling, “Finish that sentence, Ruby Miller, and so help me I’ll take you over my knee and spank your bottom.”