I Flipping Love You

by Helena Hunting

  “None of that changes where I came from.”

  “You think that matters to me? I don’t give a shit who your parents are, or how much of a spoiled rich brat you think you were as a kid, or whether you messed up your dating profile questionnaire so we ended up as a two out of ten on some ridiculous compatibility test score when we should be a ten.” Pierce takes my face between his palms, his expression determined and serious. “I’m one hundred percent in love with you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to change that.”

  For me, love has always been such an unstable, conditional emotion outside of my twin. Except as I look at Pierce, I can see that he means it, that it’s real and warm and comforting. Stupid tears well and track down my cheeks.

  Pierce wipes them away gently, his smile an echo of that tender touch. “I’m overwhelming you with the declaration, huh?”

  I laugh, but the sound ends on a half sob. “I love you back.” It comes out a broken whisper.

  He places a soft kiss on my lips and pulls back. “That was hard, wasn’t it?”

  I nod. He gets me in a way no one else does, not even Marley sometimes. Saying it out loud makes it so much more real. Telling the person who owns your heart that you love them gives them power—the kind that can make you whole or shatter your world.

  “I promise I’ll take good care of your heart, Rian. And I promise it’ll get easier if you keep saying it.” He kisses me again, whispering against my lips, “I love you.”

  I give up caring about brushing my teeth and try to keep our mouths connected, but he holds me firmly between his palms. “Your turn.”

  I bite my lip and meet his earnest, patient gaze. My God, this man.

  “I love you.” This time the whisper isn’t broken.

  “See how much easier it is already.” This time when he kisses me, he doesn’t stop.

  We make love; those whispered words turn into moans and sighs and pleas for more. And I allow myself to fall completely, hopelessly in love.

  CHAPTER 29

  MISSION

  RIAN

  I’ve probably slept in my own bed twice in the past four weeks. Post-fight and love declaration, Pierce decided the best way to get the flip finished was to move in to the Paulson reno with me and do as much of the work himself as possible, while also overseeing the hired trades. He insists on working for free and just having us pay for supplies. I make it up to him in the bedroom.

  The good part about Pierce staying with me is that we see a lot of each other, apart from his weekly trips to Manhattan. Sometimes he’s gone for a night, and sometimes he’s gone for two. He’s been putting a lot of work into cleaning up the patent issue and tying up loose ends there. He’s mentioned more than once how much he’d like to stay in the Hamptons, and how he’s broached the subject with his father. If he does end up leaving law, he’ll have to train someone to take his place. While I’d love for that to happen, I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much.

  I suppose in some ways those trips are preparing me for the possibility that he’ll have to move back to Manhattan. He’s always stressed and preoccupied before he goes, and needy when he returns, which makes me nervous. I’ve been busy with the flip, and it’s really all work when he’s there so accompanying him seems pointless. Not that I’ve been invited. I try not to let it get to me, but sometimes my paranoia takes over and I have to remind myself that Pierce isn’t going to screw me around.

  We’re two days away from finishing this renovation. It’s nine o’clock in the morning on a Thursday, and we have an inspector coming to check the electrical and plumbing upgrades before the flip officially goes on the market on Saturday.

  While we wait for the coffee to brew, Pierce decides we should pass the time by making out. It escalates quickly—until I end up on the island with him between my legs, looking to get inside me. As if I’m going to say no to a little morning lovin’.

  I’m three well-angled thrusts away from coming when the door slams open and Marley’s voice echoes down the hallway.

  My eyes go wide and I whisper, “Oh no, I’m so close.”

  “Stay where you are!” Pierce shouts. He’s already holding onto the back of my neck to keep me in place.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ll be outside,” Marley yells, and the door slams shut again.

  I’m too far gone to care or be embarrassed. Pierce crushes his mouth to mine as I come. Less than two minutes later, my clothes are back in place, and Pierce is disposing of the spent condom.

  I open the front door to find Marley sitting on the steps, fiddling with her phone.

  “Why didn’t you call to let me know you were coming by?”

  “Because it’s my house too. Why can’t you two screw in a bedroom like normal people?”

  “Good point.”

  “Ya think?” She stalks past me, clearly annoyed. “I have news.”

  “What kind of news?”

  She crosses over to the coffee and fills two cups. When Pierce comes around the corner, looking relaxed and smug, she rolls her eyes and grabs another cup, filling that one too. “The kind of news we’ve been waiting a long time for.”

  “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  “I actually need a few minutes alone with my sister. Do you mind if I take her for a walk?”

  Pierce frowns. “Sure. As long as everything’s okay.”

  “It’s fine. Just family stuff.” Marley smiles tightly.

  For most people, family stuff isn’t a huge deal, but for us, in the past it meant very bad things. My stomach clenches and I half expect Marley to tell me she’s heard from our parents despite having changed our phone numbers more than three years ago.

  I take the coffee Pierce has doctored for me. He kisses my temple. “Take your phone. Let me know if you need anything.”

  I nod and follow Marley outside. We head down the front walk to the beach and sit in the sand. “What’s going on? Is this about Mom and Dad? You’re making me nervous.”

  “It’s not about Mom and Dad.”

  I exhale a sigh of relief, and the tension in my shoulders eases a bit, but not much. She looks so serious.

  “I got word this morning that the Mission Mansion is going up for sale.”

  “What? Are you sure? When?” I glance over my shoulder, back at the beach house where I’ve left Pierce. I hate the sudden suspicion and the conflict over this news and what it could mean for us, for him, for his brother, for the Mills family.

  “The email came a couple hours ago. I know the representing agent.”

  “What’s it going for?” I sip my coffee in lieu of chewing on my nails. It’s perfect, the right amount of sweet and the right amount of cream. Pierce is definitely a detail-oriented man. He pays attention. It means there’s logically no way to keep this from him, not that I want to anyway. Things have been so good these past weeks; I don’t want anything to change that.

  “I don’t have anything concrete, but the agent is saying somewhere around five million I think. It needs a lot of work.”

  Even with good credit and a solid return on our flip, it’s doubtful the bank would approve us for a mortgage that size. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “There’s an agent viewing tomorrow afternoon. I know how much you love that place, and you have all these good memories tied up in it, but it’s really rundown, Rian. The only maintenance has been on the landscaping over the past decade.”

  “I know.” And I do. Maybe it’s not completely rational to want it back, but it’s the one piece of my grandmother I can’t seem to let go.

  “I managed to secure a spot so we can go, just to see, at the very least.” She sips her coffee, maybe waiting for my reaction.

  I squash the pointless hope blooming in my chest. “There’s not really a point in talking to the bank about financing, is there?”

  Marley doesn’t tell me no, even though we both know my question is rooted in nothing but nostalgia and a dream
that’s never going to come true. “I think we should look at it first, see what we’re up against.”

  “Okay.” At least one of us is pragmatic. “Do we have anyone who would be in the market to buy it?” God, just saying it aloud makes my stomach twist.

  “I’m going through our list of contacts this afternoon. If nothing else, the commission would be enough to finance another flip.”

  I swallow back my sadness. Seeing the Mission Mansion empty all summer has been difficult, but seeing it full of life again might be even harder. “What day is the open house?”

  “The agent is saying Sunday.” She picks up a tiny shell and flips it between her fingers. “But that could always change, depending on the seller. There’s a lot of interest in the property, Ri, so even if we went in as buyers, and I’m not sure that’s logical or feasible at this point, there’s no guarantee we’ll get it. And if we did, I don’t know that the upkeep will be affordable.”

  “I’ll still go through the numbers tonight.” I run my fingers along the rim of my cup. “If it was a year from now, we’d be in a better position.”

  “I know,” she says softly. “And we don’t know when or if it will be on the market again.”

  I dig my toes into the sand. In my head I had this amazing plan for the Mansion. We’d turn it into a bed-and-breakfast and live in one of the outbuildings. My eyes burn as the dream I’ve held onto all this time seems so far out of reach, dissipating into vapor.

  We watch the waves break against the shoreline in silence for a few minutes.

  Marley sighs. “Sometimes I miss our old life. I know it’ll never be like it used to, but I don’t ever want to worry about being able to afford to pay the credit card bill at the end of the month again.”

  “We won’t let that happen.” I feel a pang of guilt over the fact that in the past few months I’ve spent more time with Pierce, and some of the luxuries we’d lost have been mine again. The stability and security have been nice, better than nice. I worry about Marley, because she’s a lot like me. We’ve only been close to each other, which means she’s all alone now.

  “I hope not.” She rests her cheek on her knee. “Are you going to tell Pierce?”

  “Keeping it from him is pointless.”

  “Are you worried he’ll tell his brother and that the Mills family will get their hands on it?”

  “That’s a risk, regardless. We just have to hope there are other projects that are more lucrative for them.”

  “I’m going to cross everything that that’s the case.”

  Marley leaves me to tell Pierce. One benefit of the Mission Mansion coming on the market is that we’ll definitely be able to price our flip on the higher end, because of its proximity and desirable location.

  Pierce is rearranging the rented furniture for staging purposes when I return. Amalie sent him with a load of supplies, and aside from the inspection, our job today is to set up the house. Tomorrow the cleaners come, and then we’re show ready.

  He shifts the couch around, biceps flexing, then steps back to inspect its placement. He knocks it with his hip a couple of times before he seems content, then notices me standing off to the side. His gaze moves over me, assessing, as he grips the back of the couch. “Lawson called while you were outside with Marley.”

  I cross the room and stand on the opposite side of the sofa. “So you know the Mansion is coming up for sale.”

  “I do.” He hops over the back of the couch, spreads his legs wide, and pulls me between them, palms wrapped around the backs of my legs.

  I run my fingers through his hair. “Who told him?”

  “I’m assuming his agent.”

  I note that he never refers to Lawson’s agent as our agent. Maybe for my sake. I don’t really know. “There’s an agent open house tomorrow. Marley and I are going.”

  “Are you going as a buyer or an agent?”

  I lift a shoulder and admit what I don’t want to acknowledge. “Likely as an agent. I’m not entirely sure we could afford to take it on as a project.”

  “Do you want me to come with you? I’ll understand if you’d rather I not be there.”

  I consider how it would feel to have him with me while I revisit my past, possibly for the last time. Probably is more like it. “I think I want you there.”

  “Think about it. Sleep on it. And in the morning, if you want, I’ll come with you and if not, I’ll be right here, waiting for you when you get back.”

  * * *

  The following morning I find a brand-new dress that probably costs more than two months of mortgage payments hanging in my closet and a pair of strappy sandals. I almost cry, but manage to rein in the tears.

  Pierce assures me it’s not meant to guilt me into letting him come along, but I want him there. Last night, I mentioned his offer to come along to Marley to see how she’d respond. She didn’t seem upset about it, but then, sometimes it’s hard to tell with Marley.

  Pierce looks like he craps gold bars in his tailored Tom Ford. I’m nervous when we pull up to the Mansion and pass over our keys to the valet. There’s a six-car garage, because one or two cars is clearly not enough when you have an eight-thousand-square-foot mansion.

  I’ve gone over the figures, run the numbers a dozen times, lowballing the potential profit on the flip, trying to make it work. Making an offer is a bad financial move. Even if we could afford it, the renovations alone would sink us.

  The seller’s agent offers to show us around the Mansion, obviously unaware of our history with the home, but with so many agents coming through, it’s easy to decline and tour on our own.

  It’s almost exactly as I remember it, but everything is dated and worn. Even the furniture is mostly the same—a shrine to a lost life. In the interest of selling quickly, my father had opted not to hold a contents estate sale. He sold the Mansion and everything in it. Once the money was transferred into his offshore account, he and my mother disappeared.

  No one has lived here in the past decade; the owners purchased with the intent to renovate, but they lost interest and moved on to other pursuits. Now that the market is hot again, they want it off their hands.

  My heart feels like it’s in my throat as we pass through familiar rooms. I run my finger along the edge of the massive table in the formal dining room, set with my grandmother’s china—she would roll over in her grave if she knew they’d used it to stage the showing. I remember afternoon tea with her friends, crustless sandwiches and petit fours, pinkies in the air as we sipped tea, and my grandmother winking over her cup at the ridiculousness of it all.

  In all of these years, I haven’t really allowed myself to miss her, this place, having lost too much all at once. I glance at Marley when she reaches out and skims the edge of one of the teacups and see the same sadness reflected back at me in her eyes.

  There are so many memories caught up in this home, mostly good, and a few bad. Like when my grandmother passed, and the day the SOLD sign went up.

  A bead of sweat trickles down my spine when we pass through to the west wing. We nod hello to the other agents, who murmur about the lack of upkeep, only able to see the dollar signs and prospective profits. The second door on the right lies open, and I step inside the bedroom, Marley on my heels, Pierce following a respectable distance behind.

  Two huge double poster beds still occupy the space, and I have to take a deep breath, the heaviness in my chest hard to handle. We spent our summers sharing a bedroom in our teen years. Talked into the wee hours of the morning more nights than not. Sneaked out to the kitchen after midnight and raided the pantry while everyone was sleeping.

  Marley threads her fingers through mine and squeezes as we step farther inside. “Nothing has changed,” I murmur.

  But that’s not true. While the mansion has stayed the same, Marley and I haven’t. We’ve made a life beyond this place, forged our own path.

  We unlink hands when we reach the beds and separate, mirrors of each other as our fingers drift ov
er the intricate wooden bed frames, recently dusted and polished. Even after all this time, the ridges in the grain are familiar, small imperfections left in the wood from tossing things to each other and missing.

  I move to the dresser, where an old jewelry box sits. I try to lift the lid, but it’s locked. Marley meets my shocked gaze in the mirror, and I know she’s thinking the exact same thing I am. I tug the second drawer down; it’s empty and my chest constricts as I reach inside and lift the edge of the decorative liner, sliding my fingers along the back of the drawer until I feel the cool metal against my fingertips. “It’s here,” I whisper.

  Pulling the key free, I flip the tarnished silver between my fingers, then slip it into the lock. Inside are trinkets, worthless baubles as far as anyone else would be concerned, but among them are two heart-shaped lockets, one for Marley and one for me.

  I lift them from their velvet home, feeling very much a thief, even though they belong to us—gifts passed down from our grandmother, left behind the last summer we were here. Possibly locked away purposefully. I’m sure my grandmother thought we’d have a chance to claim the things that were ours all those years ago. I hold it against my heart, feeling full in a way I haven’t in a long time. I finally understand why Marley never seemed to be as attached to this place as I was. It’s the people not the place that hold the memories.

  I lock the jewelry box again, running my fingers over the surface before I slip the necklaces and key into my purse for safekeeping.

  Pierce is standing in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. It’s exposing to have him here with us, giving him more than a glimpse into a life that’s no longer ours.

  As we move from room to room, and pass over to the east wing where the staff quarters are, the memories that fill my heart make me aware that I need to let this go. Marley wanders through the rooms, fingers trailing over smooth finishes and fine details.

  Pierce’s hands rest gently on my shoulders, and he dips down to press a soft kiss against the side of my neck. “I could buy it.”