by Emily Bishop
Oh, bloody hell. There she is. “For fuck’s sake.” Lilly hurries out of the grand entrance and rushes down the stairway, elation all over her face. She’s in short shorts and a polo neck sweater. Her brown hair’s sculpted into perfect, shiny waves, as always. It takes her hours to do them.
“Who’s that?” Isabella asks.
“That gold-digging bitch.”
“Your ex? Why’s she here?”
“Fuck knows.”
Isabella leans back and watches. “She doesn’t look like a bitch. She looks really nice. Are you sure your side of the story is right?”
“Yes.”
The taxi driver pulls to a halt below the huge main stairway. I pay with a nice tip, telling him I’ll take care of the bags. Before I can get to the trunk, Lilly’s launched herself on me.
“Gray! Gray! Gray! I’ve missed you so much!”
I pry her off. I have to be a little rough. She clings like a leech. “Go make a nuisance of yourself somewhere else, Lillia.”
“Ooh, who’s this?” Lilly marvels as Isabella gets out the car. “Oh, my god, you’re so pretty. I love your hair. I always wanted curls. Mummy told me eating the crusts of my bread would make me get them, but I never did.”
I expect Isabella to be Ice Queen and push her away, but she smiles back a little shyly, like she’s swallowing Lilly’s bullshit. “But your hair’s lovely.”
“Oh, this old thing?” Lilly pulls her hair out and pulls a goofy face. “Wait till I get in the rain. It’s just a frizzy mass of… well, frizz!” Lilly links her arm in Isabella’s and begins to lead her up the steps. “Now, have you ever seen an English country house before? I can give you a tour.”
“I can’t say I have,” Isabella says.
“Lillia,” I say sharply.
She turns with a false innocence in her face. “Yes, Gray, honey?”
“It’s time for you to leave now.”
Her face falls. Whatever. Just one of her manipulation tricks. She can look at me all puppy-eyed. It won’t work for a second.
But Isabella looks at her, concerned. “Gray, it’s not a problem. I’d like a tour, really. I need to stretch my legs after that long drive.”
I want to bark at Lillia. But Isabella’s eyes have something in them I can’t read exactly. Something deep, and maybe a little sad? Whatever it is, I know she genuinely wants Lilly to stay. She isn’t just being polite. “All right. Lilly, you can stay and give Isabella the tour. But after that, you’re out. You understand?”
“You’re so rude, Gray,” she says.
“Do you understand?”
She pouts. “Yes.”
“Good.”
I carry the cases up the stairs after them and wonder if this cold place might be bearable with Isabella’s warmth. Maybe. Just maybe.
Chapter 14
Isabella
DAY 10
Lilly’s back at breakfast. Gray’s furious, but I’m relieved. I know he’s only letting her stay because of me. That means a lot.
We’re seated at a huge, long table. Dark, polished wood. The longest table I’ve ever seen, in fact. Stern ancestors glare at us out of their heavy, gilded portrait frames. A wall tapestry depicting what looks like a fox hunt hangs thickly across a whole wall—men in old-fashioned clothes with shotguns in their hands and excited dogs swarming at their feet.
The place is intimidating, like it might swallow me up. But Lilly’s cheerful chattering makes everything seem a bit more normal. That’s why I like it. The intensity between Gray and me is still unfamiliar. It still makes my heart race, sometimes in a good way, sometimes with anxiety. But Lilly’s bringing everything down to earth for me right now. I want her around.
The room is cavernous. The vaulted ceiling has paintings of angels floating about in a creamy blue sky, reaching for god. The sound of the heavy cutlery against the fine china plates echoes throughout the room.
“We need to get out of this dead old shithole,” Gray announces, furiously cutting his morning bacon. “I’ve made plenty of plans for us today.”
Lilly gives a tinkling little laugh. “Ever think of asking us before you made your grand plans?”
“They don’t include you,” he says darkly. “You’re lucky you got breakfast.” He turns to me, and his face opens up. His eyes lose their heavy lids and sparkle with light. “We’re going to the nearest big town. We’ll go to a restaurant, then a club, and then we’ll stay in a hotel. You’re going to love it.”
“A club?” I say doubtfully. “The rest is fine, but that’s really not my scene.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he says with a smile. “You need to let your hair down. A night out clubbing is probably ten years overdue.”
Lilly grins. “I’ll come!”
“No, you absolutely will not.”
Her grin turns mischievous. “But I know which club you’re going to, of course. Your regular.” She returns his hard glare with a sigh. “Oh, all right, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it later.” Then she turns to me and squeezes my hand. “But I’ll help you pick your outfit. You’ll be the prettiest girl there. We have a lot of party clothes here. Kate Moss even left an LBD here once.”
“Really?” This feels like some kind of parallel universe. I’m sitting in the mansion of a duke, with an aristocratic young woman offering to dress me and talking about supermodels like they’re girls next door.
“Yeah. Everyone thinks she’s a bitch, but she was really nice, actually. Really shy, too. Lovely girl.”
I feel good in Lilly’s capable hands.
***
But a few hours later, in front of the mirror in my palatial yet dusty room, I don’t feel so good. I bite my lip and study my reflection. I don’t really do short dresses, so I vetoed plenty of suggestions Lilly brought to my room. In the end, I chose a mint-green chiffon number, with a beaded bodice, thin straps, and a chiffon skirt that grazes my knees. I wanted to straighten my hair into a shiny dark curtain, but Lilly said not to be ridiculous. Celebrities pay thousands of dollars to get curls like mine. She twisted it up into a chignon, so it’s sleek at the back, with an explosion of curls at the top of my head. Then she pulled down a few curls at the front to frame my face. It does look pretty good, I can’t lie. After Lilly adds a pair of gold earrings with what look to be opals in the middle, the look is complete. But I still don’t feel confident.
“You look really good,” Lilly says. “What are you so worried about? I can see it in your face.”
I turn and watch myself in the mirror, checking how I look from all angles. “I’m not used to clubbing. I want to do it right.”
Lilly laughs. “You can’t do clubbing right. What is there to do? You drink too much, stagger around, snog a stranger, and go home. Then suffer in the morning.”
“I’m not sure I’ll fit in.” It all sounds a little pointless. Maybe even mindless.
She gets me wrong. “You? You’re so graceful you could fit in anywhere. I’m sure you were the most popular girl in school.”
I laugh out loud at that. “You are tragically wrong, Lilly. You look more like the popular type.”
Lilly smiles. “Well, I like people. So people like me. You know, Prince Jago and I dated in school. He’s the Queen’s grandson.” She beams. “People always said I was with Gray for the status, but that’s a downgrade, right? He’s only the heir to a Dukedom. Big deal.” She waves her hand dismissively. “By the way, don’t feel bad about our past. I have no interest in him. I’m chatting to the son of the owner of Harrods. He’s just as rich, just as handsome, and much better connected than Gray. So you have nothing to worry about.”
My head reels. Is she going to tell me she breakfasts with the Queen next?
I feel a lot more normal once Gray and I are in the local town. It’s not swarming with aristocrats, royalty, and Rolls Royces, as I dreaded. It’s fairly pedestrian, really. A nice town, to be sure, with cobbled streets and upmarket restaurants and stores, but it’s no Mo
naco—thank goodness.
“You like it here?” Gray asks as we walk down the street. He parked his Mercedes at this little boutique hotel, a white four-story townhouse.
“Yes.” The cool evening air runs over my bare arms, and it feels good. I feel good. I feel good being here. Being here with Gray.
“Excellent.” He leads me to the restaurant and holds the door open for me like a perfect gentleman. “This is one of my favorite places to eat. French a la carte fused with Thai. Crazy combination, isn’t it? But it works.”
The meal is a dream. The whole experience is perfect. Gray introduces me to all the waitstaff as his fiancée, and we’re showered with congratulations. Free champagne, too. I almost believe this is going to be easy after all. Gray and I will pretend so well the solicitor will offer to walk me down the aisle in the absence of my father. The huge check will be signed over, and Gray and I will look into each other’s eyes and say we don’t want to lose each other at all—the engagement has become far too real. And then… No, I have to stop imagining things. Then, despite our feelings, we’ll come to our senses, and I’ll fly back to Seattle. I’ll pump all the cash into my father’s business and restore it to its former glory. Then, after another five years, maybe I’ll meet my human rights lawyer or honest-to-a-fault accountant and settle down. Have two children, a home with a mortgage, and a dog. And forget about Gray. But who could forget the unique, one-in-a-million Grayson Fairfax II?
He holds my hand on the way to the club, and I don’t pull it away. “We’re rather convincing, aren’t we?” he says, but I’m sure he wants to hold my hand anyway. He’s not just doing it for pretending’s sake.
I want to hold his hand, too. I smile at him. “No one would guess we despise each other.”
There’s a line outside the club entrance.
“I knew you’d come!” Lilly, in a tight-fitting black dress and towering heels, runs over to us, arms outstretched. She always seems to be doing that. She gets closer, and I see her smile is a little lopsided. Her eyes have a tipsy sheen to them. She’s on the verge of drunk.
Grayson takes her arm that’s flailing in our direction and pushes it away firmly. “Leave us alone.”
“No, it’s all right, Gray,” I say. “Hi, Lilly.”
“I’m going inside,” he announces. “Isabella, are you coming?”
I crane my neck to look inside, then bite my lip. It’s all loud music and scantily clad girls gyrating. Then I look at Lilly. I think I’d rather talk to her for a while. “I’ll just stay out with Lilly for a second.”
“I’ll buy you a drink for when you come in.” He takes off without a backward look.
Lilly laughs. Not a nice laugh. Then she looks me up and down. “You look like a bridesmaid.”
It’s so unexpected I don’t register it. I laugh with her. “I guess maybe I do. But you helped me pick it out. You said it would be perfect.”
Her lip curls as she surveys me again. “I was wrong. Tragically wrong. And that little throw thing you’ve put over your shoulders? No. Just no.”
Normally if someone knocks me down, I’m back on my feet swinging in an instant. But I’m stunned into silence. It’s her turf. I’m a fish out of water. A misfit.
“It’s giving off a spinster-aunt kind of vibe,” she says then cocks her head on one side. “And it’s such a shame, because you’re so pretty. Only no one’s going to see that tonight.”
I find my voice. It’s not as steely as I want it to be, but it has a hard edge. “Gray saw it.”
Her laugh is insincere. “Oh, him. He’ll sleep with just about anything that has legs. Surely you know that already?”
“Not anymore.” I push past her and go into the club. I tear off the shawl—I think she might have had a point about that—but try to feel sexy in my bridesmaid-looking dress.
I make a beeline for the bar and buy myself a double dark rum and Coke. I swig it and try to look casual, though I feel totally out of place. I scan the crowd for Gray and finally see him on the dancefloor. He has a whole bottle of champagne in his hand. Oh, wonderful. He already had far too much wine at dinner. He’s going to be “sloshed,” as he calls it. Girls surround him. Girls with ample cleavage and batting eyelashes and sexy dance moves. They look like another species to me. As if they haven’t a care in the world. I wonder what they do on a day-to-day basis. Are they lawyers? Cashiers? Stay-at-home moms? Business owners? Aristocrat socialites? It’s impossible to tell.
I zone out people watching.
“Hey, sexy,” a drunk guy says, staggering over.
I barely cast a glance at him. “Keep it moving.”
“Frigid, uptight bitch.”
His friends pull him away. But the insult stings. I know he’s just a drunk misogynist. I do feel uptight. I know I look uptight.
After a while, it’s Gray who’s staggering up, just as drunk.
“It’s time to get totally sloshed!” He splays his arms out wide then leans over the bar. “Hey, mate,” he slurs at the bartender, “a whole bottle of Courvoisier, please and thank you.”
I hate seeing him like this.
Then he pushes his body up on me. “Fancy a grind?”
“Jesus Christ, Gray.” I push him away and back up. “Can’t we go back to the hotel?” This is so uncomfortable.
“No. I’m happy. Happy happy happy. Happy to be home in my shitty little village. In my mansion prison. In my dead father’s shadow.” He takes the huge bottle from the bartender, pops it, and swigs. Then he grabs at my waist. “Come on, babe, let’s dance. None of these girls can hold a candle to you.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I say, stepping back.
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Be miserable. It suits you.” Then he weaves his drunken way back into the dancing crowd. He keeps looking back and gesturing for me to come over. I turn my head away and ignore him. Every minute feels worse. It’s like I can’t breathe. I don’t like this world. This world where he’s “happy,” where everyone grinds with strangers and drinks themselves into oblivion. People do look kind of happy. I wish I could break down the invisible wall between me and them. But I’m in a fortress.
I watch Gray enjoying himself. Why would I ever want him? This partying, irresponsible bad boy? More to the point, I realize, with a sickening feeling in my stomach, why would he ever want me? This straight-laced, serious, goodie-two-shoes who doesn’t know how to have fun? Am I being hard on him? On myself? I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.
Time passes so slowly. But Gray’s getting drunker and drunker by the minute. I watch. And then I see something that makes my heart stop. Lilly sidles up to him and starts dancing next to him. He doesn’t push her away. Sure, she’s not actually touching him. But she’s facing him. Smiling. Throwing her hair back. Making sexy moves. He’s dancing, too. Not paying her full attention, but still. They’re there. Next to each other. Dancing. Then Lilly looks in my direction. Her gaze strikes right through me like a sword. Then she smiles. A horrible, sickening smile that makes my stomach churn.
“Hey, frigid bitch, come and sit on my cock.” I turn to see that disgusting guy again. Now he’s grabbing at his crotch and laughing with his friends.
All the rage and uncertainty leaps up in me like a flame. I storm over to him and give him a hard slap in the face. The short, sharp noise it makes is the most satisfying thing of the night. His friends’ raucous laughter at him comes a close second. Then I march outside and hail a cab. I’m going to sleep in the hotel.
Chapter 15
Grayson
DAY 11
Oh, god, where the hell am I?
I open my eyes, and my head pounds like there’s tiny guys with jackhammers inside it. Thump. Thump. Thump. The bright sunlight streaming through the white voile curtains makes me squint with pain. All the furniture in here is white. Blinding. I’m certainly not in the dark, dusty, wood-paneled Fairfax mansion.
Oh, I remember. I’m in the hotel in town. Where’s Isabella? I sit up with a
jerk and look around me. There she is. Sitting at the desk, tapping away on her laptop. I feel a sense of dread, with no idea where it comes from.
“Oh, finally up, are you?” She taps on the keys still and doesn’t look in my direction. Her voice is cold. Oh fuck, what have I done?
A dizziness hits me, and I have to sprawl back on the bed. I grip my head. “What the fuck happened last night?”
“Nothing of note.”
“When did we come back?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I came back around midnight. You somehow made it back at some point. And threw up all over the bathroom.”
“Hell.”
“Yes, that was a nice sight first thing in the morning. I nearly stepped in it.”
I roll over, feeling like death. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ll have to apologize to the poor maid. She had to clean it up.”
“That’s their job, isn’t it?”
“No,” she snaps. “Their job is to change sheets and vacuum and dust. Not clean up the vomit of a grown man. You made a fool of yourself.”
“Nothing this town hasn’t seen before. Oh. I remember a little now. You wouldn’t dance. You stood at the bar looking like someone had killed your cat.”
“I have no time to talk about this.” She rearranges the papers on the desk, agitated. “I’m busy with paperwork. Business. Responsibility. Something you know nothing about.”
I really don’t have the energy for this. I roll over to the phone.
“Front desk, how can I help?”
“Send up some breakfast to me, please.” My groaning voice is not attractive.
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s 11:30, and breakfast finished at 10.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Isabella clicks her shoe against the table leg, over and over again. “If you can drag yourself out of bed, Gray, the checkout time is noon.”
“Right.”
I heave myself out of bed and pad to the shower. Somehow, I manage to get through ablutions, and by a quarter past noon, we’ve checked out and are sitting in the greasy spoon I always come to after a heavy hangover. I order a full English breakfast, which thankfully they serve all day every day, with a mug of sweet tea on the side. Isabella gets a black coffee and sips it with tight lips. She goes through her papers, marking parts out with a red pen, refusing to meet my eyes.
