Beautiful

by Christina Lauren

  I worked on the mental transition: Don’t fight it. Don’t overthink it. Just . . . enjoy it.

  “So you worked in a place like this?” she said, oblivious to my inspection.

  I blinked away, down at the slice of bread in my hand. “I did, uh, yes. In college. During the summer.”

  She gave me a cute little grin. “Meet a lot of women? I’m imagining you in college and swooning a tiny bit.”

  I laughed. “I was with Becky then.”

  A tiny sting intensified in my chest.

  “Your ex-wife?” she asked, and I met her eyes.

  I let out a short chuckle, a small burst of air. “To be fair, she’s more ex-girlfriend than ex-wife.”

  Pippa laughed not unkindly at this. “Oh. What a horrible realization.”

  I glanced over to where she was settled against the arm of a sofa, one leg tucked beneath her as she enjoyed her glass of wine. The fire crackled behind her, the air warm with just a touch of smoke.

  Taking another sip, she swallowed and asked, “Was the winery a lot like this?”

  “It was less cozy and more commercial than this, but yeah. Same general vibe.”

  “Did you love it?”

  “I don’t know if I’d use the term love,” I said, easing onto the couch. “But it was cool to see the process from vineyard to cellar, why they made certain wines, and how even the slightest fluctuations in temperature or humidity affected the final product.”

  “Plus, you know—free wine,” she said, lifting her glass in salute.

  I laughed and raised mine, too. “I didn’t have quite the appreciation for it that I do now, but that aspect certainly didn’t hurt.”

  “I can’t imagine you and Will at uni together. You’re both functioning adults now, but I can look at you and see the shadow of the insanity.”

  “Like an aura?” I said, laughing.

  “Your wild side lurks just there,” she agreed, smiling back as she drew a circle over my head.

  “Here I thought I had everyone fooled with my pressed dress pants and sweaters.”

  Pippa shook her head. “Not me.”

  Conversation flowed around us, and I could feel my sister watching us from where she sat across the table.

  I rubbed a finger over my brow, working to not feel self-conscious. “Once I moved in with Becky, we weren’t so crazy,” I said. “But before that, I have no idea how we got through each weekend without an arrest or our parents murdering us.”

  “Tell me more about college-aged Jensen,” she said, delighted.

  The next bottle of wine was opened and Pippa took the offered tasting glass with a quiet “Thanks.” I took a sip of my own selection, a peppery zinfandel, already feeling the effect of the first one. My stomach was warm, my limbs a little looser, and I leaned in a little more, close enough to smell the subtle citrus of her shampoo.

  “College-aged Jensen was an idiot,” I said. “And for some reason he seemed to go along with most of Will’s terrible ideas.”

  “You can’t say something like that and not elaborate,” she prodded.

  I thought back to the summers Will spent at my house, the holidays. I suspect Will was just as wild in high school, but add in being away from home during college and having the ability to purchase alcohol—all bets were off.

  “Sophomore year, Will talked me into smoking a bong out on our balcony, and then didn’t realize the door had locked behind him. I should mention it was about two a.m., in November, and we were both in nothing but boxer shorts.”

  “This might be better than the dart trip,” she said. “Though I can’t imagine you high.” She considered me for a moment. “The boxer shorts are easier to visualize.”

  I laughed at her easy flirting. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t as awesome as you might expect, given the laid-back partier I’ve become,” I said, gesturing to my dress shirt and polished shoes. “Most people relax or laugh or snack when they’re high, right?” She nodded. “When stoned, I become neurotic.” I paused, grinning. “More neurotic.”

  “So how did you get back in?”

  “We had a new, cute neighbor in the apartment with the adjoining balcony. Will found a few little pebbles, a beer cap, and a soda can, and threw them at her window until she finally came out. Then he flirted with her until she said she would help us.”

  “Help you how?” Pippa asked, grinning.

  “Obviously wary about letting two half-naked guys climb onto her balcony, she offered to just call someone to let us in. Unfortunately, we didn’t really want to explain to campus security why we were locked out in our underwear with a bong and a bag of weed. I was totally freaking out. In my head I’d skipped forward two years to us serving time in prison for smoking a bowl, me with a sugar daddy named Meatball.” I shook my head, remembering. “Anyway, our neighbor was also pre-law, and made us plead our case before she’d agree to let us over. I’ve never seen either of us hustle like that—before or since.”

  Pippa rested an arm against the back of the couch as she listened, expression delighted. “I bet you did okay, Jensen Bergstrom, esquire.”

  I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’d give you more detail on my argument if I remembered even a word of it.”

  “So I’m assuming you finally got inside?”

  “Yeah. There was a lot of awkward clinging to each other and terrified yelps that we might fall to our death, but we finally managed to navigate the three-foot crevasse between the balconies. Now that I think of it, Will actually saw her for a few weeks after that . . . Huh, maybe that was part of the settlement?” Scratching my shoulder, I smiled at her. “Anyway, enough reminiscing.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m here to forget the Wanker. You’re doing a great job.” Pippa looked up at me and then motioned toward Ziggy. “Don’t make me ask Hanna. I bet there are loads of stories I could get out of her, and it wouldn’t take more than a glass or two. A bit of a lightweight, that one.”

  Looking up, she let out an amused snort. I followed her gaze to where Will was standing next to my sister, refilling her glass and—if my guess was correct—talking to her boobs.

  It didn’t matter how often they were like that or how many times I’d walked in on them, it was still gross. I groaned.

  “Though by the looks of it,” Pippa said, tilting her head, “Will has her monopolized at the moment.”

  “They’re eternal newlyweds,” I explained, lacing my words with a hint of playful disgust. “But I think Will is volunteering to be the designated driver tonight, and trying to get her a little drunk. My sister is hilarious when she’s had a few.”

  “Is that strange at all? Baby sister married to your best mate?”

  “I’m not going to lie, it was at first. But when I thought about it and realized I was the one who suggested they reconnect in the first place . . .”

  “You set them up?” she asked, smiling over the top of her glass. “Most men wouldn’t encourage their best friend to date their sister.”

  “I didn’t realize that was what I’d done,” I said, and drained the rest of my wine. I set the glass down on the table and reached for another olive. “In hindsight, yeah, I told her to call Will. But at the time, she was a workaholic dork. It never occurred to me that he would look at her—at Ziggy, the lab rat—and see anything but my nerdy little sister.” I watched them for another few seconds. Will said something that made Ziggy burst into laughter, leaning into his chest. He bent, kissing the top of her head. “But he’s good for her—she’s good for him, too,” I added quickly. “And I’ve never seen either of them so happy.”

  Pippa nodded in agreement and looked over at the rest of our group. “I felt the same way about Niall and my Ruby. She’d been in love with him for ages and he had no idea she was alive.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “You used to work together.”

  “It alternated between being hilarious and excruciating to watch, but I couldn’t be happier for them now.” Pausing, she added, “Even if I
do want to turn the hose on them at times.”

  I let out a wry laugh; I knew exactly how she felt.

  She leaned back in her seat. “I’m sure I sound like an old spinster saying it, but come on now, leave a little snogging for the rest of us.”

  Straightening, I motioned for the server and was met with Ziggy’s wide, hopeful eyes.

  The server poured us each another hefty tasting.

  Pippa took her glass, holding it aloft. “To old maids?” she asked, and I considered.

  “To a little snogging for the rest of us,” I said instead.

  Pippa beamed and lifted the glass to her lips. “I will definitely drink to that.”

  Five

  Pippa

  “He reminds me of this boy I went to uni with,” I murmured, staring at Jensen across the room as I absently licked a drop of wine from the rim of my glass. “Danny. Daniel Charles Ashworth. I mean, are you kidding me with that name? Fucking unreal.” I shook my head. “Fucking beautiful, too. Smart, and kind. He was funny and charming . . . and he never dated a soul.”

  Ruby followed my gaze. “Was Danny shy or something?” We both watched for a few seconds as Jensen, Niall, and Will chatted amiably with the owner of the winery. “Jensen sure isn’t.”

  I’d lost count of how many tastes I’d had, and given up and ordered a full pour of the delicious petite sirah. Ruby was halfway into her generous pour of a viognier, and we were both perched rather crookedly on our stools at the wine bar while the men debated which—and how many—bottles they wanted to buy to bring home.

  “Not shy,” I told her, blinking and turning my attention back to her. “Just incredibly picky.” I shook my head to clear it, reaching for an almond from the dish before us. “Danny admitted to me one night—totally pissed on tequila—that he didn’t like to have sex with lots of women. Didn’t like it,” I repeated. “Said he loved sex, of course, but it was too intimate to do with a stranger.”

  Ruby popped an almond into her mouth, staring blankly at me. “Huh.”

  “Isn’t that sort of lovely?” I asked, thinking about the sight of Mark’s thrusting bum, of the way I didn’t—and wouldn’t ever—know the name of the woman beneath him. The way I felt like he’d ended our relationship so easily, without any fear that he’d miss it. “Isn’t it sort of lovely to have it mean so much that, even when you’re nineteen, you don’t want to do it with just anyone? No one is like that anymore.”

  “True.”

  “Well,” I amended, lifting my chin toward Niall, “he is.”

  Ruby laughed. “Oh, he’s not. He was just married those years. I always maintain that if Niall had never met Portia, some sexually liberated woman would have found him first and turned him into the most adorable slut.”

  “God, that’s a lovely mental image,” I said in a breathy gust. “A sexually insatiable nineteen-year-old Niall Stella.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Right?”

  “Oh, boo, I missed the ogling,” Hanna said, following our attention and plopping down beside me.

  “No, you’re right on time,” I told her, resting my chin in my hand. “Lord, but that’s a lovely wall of men right there.”

  As if they could feel the weight of our attention, the three men turned in unison, catching us all resting our jaws on our palms, staring hungrily at them.

  This was fantastic for everyone except me and Jensen, who both immediately turned our attention elsewhere as the three of them wound their way through the crowd to reach us.

  “You look good,” Hanna growled when Will sidled up to her.

  “Hey,” Ruby said with a breathless smile when Niall hugged her from behind.

  Jensen waved, being playfully awkward with me. “Have you tried the house-made pickles?”

  “The—? No,” I stuttered, playing along. “I haven’t—yet.”

  “They’re very good.”

  “Are they?” I asked, laughing as the other two couples beside us kissed, crowding us closer together.

  He hummed, nodding. “The spicy one is great, if you like spice.”

  I quickly answered: “I do.”

  “Well,” he said, biting back a laugh and taking a step to his right as Will pressed Hanna into the bar with a deeply intimate kiss, “they’re very good.”

  “I’ll have to try them.”

  Jensen looked at me, eyes dancing. He shook his head, holding my gaze.

  It was good to acknowledge the premise of this openly, wordlessly. The expectation that we would eventually pair off was thick in the air. And while I was open to a holiday affair, and he didn’t seem entirely repulsed by it, he covered his deeper feelings with a confusing mix of humor and formality. I wanted us, at the very least, to be partners in crime here.

  Travel friends.

  Buddies.

  Niall, of course, seemed to pick up on our pointed banter and pried himself out of Ruby’s tipsy embrace. “Shall we change for dinner? I know I’d love a shower.”

  I appreciated that the three women on this trip were nearly more efficient at the shower-and-change routine than the men were.

  Ruby and Hanna were in the hall—hair wet, makeup minimal—when I emerged from my own room in a similar state.

  “High fives to low-maintenance women.” Hanna lifted her hand, meeting my palm with hers in a quiet smack.

  Niall and Will were standing together a few paces down the hall, conversing quietly.

  “Are we just waiting on Jens?” Ruby asked.

  Hanna nodded. “He’s probably ironing. No one loves to iron as much as my brother. He would iron his socks if he thought no one would ever find out about it.”

  “That’s precious,” I said, and then glanced down at my own outfit: tall boots, red tights, my favorite twirly black-and-white striped skirt—a bit rumpled from the suitcase—and a white tank top beneath a fitted aqua cardigan with a parrot embroidered over the breast. “I look like a box of markers exploded in the hallway.”

  “I love the way you put outfits together,” Ruby said. “You’re so brave.”

  “Thanks . . . I think?” I murmured, smoothing my sweater. Honestly, I just liked these colors.

  Jensen stepped out into the hallway and did a slight double take to find the three women huddled practically in front of his door. “Sorry,” he said, looking at each of us in mild confusion. “I . . . didn’t realize you were all waiting on me.”

  “It’s all right, princess,” Hanna said, smooching his cheek loudly.

  “I had to iron,” he said quietly, and Hanna threw me a called it! smile of victory.

  Ruby took Niall’s arm. Hanna took Will’s. And Jensen turned to me with an easy smile that belied the tension in his eyes and said, “You look lovely.”

  It made me suddenly uneasy. I knew that the setup aspect of this entire trip was written in the brightest invisible text just above our heads and followed us around wherever we went, but I wanted us to both be able to ignore it. I could enjoy the safety of a crush on Jensen—knowing he would be cautious in all the ways I might be impulsive—and he could enjoy the work-free time, and together we could pretend it didn’t exist.

  But in reality, attention from him was only truly flattering if it was genuine.

  Once we’d arrived at the restaurant-winery and checked in at the hostess stand, I carefully pulled Hanna aside.

  “I don’t want . . .” I trailed off. I had begun to speak before determining what, exactly, it was that I wanted to say.

  She smiled, taking a little step closer. “You okay?”

  “Good,” I answered, nodding. “It’s only that”—I glanced over at Jensen and quickly back—“I don’t want him to feel any . . . undue pressure.”

  Hanna blinked, scrunching her nose as she worked to understand my meaning. “With you?”

  “Yes.”

  Her confusion melted into amusement. “You’re worried my brother feels pressure to hook up with a bombshell on vacation?”

  “Well,” I said, flat
tered at the description. Bombshell. Well. “Yeah.”

  She snorted. “Rough life, Jensen, let me give you a cuddle.”

  I laughed at this, realizing that each time she spoke, I fell in love with her a bit more. I understood Ruby’s infatuation. “You’re adorable, and you know what I mean. The attraction may not be mutual—”

  “So you are—?”

  “—and if it’s not,” I continued over her, “that’s okay. I’m here for a laugh. I’m here to get away.” I looked at the wall displaying hundreds of bottles of wine and felt my brows rise as if it were there to challenge me personally. “I’m here to get rather sloppy, actually.”

  “Let me tell you a little something about my brother,” Hanna said, leaning in. “He used to be this legendary player—honestly,” she added, most likely at my surprised expression. “And then he married a witch who broke his heart. She broke all our hearts, really.”

  I frowned at this, thinking on a nine-year relationship and how that must have stretched beyond Jensen and deep into his family.

  “Now he’s a workaholic who doesn’t remember what it’s like to be spontaneous and have fun just for the sake of having fun,” she continued. “This vacation is so good for him.” Her eyebrows twitched when she added, “It could be great.”

  I watched her make her way back to Will, whose arm snaked its way unconsciously around her middle, and studied the five of them huddled together, waiting for our table to be called.

  True to expectations, I was seated beside Jensen at the broad hexagonal table in the center of the dining room. The restaurant was gorgeous, with a statue that appeared to be an inverted tree trunk coming out of the ceiling, its branches and leaves built up entirely of thousands of tiny lights. Waiters wore crisp white shirts with black aprons tied neatly around their waists, and filled our glasses with water ribboned with tiny bubbles.

  My wine haze from the afternoon had cleared, and I agreed to share a bottle of the house pinot noir with Jensen.

  Why in the bloody hell not.

  I could tell he was trying to relax. Part of me loved that it wasn’t in his nature, though. I always felt that I was nearly too relaxed for everyone around me; someone had to be the pillar. I could try to be the pillar, but as I probably could have predicted, that plan was doomed before it even began when—ever the gentleman—Jensen poured my glasses larger than his, and more frequently, too.